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whenerosmetpsyche · 4 years

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Maya Calendar Numbers

The Mayan calendar consists of

20 day signs and 13 day numbers (further explained in the video above). Each day is a different combination of a masculine deity and a feminine number

that describe the nature of that day. Different days and deities are cycled through the year until every possible combination is achieved to create a 260 day cycle.

These cycles reflect the natural rhythms of time and nature. Likewise, the number you were born on is said to describe a part of your own nature.

To find out what day number you were born on, visit this site, enter your birth date, and grab the Tzol’kin (day count) number.

In general, odd numbers are more intense and restless than even numbers. Even numbers have an easier time manifesting positive qualities. Lower numbers will resemble their day sign and other parts of their horoscope more strongly than their number sign. Middle number (6, 7, 8) are believed to be the most fortuitous because they contain power, but not too much. Higher numbers (11, 12, 13) tend to be extreme in nature. The power of people born on an 11, 12, or 13 day were treated with a great deal of respect.

One The beginning from which cycles of time grow. The original creation energy. The root of time itself. Associated with Chuen, a day deity representing the creation of everything. A person born on a One day is resolute and willful, able to transform thought into action. Inspired and ingenious, a One is able to manifest results.

Two The symbol of duality. In Maya mythology, many stories are based upon hero twins who act as patron of the arts. They represent the eternal dichotomy of the world and underworld, day and night. Dark and light. This number is often associated with Akb’al, the symbol of romance, and as such represents the polarities of male and female energy. A person born on a Two day is able to draw upon either side, and thus is able to access both their masculine and feminine qualities. They are born lovers; however, they can be indecisive.

Three At its best, the number Three represents the virtues of home. It symbolizes the power of reproduction and thus represents the lineage of descendants. The number Three is associated with the day deity Ben, the sign that governs matters related to the home. But the three is incomplete, and so it also represents struggle and uncertainty. A challenging number, someone born on a Three day is often frustrated by their own potential that struggles to pan out in the way they envision. Those born on a three day are advised to fully manifest the talents of their day deity. Four The number Four symbolizes wholeness, representing the four stages of the sun (dawn, noon, sunset, and midnight) and the four directions. A person born on a four day has many powers, and through their inherent completeness is able to manifest many strengths and possibilities. Four is considered a healing, stable number, and as such Fours are often found in positions of service and relationship-building. Five The number Five is sacred in the Maya calendar. It represents the symmetry of human experience: five fingers and toes on one hand. Five stages of life (childhood, youth, adulthood, maturity, and elder). The number Five is associated with work and karma, and so its corresponding day deity is Muluc who is associated with paying and receiving karmic debts. Five is a firery number, and those born on this day are known to arrive early and sometimes rush into situations without much forethought. However, it is this impulse that is responsible for their innovation and alacrity. Six The number Six is considered a very strong number and is a composite of the elements of family: health, understanding, work, friendship, possessions, and action. All are interdependent of the other. Six is considered the number of ultimate stability where we are on the road of life, headed to the center. As such, the number Six is associated with the day sign Eb, which means road or journey. People born on Six days are down to earth and practical. Their actions reflect an understanding of the practicalities of life. Seven Representing endings, the number Seven lands in the middle of the 13 day sequence symbolizing the unity of every beginning and ending. Associated with death, the number Seven represents the journey to the top of the pyramid where everything is visible, possible, and real. As such, Sevens are known to judge all points of view with equal validity and are prone to indecision. A path of many Sevens is to learn to be decisive, and use their view to develop creative solutions. At their worst, Sevens can be morally ambiguous and as such are related to the day sign Cib who represents pleasure, forgiveness, sin, and pardon -- all the vices of living on Earth. They are often swayed to extremes of compassion and contempt. Although presented with many opportunities, Sevens are known for slipping into moral decline when unable to transmute their skills into creative accomplishments. However it is through focus of mastering the material world that Seven is able to achieve magic. Eight An especially sacred number, the number Eight embodies the infinity of time, a cord emblematic of the umbilical cord. An Eight is considered another whole number of manifestation and is affiliated with Ahau, the ancestral solar force responsible for heroism -- the masculine principle of the Universe. People born on Eight days are able to effortlessly manifest the highest qualities of their sign; however, they can be surprisingly fickle and can become easily upset or disturbed out of the blue. Nine Although even numbers are believed to more easily manifest positively, Nine is also an extremely positive number and is a favorite for coronation, important rituals, and ceremonies. The number Nine is considered the number of life with its association with the nine months of pregnancy, the nine moon cycles of the 260 day calendar cycle, and its association with the day deity Ix, the feminine principle of the Universe commonly known as mother nature. So sacred is the number Nine, that the Maya have embedded principles of the number into creative processes ranging from agriculture to house construction. People born on Nine days view the unfolding of life as a flow between light and dark, happiness and sadness, fortune and suffering and understand how it is all necessary for positive change. A person born on a Nine day is well prepared to balance the challenges of life through their inner stability and nurturing traits and they are able to easily manifest their plans.

Ten As a representation of human cooperation, the number Ten represents the bonds among people and the need for justice and order symbolized by the day sign Oc. More than any other sign, the number Ten person is aware of life’s ups and downs as everyone has moments of success and advancement as well as loss and disappointment as duality is inherent in all of our actions. While a Ten person is very stable, there is an underlying fragility to them. Part of a Ten’s path is to grow a thicker skin to better survive the blows of life. Eleven The energy of an Eleven is intense but neutral. Elevens represent the past, present, and future -- everything that has been and will be. At its best, an Eleven embodies the balance of life. A person born on an Eleven day has great potential but tends to lack direction and a sense of home. These people can become drifters afflicted with indecision and insecurity and only with great effort are they are able to find their path and purpose. Through their turmoil and existential dilemmas, Eleven’s are bestowed with a great creativity and if they can learn to harness their abilities can become quite successful. The number Eleven is associated with the day deity Kan, the interdependent force of expansion that sets systems in motion associated with the inner fire of creativity. Twelve The highest of the even numbers, Twelve represents inner reflection on life’s conclusions. It is through reflection that a record of our life is created and it is possible to see the whole. People born on the a Twelve day understand the interconnectedness of community, and are related to the corresponding day deity, Caucac, the force of the divine feminine manifested on earth through natural and supernatural forces. People on Twelve days are endowed with a great deal of power and strength and are often able to reach a high level of self-reliance and independence.

Thirteen On Thirteen days, the spirit world is much closer to us and so these are the best days to meditate and cultivate psychic gifts. The number Thirteen represents the completion of life. It represents the thirteen major joints of the human body through which the internal lightning or koyopa is distributed (considered akin to kundilini energy). A person born on a Thirteen day will be blessed with great psychic and spiritual powers, or at the very least be able to develop such powers easily. This potential will always lie within those born on Thirteen, and they may find life very difficult if they neglect this part of their soul.

So far, the birthdates I have researched correlate to the above descriptions to an impressive degree. In addition, for the past month I have been comparing Mayan day cycles to the character and nature of the day, and have been rather amazed. For a complete picture, it is necessary to learn about the day deities as well and I plan to cover these in later posts.

#astrology #mayan calendar #numbers #tzol'kin

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guardianofjunmyeon · 4 years

Text

Finding Atlantis (part 1)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: Hiiii long time no see lmaoo...I started a pirate story and I felt like i should upload it here on tumblr bc i think it’s fun and i have a few chapters written already so ...here you go!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean.

The heart of the ocean.

Atlantis was created by the Gods. Created by the God of the ocean, Poseidon, himself. He created a land, a city, in the middle of the ocean among the humans in order to be closer to humanity. He went on to fill his new city with his many half God, half human children; he allowed others who felt the pull of the ocean deep within their souls to populate his city and call it their home. Their Atlantis.

The people of Atlantis were a rich people, culturally, morally, financially. Their advances far beyond our own. They lived in peace, in harmony and kept the sea happy, kept her calm and teaming with life. Poseidon’s children ruled the city with kindness, with understanding and neutrality for hundreds of years. They protected the city and the oceans for many, many years even after Poseidon himself returned to live amongst the other Gods.

One day, a thousand years in the past, the people of Atlantis decided that they wanted more. They were the keepers of the sea, they were the people of Poseidon. They wanted more money, more attention from their creator, more reverence from the humans and animals that they watched over. They wanted to be worshiped. They created waves large enough to drown continents, monsters big enough to destroy ships, and storms scary enough to keep the faint of heart far from the ocean, and even farther from their city.

And so they were bestowed with destruction for their greed.

The city was destroyed with volcanic eruptions, lightning storms, and ultimately a tsunami large enough to bury the city miles below the ocean’s surface.

The city was lost beneath the waves of the ocean to never be found or seen by humanity again, but it’s believed to still exist. It is believed to still thrive, to have adapted, and reverted to its original task of protecting the ocean without greed or desire for repayment. For the seas have been kind again after the disappearance of Atlantis.

Until 20 years ago.

It was said that each of Poseidon’s children were born with a destiny that they were meant to fulfill. A destiny that was crucial to the survival of the seas. To the survival of marine life. To the survival of humans.

Rumors that one of Poseidon’s children had run away to live amongst the humans began to spread across the lands like a wildfire as the ocean began to act restlessly, and monsters were starting to reappear in places they’d long vanished.

For the return of this child, for the rediscovery of Atlantis, you would be rewarded with riches beyond your wildest dreams.

Humans had tried to find Atlantis since its disappearance and none had gotten close to uncovering her secret location, so humans began to look for its lost child instead.

The key to the ocean is Atlantis. And the key to Atlantis is its missing child. The power one would hold would be nearly matched to that of Poseidon himself.

Thus, the hunt began.

-Anonymous

~~~

“Are we ready to leave port?”

“Yes Captain. All members are present and accounted for.”

“Good. Our heading is east, let’s make haste. I want to get this bounty and be back before the month’s end.”

“Ay, Captain.”

Leaving port is always as gratifying as it is stress inducing. There’s nothing that can quite match the rush you feel when you see your fellow crewman rushing around your ship, bringing her to life again, after weeks at rest. Raising the sails and cleaning down her surfaces before taking her back out home on the open sea, that rush is what excites you most in this world. The entire vessel buzzes with energy as your men call out to each other across the ship ensuring that she’s prepped and safe to take out on the water.

You always feel your chest swell with pride as they do their jobs with a confidence and energy that you hoped you played a part in inspiring. You’ve recruited each of them personally, and watched them grow under your guidance from nervously getting their sea legs to being some of the fiercest pirates known to man. Your first mate, Junmyeon has been by your side the longest, and is your most loyal second in command. Kim Junmyeon knows the ocean and the workings of the ship with nothing but innate talent. You would consider him just as respected and in charge of the ship as the captain himself.

Your quartermaster, Zhang Yixing has been with your ship for slightly less time than your first mate, but he is just as important. If Junmyeon is your right hand, then Yixing is your left. Yixing understands the workings of the ship and handles moral and makes every voice on the ship heard when issues among the crew arise.

You have a few sailing masters, those who handle navigation and piloting the ship. They are the keepers of the charts. Kim Yeri, your head sailing master is the smartest woman you’ve ever had the pleasure of taking aboard your crew. No one can read a map, chart a course, and follow the stars quite like her. Lee Taemin is your best pilot. He can guide your ship like it’s an extension of his own body, no matter the weather, no matter the conditions. Although Yeri and Taemin handle mostly navigation, they work hard at easing the burdens of your other crewmen as well.

You have 2 head gunners, Kim Minseok and Kang Seulgi. They lead two separate groups of men who are in charge of the ship’s artillery. Minseok and Seulgi are the fiercest fighters on the ship, well trained at aiming the heavy cannons and teaching their men how to work them safely. Minseok takes on the role as master gunner, the one in charge of all 8 men in the artillery.

Your cook, Qian Kun, doubles as the ship doctor. Both he and Yixing have been trained to attend to any kind of injury your crewmen may face.

You have 6 boatswains, or deckhands –those who handle all other activities on the ship. Whether it be anchoring, handling naval provisions, raising and lowering the sails, or just keeping the ship running smoothly. They all report directly to you, Junmyeon, or Yixing. They may be on the lowest rung of the ship, but they are just important to the ship as you are.

The crew of Storm Chaser have built a relationship based on trust and respect. All men are important, all men are heard, and all men are expected to put their life on the line for his fellow crewman. If you are unable to follow this general understanding of how the crew works, then…well, you as captain would make sure that anyone who misbehaves is handled.

You’ve captained the Storm Chaser for seven years now. She’s a decent sided ship, black as night with dark blue sails. She’s not huge, but she’s faster than the winds. She’s your pride and joy. She’s your home, and she’s home to the 20 odd other people who work her with you.

You bought her with your first big bounty, back when you were but a powder monkey on some brute’s ship, dealing with the ammunition and cannons with other dispensable suckers.

He was a shit captain and an even shittier person, but he’d allowed you to work on his ship in the lowest position possible because he saw the drive in you. He gave you a chance, and you’ll forever be grateful for him.

Even if you ended up being the one to poison his food and bring his dead body to the admiral who’d wanted him dead or alive.

He’d underestimated you. That was his mistake. You should always watch your own back and build up relationships with others who you can trust. He was a bully and a hot-heated asshole. No one liked him, he didn’t respect those beneath him, and he was careless just because you seemed young and naive. So now he’s dead and you cashed out on his life.

That's the way of the pirates after all.

The award you were given, for leading that unnamed admiral back to the brothel room where you’d left your dead ex-captain, was a hefty chunk of change. You bought your first ship in cash at the ripe age of 19.

You became a Captain at only 19.

You began to slowly build up a crew of trustworthy men and women who would lay down their life for you and for each other. You promised them safety in return for the building of trust aboard your ship. You’d seen captains who would do nothing but boss around their crew, take half of any reward for themselves, and would turn on any man on their ship at the drop of a dime.

That wasn’t the kind of captain you aspired to be. A good captain works with his men, is on the frontline of every fight, and acts as mediator when the ship is split on crucial decisions. A good captain works with their ship, not against it.

You’ve wanted to be captain of your own ship for as long as you can remember. The ocean has called out to you since you were big enough to have memories.

You grew up on a small port on the easternmost part of Xiao Shitou, a large island known for its dealing with pirates. It was easy to do business on the island and get away with things that other islands would arrest you for. Things other islands would hang you for in the middle of its largest city. You grew up watching ships come into town with people of all kinds of looks, backgrounds, stories. You watched them with wide eyes and an ache in your chest that you could never quite explain.

You just knew that where ever they were going after they left your port, that’s where you belonged.

Your mother owned a bar right in the heart of the seaside town. Storm Breaker. You can remember playing around with the regulars as your mom served them ale and smiles and would listen to their stories. You can also remember hiding in the back room among the bags of flour and crates of unopened beer whenever people your mother didn’t trust would enter her bar. Pirates and hooligans visiting for the first time. People who did nothing but cause problems when they visit.

She was a fighter, your mother. A scary woman that everyone in town respected, and a loving woman who did everything she could to protect you. You looked up to her, you admired her, but still you knew that you couldn’t do what she did. You couldn’t grow up working a bar and seeing the same people and doing the same tasks every day. You didn't belong trapped in a small town so close to the ocean, but never actually on it.

At 8 years old you watched you mother get shot right in the chest in the middle of your living room. One bullet to the heart by some ruffian she’d threatened with her own gun when he was harassing women in her bar days before.

You managed to escape him by throwing the pot of boiling water that was still burning on your stove straight at his face, and then running straight out the door that he’d kicked down. You’d left your mother there and ran away just as she’d always instructed you to.

That was just how life in pirate port cities worked.

You dragged your mother’s body out of the house a week later with the help of a man who frequented your mother’s bar often enough to basically live there. You both gave her to the ocean. He stood at your side, patted your head and told you that you would be okay.

You never saw him again after that.

The next years you lived alone on the streets, stealing food, earning money for little odd jobs around the town when you could. Some people recognized you and would help you out when they could, but they had their own struggles and issues, so you continued to live on your own the best way you could. You got into fights, got chased by people who caught you picking their pockets or filling your cheeks with their food. It wasn’t easy, but life could have been worse.

You kept your eye out for the man who murdered your mother. He made Xiao Shitou his home not long after that night. He ended up taking over your mothers bar, changed the name to Slut Cavern, and ran it into the ground a year later because he didn’t know how to fucking run a business.

When you were 11 you were able to find real work as a blacksmith’s apprentice. A woman with kind eyes and rough hands who taught you self defense and how to make and use the artillery she was selling.

Everyone just called her Victoria.

She’d known your mother, had gone to Storm Breaker a few times. She never had her own children, too busy working and owning her business on her own to bother with the excuses for men who frequented Xiao Shitou, so she took you under her wing as her own.

Her business wasn’t clean. She often sold blades, gun parts, and bullets to the worst kinds of men. To pirates, looters, murders, slave owners, anything of the like.

She did what she could to make money. Your mother did the same with her bar.

Victoria would take you along when she would deliver her swords. You would watch her threaten men who dared try to steal from her, and kill those who would try to take advantage of her. You learned quickly how to surprise people with your brutality and quickness with a blade under her guidance.

By 13 you’d killed your first man. A dirty older man who bought a knife and wasn’t going to pay you since you’d come to collect the money on your own. This wasn’t the first collection you’d gone on without Victoria, but it was the first time it hadn’t gone smoothly. He’d planned on assaulting you on top of robbing you. He’d pulled out his blade and advanced on you, but you were faster; you evaded his first swipe and slit his neck in one go with the thin but sharp sword on your hip.

You took off with his personal sword, the sword you were meant to sell to him, and all the valuables on his person. He lay there dead in an alley and you walked away with a smile on your face.

At 14 you cornered the man who killed your mother. He was stumbling drunk out of the bar your mother once owned and he hadn’t recognized you. You figured he’d forgotten all about the kid that slipped away from him. The kid who fucked up his face. He’d made disgusting advances that evening; uttered despicable words that you knew were meant to get you in his bed. You walked up to him and watched his lip curl up in a smile and he started to unbuckle his pants. You shoved your sword right in his chest, just as his hand reached into his pants to pull out his cock.

You watched the shock fill his expression; he choked out an agonized moan. You twisted the blade and pushed it as far as it could go through his heart. When you pulled it out and felt your hand wet with his warm blood, he slid down to the ground. You crouched down and looked in his eyes, watery with drunkenness and pain.

“I hope you rot in the hottest part of hell,” you’d said evenly. You drove your blade into the middle of his throat and watched the last of his life drain from his eyes, head lolling to the side and body going still. You went back to Victoria’s and she helped you wash away the blood without question.

At 16 you and Victoria parted ways. You wanted to go off and make your own money working aboard ships. Staying on the island wasn't the life for you. You watched the people who spent their whole lives on land. Watched them live the same daily routine over and over until they died. Watched them eat and shit and fuck the same people in the same place over and over again.

And you watched the pirates who would come for short periods of time, never staying put for too long. Living life on the unpredictable sea, following no one’s rules, taking what they wanted out of life and doing something new and exciting every day.

You wanted to be like them. That was where you belonged.

You had the swordsmanship. You didn’t have any ties Xiao Shitou outside of it being the place you were raised. Victoria would live on with or without you around. And you found that you had no fear of death.

You found your first captain, Captain Lee, inside of a bar that people tended to frequent when they were looking for work or for men to complete jobs. He was signing on crewmen that night and you joined a line of big, mean looking guys trying to make yourself fit in as much as you could. He laughed right in your face when you walked up to the table and demanded he let you on his crew.

“And how old are you sweetheart? Isn’t it a bit late at night for you to be at a place as dangerous as this?”

“Don’t worry about how late it is; I know how to handle myself. I want to join your crew. I don’t care what job it is, I just want to be on the sea.” You stood confidently.

He laughed at you again and waved you away with a roll of his eyes. The man behind you pushed you out of the way to take your place at the front. “I wasn’t done you brick-headed fucker!” You yelled. He’d looked over his shoulder, given you a once over and scoffed.

You took the gun out of your holster and shot a single shot directly into the air. The bar quieted. You finally had the attention you wanted.

You looked directly at Captain Lee. “I said, I want to be on your crew and-”

The man in front of you turned around fully with a scowl set on his face and a step in your direction. “Listen here little wench-” You cocked your gun and pointed it at the man who interrupted you.

“If you put your hands on me, I will kill you right here,” you challenged.

You watched the captain stand up with his hands folded across his chest and an amused smile on his face. “You going to let a little girl threaten you sailor?” He teased.

The man went red in the face at the challenge from the captain and the audacity of you to embarrass him in front of all the patrons in the bar. He lunged at you with all force and no coordination. You slipped under his reaching arms, lifted your gun to his head and fired a bullet directly into his skull.

He fell to the ground with a thud that shook the ground, and shocked everyone watching in silence. You lowered the smoking barrel and looked at Captain Lee in exasperation. Have I made my point?

With an impressed nod, he pushed forward the signing papers and the bar erupted back into normal business.

Here you are 10 years later with the ship you bought for killing him in turn. Life is a fickle thing.

Your first mate Junmyeon comes up to your side as you’re manning the helm, getting your ship farther away from the random port you’d all spent the last few weeks at. Weeks getting drunk, having fun, resupplying the ship.

“I’ve put the bounty papers on the table in your quarters. From what I’ve gathered, the guy we’re after has been going around destroying random port cities in the south east. Pillaging, raping, setting fire to homes, and then leaving with anything him and his men can find worth value,” Junmyeon tells you evenly.

You sigh and nod. “Dead or alive?” you ask with a look in his direction.

“Either. 50,000 dollars for him, and another 5 for each member of his crew,” he replies.

“That's a shit ton of money…”

“It’s enough to set us all for at least 3 years,” he agrees. “I can call Taemin to guide the ship while we discuss the logistics in your quarters.”

You nod again, and watch as Junmyeon walks off to search among your men for the purple haired pilot.

The sun begins to set as you all set out for the next weeks at sea. The sky blooms in shades of pink, purple, and blues. You don’t think that you could ever get tired of this sight.

“Captain, I can take over from here,” Taemin chirps from your side. He beams and leans an elbow on your shoulder.

“All yours.” You hand the ship over and scan the deck quickly for any sight of your first mate. His shiny black hair blows in the wind as he leans against the mast. Even doing nothing, he manages to look just as unreal as the day that you met him. You walk up to him with a smile and put your arm around his shoulder.

He laughs and wraps his arm around your waist. “So tell me more about the son of a bitch that we’re gonna go kill.” You guide him to your room with a lift to your voice. The excitement of going on another bounty hunt after days of relaxing make your hands itch to use your blade again.

You both enter your quarters and he takes a seat first at your large table covered in documents. You close the door while he settles in, chin in his hand and fingers tapping against the newest addition to the pile of papers. “You really need to clean this up,” he throws out lightly.

You shrug. “I like having them all, for sentimental value.” You keep the wanted posters of yourself, of your crewmen, of the people you hunt, and anything else that goes to show just how much of a name you’ve earned. How many accomplishments you’ve achieved.

“Hoarder,” he jokes.

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, my junk doesn’t matter. As my first mate it’s your job to keep me in order. You could clean it up if you wanted.” You flick him in the temple. He winces. “I wouldn’t be able to function without you.”

“You or the rest of the crew,” he scoffs. “I’m here to help you keep the ship moving, not to literally put your old paperwork in order.” You sit across from him and lean over the table to scan the papers splayed in front of you both. “Speaking of keeping the ship moving, let’s talk about our latest mission.”

“Of course!” Your skin thrums with excitement. “Has Yeri managed to get a handle on where our elusive man might be headed?”

He puckers his lips in thought and taps a map marked in red circles with his finger. “She looked at his previous hits and has been working to predict his course, but because he seems to be rather…unpredictable she’s reported difficulty pinpointing an exact location.” He looks up from the map. “We have a general idea of his location based on the last place that was reported hit and the direction of major currents that they may be following.”

“A general idea is better than nothing…I trust Yeri’s navigation and mapping skills. I’ll have her update when she finds changes. For now I think we should continue the course we’d set following you and her suggestion.”

“I’ll make sure-”

“CAPTAIN!” Junmyeon’s mouth closes immediately as you both train your eyes on the person who stormed in on your meeting. “Captain,” he says again out of breath.

“What is it Johnny?” you ask, standing up from the table. Your full attention sets on him.

“There’s a stowaway on board.”

“Fuck,” you curse.

“Where are they now?” Junmyeon asks the boatswain.

Johnny jerks his thumb behind him. “We’ve got him in irons and dragged him above deck. He was hiding in the food storage. We only found him when we were taking stock of food supplies.”

“Good job, I’ll be right out. Gather the rest of the crew. I want everyone on deck,” you command.

Johnny rushes out and you and Junmyeon share a look. This doesn't bode well and you both can feel it.

When you emerge from your quarters, you take note of your crew still gathering and the stowaway on his knees in the middle of the growing crowd.

He’s objectively handsome, you note. Dark hair, strands fall messily across this forehead and ears. Strong jaw, a well built face. He looks to be in his mid twenties. He’s wearing a beige blouse with leather pants and boots that tell a story of self care, of money. He looks like someone who spends a lot of time in the sun if the color on his face and hair tell you anything. He’s no dirtier than any of your men.

Not a beggar. Not by the looks of him.

You don’t have the time to deal with him at the moment. Not in the middle of a bounty hunt. You’ll send someone to question him later. “Throw him in the brig,” you call out to no one in particular.

“Wait…” you watch as your quartermaster pushes through your other men. His eyes widen at the man on the ground in front of him. “Jongin?” he asks in disbelief.

The stowaway looks up at the sound of his name and catches the eye of your crewman. “Yixing,” he sighs out in happiness, in relief. He sags a bit in his chains at the familiar face. You look between the two men in confusion.

“You know him?” You ask Yixing simply.

He nods vigorously. “Friends from childhood,” he says. “Almost like a brother.”

“Good. Then you take him to the brig and question him.” Yixing nods at your words and is quick to get the stowaway on his feet. He looks alarmed at the fact that he’s still being taken to the brig, but Yixing understands your position on stowaways hopping aboard your ship. It’s not something to take lightly.

You look around at the rest of your men. “As for everyone else, I want all eyes searching the ship immediately. Stop whatever you were doing and start looking around. From top to bottom, from bow to stern. Look in every fucking crack. I fear we may have more than one stowaway on board. Find them and throw them in the brig. Find me or Junmyeon afterwards to deal with them.” At your words everyone disperses to frantically search the ship.

Yixing drags Jongin below deck by his chains. Junmyeon places and hand on your shoulder with a concerned frown.

“I know,” you say.

This can be no coincidence. No one would dare just hop aboard your ship without any devious ulterior motive. Your ship is known for its ruthlessness and its ability to complete jobs quickly and cleanly. You’ve heard the stories in pubs.

“No one who has ever seen the captain has ever lived to tell the tale,” they say. Your ship is feared. You are feared despite keeping your identity as captain of the Storm Chaser on a need-to-know basis. You’ve built relationships with all of your crewmen, and you all thrive on the fact that the captain’s identity is kept secret. No one will mess with anyone on the crew in fear of them being the deadly Captain.

It works out for you all.

And this fear is what keeps lesser ships from fucking with you. You’ve had…dealings in the past with individuals you’d rather forget existed, but you and your ship are always able to get away with minimal damage. You, along with pirates around the globe, know that this is not a ship you can just fuck with and get away with it.

You take it upon yourself to keep somewhat on course while the rest of the crew are looking for any extra bodies on the ship.

It’s hours later when a deckhand, Taeil, finds you at the wheel. “Captain we found one other stowaway. You won’t believe who it is…” he says with wide eyes.

“Are they in the brig already?” He nods. “Find Junmyeon and Yixing and tell them to man the ship while I go talk to the prisoners.” He runs off and you tell any other crewman on your way to the brig to go back to manning their normal positions.

The lamps in the brig have been lit at the new addition of prisoners. It’s been nearly half a year since you all had to use your brig like this. Most of the bodies you all bring back are dead and thrown in a body box you all keep deep below deck with other nonessential items.

Your ship has two decently sized cells (enough to hold 20 men in dire, cramped situations). In the first cell is the first stowaway, Jongin. He’s huddled in on himself in the far right corner of his prison with his head against his knees. He looks up at the sound of you coming down the stairs. You see the sadness and fear in his eyes before he hides his face once again against his knees. In the second cell you catch sight of hands languidly relaxing outside of the bars.

Hands adorned with various rings. You know those hands, it’s hard to forget them with the various encounters you've had with them.

“Ah…if it isn’t the fearsome Captain of the Storm Chaser,” he drawls amusedly.

The sneer that finds its way onto your face comes instantaneously at the sound of his voice. You step closer and take your second prisoner in. His flashy jewelry, the cloth wrapped around his forehead to soak up sweat, the stupid ass eye patch that he wears, and that grin that brings you nothing but fucking trouble.

“What the hell are you doing on my ship Byun?”

#whoop whoop #here we go!! i'll upload the next chapter as well!!!#baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fanfic #exo #exo imagine #exo stories #exo fanfic #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun pirate au #exo pirate au

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butterfly-winx · 4 years

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its probably the helia stan in me but id love to read an origin story! idk if youre planning one for all of them but i really like your worldbuilding so id read them! and i know others would too! 💞 (also that fairy sketch was beautiful and if youre planning on it id love to hear more about him 👀)

Aahh ugh, I don’t actually have a lot fleshed out for Cyanox, except that he is the Guardian of Prometia and neutral to a fault. And also unintentionally the reason for why/how Layla gained the ability to modify Sirenix into Crystal Sirenix to adapt to cold and high pressure environments.

I am far too disorganised to make one collection post for the backgrounds of all characters I messed with, so I guess, here goes nothing. *cracks knuckles* Buckle in for the ride! (content warning for death and lethal illnesses)

Helia was born on Lynphea in a middle sized settlement in the moderate-warm Eastern Forests of Lynphea. I talk about the zones, culture and dangers of Lynphea here, so I don’t want to repeat myself too much, but Helia’s village was much closer to the borders of the Death Zone the virus has claimed for itself than what would have been advisable. Back then, they thought Viaj would exhaust the surrounding natural resources and its people would move on long before the spread of the virus would become a danger to them. Oh how wrong they were. All it took was the change of the wind one summer.

Helia had been only five and then some and the world was still too vivid in his eyes, lights filtering through leaves a spectacle every day he accompanied one of his caretakers on a simple errand. He was the one who found the earliest warning sign, a fungal growth on a long leaf of gras that was the manifestation of the plague befalling its plant hosts. Not quite comprehending what that meant in his young age, Helia struggled for a long time with guilt about the terror his discovery brought, wishing he would have never played in the prairie. Like that would have avoided anything.

The inhabitants of Viaj actually gained a head start through his discovery though that potentially spared other communities, however it couldn’t help theirs. They quarantined immediately, drew up a magic barrier to protect everyone from the airborne spores that carry the virus from plants to humans. But doing so they gave up hunting and gathering and were entirely reliant on the rations the other communities would send with the quarantine workers. Though even those trickled to a stop when the first person fell sick with the cough and the tell-tale black spots formed on their mucous membrane. People saw no use in wasting resources on people who were damned to die. The best they could do now was limit travel to the edge of the Eastern Forest and set more scientists on recalculating the projected spread of the virus.

Lynpheans practice a philosophy of “live and let die” not hanging onto things beyond their lifespan, so this was seen as neither cruel or unusual, but show me one person who is truly prepared to die such a horrific, slow death in order to upkeep the natural order. The people of Viaj didn’t want to die, and they certainly didn’t deserve to die. But people fell like flies, until about three months later only Helia, Naoqi, the last adult, and Tsilla, the very last baby born in midst of all that, were alive. Naoqi cared for Helia and the baby as best as he could and in doing so became a replacement parental figure in Helia’s eyes. He did everything he could to make the horrible experience slightly lighter to bear for the children, but when the magic barrier keeping the wind away fell, there was little he could have done to stave off the inevitable.

Helia was left alone, with a not even five moth old baby and no way of feeding himself or the baby. With nothing else left, he braved the forest and looked for the quarantine workers who were no doubt overseeing the area, which marked the last time Helia ever walked in the forests of his home. The quarantine workers were more than surprised by the tenacious boy with a baby in his arms and finding out he was still alive after what they thought was final exhaustion has set in.

The next thing after that that Helia actually remembers is waking up on Magics with Saladin greeting him, introducing himself as a distant relative. The truth was a lot more complicated than that. The quarantine workers have taken Helia to the nearest hospital to treat him for the effects of starvation, because miraculously, the disease had still not taken hold of him after five months of exposure. Hermetically locked in a wing of the hospital, he was the most prised and most dangerous person and study artefact on the whole planet. His comatose slumber was watched from behind plexi glas and every then available humoral test was run on him to find out why he of all people had proved to be immune. If he was immune at all.

Meanwhile Saladin arrived on planet as he heard the news of the demise of his hometown, of his family. Even back then he had not been the pride of the planet and his relationship with his family had been strained because of the wars he had chosen to be involved in. All of that didn’t matter the instant lives were on the line and Saladin wanted nothing more than one last exchange of letters he would never get to make everything alright again. No power in the world would ever grant him that, but having powerful friends in the right circles granted him something else. Information, that a young Viaj boy was still alive in the Epidemiology Research Centre. He may be the future, the solution to all of their problems with a DNA hiding the secrets to immunity. Saladin immediately inquired, dug deeper demanding to see the boy, but the Council denied him visitation rights. He had to strike an underhanded deal with the co-leader of the research project under a false name to find out Helia wasn’t even awake, but held in a magically induced coma for observational purposes. The scientist talked on and on about the possibilities and what they would do after they go the genes needed but Saladin blew up at that point. How dare they treat this boy like an object, like his loss wouldn’t be felt by anyone, should one of the procedures go wrong. Like all his life could hold from now on was an ultimate sacrifice for the benefit of the many. He wouldn’t even be able to comprehend that if told. With Saladin blowing a fuse, the research centre blew up too and he fled the planet that night with an unconscious Helia in his arms.

So what felt like a night of knocked-in-the-head-by-a-horse sleep to Helia was actually close to four weeks in real world time. He has no concrete memory of what Saladin saved him from, but enough peripheral perception of what transpired planetside to make sense of the ramifications. Technically, Helia’s DNA is public property of the Lynphea Council, and technically both him and Saladin have an arrest warrant hanging over their head for the destruction and property damage caused. If Helia were to ever set foot on Lynphea again (or even go to a country that has an extradition treaty with them) he would be taken back to the Research Centre to be dissected to the smallest molecules until he yielded answers.

While Helia was able to grow up in Magics in relative safety, the virus was still wreaking damage on Lynphea. Saladin (and to a lesser extent Helia) made the incredibly difficult decision to reject the experimentation on Helia and thus deny the population of their home a potential treatment to an otherwise lethal infection. It is an incredibly heavy burden and no day passes that they don’t question the rightness of their choice.

Helia can certainly appreciate the moral conflict now, but as a child he was much more difficult to manage. The switch from a huge nurturing family to one primary carer to rely on was harsh on Helia, who was already traumatised and needing love and affection. Saladin did the best he could, but running a school and otherwise being a Universe-wide known hero didn’t help. After they grew close on the tail end of Helia’s childhood, they explosively drew apart during his tweens, Helia not able or reluctant to understand the restrictions Saladin placed on his life.

First, he was unwilling to share as much about Lynphean culture and way of life as Helia wished to know, saying that he wouldn’t be able to apply it there on Magics anyway. The deeper reason for that is more likely buried in his resentment for Lynphea rejecting him as harshly as they did after he helped save the Universe from the Ancestresses, but Helia of course knew nothing of that. Then when he moved over to adapting to life on Magics “in the Magics” way, he begged to be taught magic for which he had developed a budding talent. Saladin refused again for related trauma reasons. He didn’t want Helia to wield a power that could potentially make him a weapon in someone else’s crusade. Being his only personal student would only paint a target on Helia’s back.

Helia was having none of that, fiercely objecting to the treatment. He had his own trauma to deal with. Like death by illness. (People falling ill was a lasting trigger he has been continuously working to overcome, but the first time Saladin came home with a cough Helia immediately worked himself into a panic attack so severe he couldn’t stop vomiting and had to be taken into a hospital himself. ) He shouldn’t have to shoulder the repercussions of Saladin’s problems too!

People who say old teens and their wilfulness are hard to deal with, haven’t met twelve year old Helia yet. To think he actually mellowed out by the time he hit Red Fountain. In any case, Helia and Saladin weren’t really speaking civilly with each other anymore by the time Helia met Krystal. (More on her side of things here) Krystal, ten and absolutely blind to seeing obstacles, offered Helia her books on basic witchcraft and with that the opportunity to take his magic learning into his own hands. After all, sorcery required a lot of detailed instruction, but witchcraft was available to any odd fool who could set up a passable reaction equation. It took half a year of trials and encouragement for his efforts to yield a result and for Krystal and Helia’s friendship to bloom. It took Saladin much longer than that to catch on to Helia’s secret tinkering. The old man should have suspected something to be up after their disagreements magically disappeared after Helia and Krystal met twice. The aftermath was ugly and lead to Helia and Krystal reluctantly parting ways.

Helia was inconsolable an dedicated a large part of his life to making it as difficult for Saladin as possible. His grades dropped, his art got angry and choppy and he had to be escorted home by peace keepers for having snuck into places he shouldn’t have been in. Year fourteen and fifteen of Helia’s life have been by far the most difficult to deal with with no improvement in sight. Under pressure from his school and Saladin to choose a path for higher education after his year nine exams, Helia thought it would be most spiteful to chose...nothing. He would simply stop going to school at 15 years of age and just become whatever. Maybe a full-time artist or a busker. “Hah, that’ll show Saladin!”- he thought, but he severely miscalculated.

Saladin had often threatened with making Helia enrol in his school if he didn’t behave and Helia never though he would make good on his words until he was dropped off at the main entrance with all his bags like the other freshmen filtering in through the gates. Being the headmaster, Saladin allowed Helia some liberties, trying to demonstrate to him that he shouldn’t see this as a punishment, but as an opportunity to further his life. Cue Helia’s biggest pièce de resistance, showing just how much he didn’t think so. As mentioned a few asks ago, he was given the liberty to chose where he lived and which team he chose, but not like that goddamit! He took shameless advantage of the loose wording Saladin used and hopped between rooms and teams completely ignoring conventions. He was the bane of the school, found on the roof, in supply closets and in the middle of hallways. Teams feared him, because they knew if Helia was assigned to them they might as well have been one person short, his flaky nature making it hard for them to work with him. Codatorta wrote as many warnings for Helia in that one year as he did in his whole career before that. Students at Red Fountain tended to be disciplined and dedicated to becoming Specialists, but Helia was the absolute antithesis to them. At the end of the year no amount of Saladin’s half-hearted excuses could save Helia from the overwhelming force of the teaching staff getting him sacked. Not that Helia minded, though. It was exactly what he wanted.

Saladin more or less gave up on him then. If he wanted to be on his own then fine. Saladin would help him with finding an own apartment and give him his first moth of rent, but after that Helia could go and find himself a purpose in the world alone. Fine. Fine. Alright!

It was not alright at all, but it was buried under a very thick layer of “I’ll show ya” which made Helia want to live his best liberal artist life. He enjoyed creating as much art as he wanted, but he craved social contact and being engaged in something with a common goal, so he started getting involved with local pacifist groups. He had always preached a path of non-violence, which was about the only thing that had been ingrained in him from his Lynphean upbringing. There he started to expand his horizon beyond what his gut feeling taught him about pacifism and got into reading theory seriously. He was surprised how many of those books shared around had originally belonged to the Red Fountain library and even more so that they have ben written by the founders of the Red Fountain Cavalry. And that was when Helia bust down Saladin’s office door.

“All of this theory was in the school’s library the whole time!!?? And all everyone was ever talking about was warfare!! Why was I never told the best pacifist philosophers of the century were all Red Fountain members???” “You never showed up to any of the philosophy lectures! How am I to blame?” A deep breath from Helia, re-evaluating all of his 17 years of life choices. “Dada Saladin, you have to let me back into your school please.”

And Saladin refused. To let him back without repercussions that is. Helia had to prove that he took his education seriously and was ready to commit by taking the entrance exam like everybody else to earn his place at the institute. He scraped the bottom of the scoreboard with his first results, but took the first year foundation course with a mile long stride. He was allowed to skip quite a few modules and ended up in the same year as the protag specialist boys with quite a reputation to his name. In the process of reacquainting himself with the school and its philosophy, he learned humility, respect, and when to keep his head down and mouth shut. The upperclassmen from his original year group barely believed he was supposedly the same person they got to know as an absolute menace . There are many rumours about twin brothers, brainwashing and Saladin’s terrifying magic might turning him into this new person.

Helia has come an extremely long way becoming the well-tempered and balanced person known from the show’s timeline. It is almost as if he compressed a lifetime of angst into three years, thus min-maxing his character development coming out more adult in the end at 18 years old than many people at 30. He lived through a lot of things and it shows in how he behaves and what he cares about. He is a passable fighter, but his main aim is always to protect and to avoid conflict if possible. He is a trained negotiator for that purpose and prefers to act as tactical support for his team. It all changes however once Riven and Sky both decide to quit the team leaving Helia, Brandon and Timmy with a very difficult decision on how to go on after that.

(Aand we have arrived at present day for my AU timeline with this. I hope you made it this far, I‘ve never written this much for a tumblr post before)

#winx club #winx helia #asks #see this is why I can't make a nice neat summary post about my headcanons because as soon as I start talking it becomes a word vomit #helia #butterfly fic #Anonymous

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yogsandchaos · 3 years

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Why Strife Keeps Attracting Blood Mages, an Extensive Meta Look at Strife and Blood Magic

Strife has always had bad luck when it involves blood magic. Despite his intense distaste for the magic, it dogs his steps, never too far behind, but why? Why are most of the people he talks to in some form blood mages out of every possible magic? I think it is relatively easy to trace why it always returns to blood magic with him out of every magic.

First of all, his career, soul-sucking capitalists aren’t exactly known to hang out with the nicest people. With a career made from stepping on others with lots of exploitation and brutality, anyone with a strong morality could not be around him for long without turning on him. The only people who can genuinely be around him for long periods are other people who also see nothing wrong with stepping on others to advance, maybe not always to the same extreme as Strife. Still, they do not care for the suffering of others considered beneath their notice on some level.

Those willing to step on others would, of course, see nothing inherently wrong with blood magic’s extremes either, as it is a natural progression of the dog eat dog attitude of anyone Strife hangs out with. While mages who gain proficiency in other forms of magic are not inherently inclined to the cruelty that so often comes with blood magic, thus filtering out people who would not use blood magic from his potential acquaintance pool. Making it seem like blood mages are insanely common when they aren’t. Along with the fact that other mages likely require space and resources that Strife would need for his work or cut into his ‘free labor’ blood magic is just the inherent best fit for the magic to get deep into while working with Strife.

Of course, the next thing to consider is that while Strife pretends to be the top dog, he isn’t, and everyone knows it. Strife survives by putting on airs and facades of power; some he can back up, some he can not, and anyone who looks closely at the picture can see the cracks. As discussed above, people he can hang out with are people who step on others to advance in some form, and those who can do that are often on the hunt for things to exploit. Thus the fact Strife seems not to have quite as sturdy a pedestal as he pretends incites curiosity. Along with the fact Strife is heavy, fake it till you make it, means anyone with enough know-how can swoop in and start causing trouble for him with ease. With so much to gain by doing so, along with him just being inherently entertaining, it’s no surprise those like Kirin or Parvis flock to him. With blood magic being such a prominent sore spot for him, it makes it the prime place to dig in thumbs to turn him into exactly what whoever they want.

Along with this, while he may deny it heavily, Strife is a meddling person who gets attached to things he deems as his. He enjoys cleaning up messes and putting stuff in their rightful place and thus will follow those who caught his eyes and clean up after them, complaining the entire time to hide the fact he’s trying to help, of course. If you can get an in, it is not hard to win Strife over and make him want to stay around you. He can’t let go of things he enjoys, including people, so he stays nearby while he may lie and complain about them.

These are all traits that make him an excellent guard dog or follower; even if you hurt him dearly, if he’s attached enough to him, he’ll always come back. Of course, this is heavily exploitable and makes him the ideal person to feed a blood mage habit as even if he swears to heaven and hell that he won’t touch it. A few pouts and huff, and he’ll practically leap into the altar himself, unable to resist helping and cleaning up after what is his.

All of this, of course, combines with the fact Strife has a rather addictive personality type. Strife is shown repeatedly that he can’t just leave things unfinished, that no matter what something is, not to finish it bothers him immensely. Strife is unable just to quit and walk away because something isn’t finished grinds at him, and that’s not a good thing. So if he can’t leave something unfinished and encounters something that only takes and never ends, he becomes stuck. It’s an endless loop that, without external influences to stop it, Strife becomes stuck forever doing the same thing over and over because it’s not done, and if he doesn’t finish it, it will bother him.

It is always needing another hit of Redstone, always getting to fix something that’s broken, never able to leave well enough alone. These are horrible traits for getting away from a magic that never really finishes, like blood magic. So when he’s given a chance to go back to it, the perfectionist completionist in him is practically forced to pick back up the knife because the only option is to let it bother him forever. Things that are broken, things that are dirty, things that need more work, it’s a siren song to him, and few things need more work than dirty, broken magic that is blood magic. Of course, he easily gets hooked on it, it’s the epitome of one more stab, and then I’m done, one more stab, one more stab, one more stab... It’s a miracle he survived college.

Now, these are all well and good reasons that blood magic just can’t leave him the fuck alone, but that can’t be it. While this would indeed heavily weight the dice towards blood magic, but with now even Tevela getting in on the bloody fun on streams, there has to be more to it. The only thing I can think of as to why it is present in his life, but actively harasses him, is his ego. Strife’s pronounced small dog syndrome.

Strife is someone who acts proud, untouchable, so strong, even when he’s not, you won’t catch him dead admitting he’s anything less than god’s fucking gift. It’s so obvious a lie, but Strife is so caught up in it, it makes it tantalizing to see how far you can push it. Nearly everyone he talks to wants some sort of power over him; they want to take him down a peg, they want to break that ego and forcibly remind him he’s mortal at least a bit. People want to strip him down to his bare-bones to expose him as the foolish self-conscious liar he always was, whether because he’s more useful like that, he’s a threat, or because they want him to gain some humility, people want to break him down to his core.

Of course, to break someone down, you must know their weaknesses, and for someone who prides himself on being coy and powerful, he sure does scream his shortcomings to the sky. Magic, how he scowls, how he grimaces, how he spits, it’s so clear he doesn’t like magic, that magic is his big blind spot. Strife does not understand magic, so anyone who wants to go up against him is in their best interest to pick up some form of magic because he can’t defend himself as well from it. He can get so vocal about blood magic as well, and he has such a visceral reaction to it more than any other magic; it becomes evident to anyone looking to exploit him that if you want to scare Strife, you go into blood magic.

Blood magic is the ultimate leash for Strife, Strife may be unsteady, but he can also be a threat, Blood magic makes him even more unsteady but less of a threat, the perfect state to nudge him in the direction you want. Blood magic is the ultimate not well hidden weak spot of Strife. It’s only practical that if you want to use him or just get him out of the way, you would consider looking into it. With how he currently is, there is no more poisonous yet tempting fruit for him, just the thing to get him to get into line without him ever needing to realize how he’s falling.

With how obvious he makes this weakness, with how his personality and mind works, along with the fact he’s a threat but one with so many cracks, it all paints a target on his back in blood. There is no reason not to go into blood magic if you desire some form of control over Strife, and as long as your careful enough, his inability to let you go will bring him to his knees under you. It’s so easy, so tempting. It’s not surprising even those that don’t really mean serious harm like Tevela will dig into the stuff. It’s just too easy.

He can only escape it by getting over his hang-ups with not just blood magic, but all magic. He has to begin to view all magic as a neutral sum thing. He has to have no emotions beyond maybe a mild preference not to use them. It can no longer pull a reaction from him, even one he hides if he wants people to stop using it against him. He has to become apathetic to it, or else people will always see how he reacts and act on it.

He needs to learn how to walk away, that it’s okay to leave something unfinished, and it’s not a black mark on his record not to finish something that is hurting him. Even if someone else is asking him to finish it or saying they need his help, no matter how much he wants to fix it, he needs to say no and stick with it. He needs to learn to disconnect from the situation and make it not his problem and make it clear that it’s not his problem, not just say it’s not his problem, then do it anyway because it’s itching him to be fixed. Even if he can never get away from his hate and distrust for magic, he’ll be a much saner and happier person for it if he can do this one thing.

Unfortunately, all that would require Strife to actually admit he has facades up and dare risk emotional vulnerability, and Strife would rather die, let’s be honest. He can’t admit to himself any weakness he has or realize what other people mean to him. He can’t self reflect because if he self reflects, he has to face his past, face the fact he is vulnerable. Few things are scarier to Strife then being vulnerable after all, and if blood magic is the price he pays to never admit he is so vulnerable, he’ll pay it every time. Blood magic is the ultimate symbol of everything wrong with Strife’s mentalities and actions, and to truly move past it, would mean admitting he has something wrong with how he operates, that there is something wrong with him. Strife can’t face that, and who knows if he ever will be able to. So until then, by the altar, he will stay, wondering why he can never truly walk away.

It’s a cold, cruel cycle, but Strife has no one to blame but himself.

#Tevela #Kirindave #Parvis #William Strife #long post under cut #meta #william strife meta

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dramionediscussion · 3 years

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This Crookshanks vs. Scabbers thing reminds me, that so often in HP related discussions, I find hard to make any definitive stance or firm judgements. Frequently, there just isn’t sufficient information about circumstances, or a perspective given is too limited or one-sided. Sometimes it’s also, that there truly isn’t a moral dimension to an issue as I can see it. Sometimes even moral, prosocial or at least normative behavior by every participant can sometimes lead to a tragedy, conflict or net loss to all involved, without anybody being truly “responsible” (it implying fault in this context. Not merely what or who originates some causal chain of events). Like looking at this Crookshank and Scabbers debate. I think, there’s two related but separated issues here. First is the incident and events leading up to it, or making it possible in the first place. Then Hermione’s and Ron’s reactions to the event.

I mean, how is this even supposed to work? Hogwart’s rules for familiars and pets in general seems quite dysfunctional and chaotic. Cohabitation in limited spaces, combined with the policy, which allows students bring all manners of animals, some of which are incompatible with each other in closed quarters. We see owls, cats, toads, rats, spiders and pygmy puffs in HP series, and apparently also ferrets and crows in CC. Any rules, guidelines and organizing seems to be reserved only to owls, which are separated from living quarters, which is lucky I suppose, considering that owls include all other types in their diet (though they still carry messages between inhabits inside the castle). To the rest, it’s survival of the fittest. To me it seems pure chance and happenstance of how events will turn out in those circumstances. A lot of everything is simple up to what kind of animals people happen to have and in what proximity to each other, e.g. imagine if Neville would’ve had a ferret or cat instead of a toad.

It’s not reasonable or fair to expect some kind of a spontaneous order or ideal solution to pop up in those conditions. Or even some reasonable compromise. I don’t see that either Hermione or Ron failed to perform some fair and comprehensible obligations and responsibilities all pet owners should adhere to. With so many moving parts and people in such a limited space, and very asymmetrical needs and risk for different pets. Expecting (young) people to coordinate that together, especially without any official rules, in otherwise strictly rule bound environment is catastrophe waiting to happen. It’s not like they have any hierarchy or power over each other either, and in a situation which is not governed by existing rules. Plus, there didn’t seem to be anybody with an actual authority (or interest) to mediate and mitigate disagreements between (nominally) equal parties, and ultimately settle the dispute between them.

Only way to maximize safety would’ve been caging animals (some of them, or all of them). But it is no way beneficial or neutral thing to do for any of them, so somebody’s pet is going to suffer only to accommodate somebody else’s benefit. It’s not a natural habitat of any animal, even if rats and toads adapt to that better than cats or ferrets, but there’s distress and limiting their natural potential and animal essence. In Ron’s case, that probably wouldn’t have worked in any case. I doubt it would’ve been possible to cage Scabbers / Wormtail, when Sirius Black was on his trail, or possibly even in if he wasn’t (there’s so many ways that could’ve played out. Maybe he would’ve avoided it fiercely by biting, running away and hiding. Or stop eating or starting to play dead in the cage, or break out from it. Whatever would’ve happen, I doubt it would’ve been possible to keep him in a cage without causing quite considerable and visible harm to him). I mean, even if it was a regular old rat, it would’ve been cruel, as it had been allowed to free-range for most of its life.

Containing Crookshanks to 3rd year girl’s dormitories would’ve probably caused similar problems. Low stimulus and lack of variation, would’ve probably cause boredom and depression to such an intelligent animal. Also, in practical terms, I doubt it would’ve worked out, because many others lived in same quarters. Thus he probably would’ve constantly got out, because people kept coming and going, and maybe left door open for a second too long, or forgot to keep the door shut all the times, etc. Once it’s out, it’s a major operation by many people to locate it in a huge castle like Hogwarts. Unless there’s a serious concern for his safety, you’d probably just had to wait until he returned on its own.

Neither of them are particularly neglectful or malicious. There isn’t clear-cut ideal course of actions for either. I suppose, they could’ve at least tried to work something out, even if there wasn’t any win-win solutions available. But there wasn’t a good way to determinate, which one of them should’ve budged or taken the hit. I don’t know, if even volunteering to take the hit would’ve been that altruistic, because it would been mainly their pets who would’ve suffered for it, and they themselves only indirectly. I don’t see there’s a moral transgression here. Perhaps they’ve should’ve been a bit more conciliatory towards each other, but I doubt that even that would’ve changed the ultimate outcome much. Both had legitimate and morally sound arguments, concerns and interests, which just happened to conflict in those circumstances. Happens all the time.

The fact that Crookshank didn’t eat Scabbers in the end, is almost incidental, because it could’ve easily happen, and distress and fear wasn’t uncalled, and the whole scenario was totally plausible. Given circumstances, probabilistically thinking it was the most likely outcome (compared that one’s pet rat is actually a murderer on the run), and one of the few even possible outcomes out there.

Their reactions are a bit similar. Ron is an instigator and aggressor initially, by blowing up on Hermione and accusing her viciously immediately. Though, it was his rat who’d disappeared without trace (eliminating the possibility that it would’ve been accidentally crushed by someone in their dorms), and Crookshanks being responsible is not the only the most likely, but one of the few possibilities there even were. Still, holding Hermione at fault is unfair, though that instinctual emotional outburst is hardly a major ethical crime. It’s not the high road or virtuous, or even honorable, but that’s pretty much it. Holding that against Hermione and the disloyalty and betrayal he shows at her during later that year is totally another matter (though it’s only tangentially related to Scabbers).

I can see why Hermione would be at the first defensive, as it’s equally natural reaction, when confronted by someone whose consumed by anger, and probably temporarily beyond rational discourse. I don’t think she should have even apologized at all, because I don’t see that she truly was at fault or did anything wrong. After all, an apology is also always an admission of guilt as well. There’s quite a lot of studies about this, but often they make things worse, and make people even more angry or vicious towards you, partly because of that. Not only you admit wrongdoing, but also out you as a moral defective, by doing something heinous in the first place.

Quite likely Ron would’ve been even more enraged, if she would’ve reflexively apologized. A person genuinely needs to be willing to accept an apology, and then move on. They definitely shouldn’t be dished out needlessly, casually or thoughtlessly (not including a common courtesy, like if bumping into someone. Those don’t carry moral weight, thus are phenomenologically different).

She should’ve been genuine sympathetic and being sorry for Ron’s loss and distress, if not during the initial fight, but at least at some point, even if she didn’t exactly cause it. However, she was never was, and she seemed to be more interested in being right and winning an argument (she sometimes has that cold and frankly thoughtless side, in which she seems to be far more interested in being “right” by some factual standards, disregarding empathy or social relations and circumstances she’s in).

----

Edit:

I agree with everything you said. It's very understandable for Ron to immediately get angry and to accuse Crookshanks of "killing" his pet. Its literally a cat and mouse chase! And its understandable for Hermione to be on the defensive. This incident happened in third year, so they are both 13-14 ish, children really. You really cannot expect children to act rationally and not emotionally. We as adults can see that they are both in the wrong. And I think as kids when we saw this play out or we read it, we had chosen our sides. I know for me personally I was on Hermione's side. I was all for Hermione defending herself and was just as smug as her when the truth was revealed! But now, I can see that they both are wrong and right at the same time.

You last take on Hermione though, she has always had this air of superiority, and you are right, sometimes she needs to be "right" and she doesn't care about anything else, even her friends feelings.

- Lisa

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quixoticnexus · 4 years

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Morality Guide

All of my characters have “Classical Alignments” listed in their About Pages, but I decided I wanted to expand on that, since it only really gives you an idea of what you’re dealing with. So if you’re interested in hearing the in-depth analysis of why I put them where they are, keep reading! Going in order of when they were added. (This might continue to be updated as I add more characters.)

Xavier: Chaotic Good

Xavier is a young man who’s deeply disillusioned with the establishment and how the world works as a whole. He’s convinced that nothing will ever change and no good will ever come unless the entire system is burned to ashes. While he’s emphatic about protecting those weaker and underprivileged, he’s also quick to resort to violence to get the result he wants.

This ideology is pretty firmly baked into his persona due to years of trauma and abuse. It’s hard to get him to change his ways, but not impossible. Someone caring and patient enough might be able to ease his savage temper and make him see that maybe he DOESN’T have to default to violence all the time and that maybe some people in the establishment genuinely care for the well being of others and can stay. So he’d drift towards Neutral Good in that instance.

That said, someone could also convince him to become utterly jaded in the idea that there’s even a concept such as Good or Evil in the first place, and just convince him that the only thing that matters is burning the establishment. In that instance, he’d become much closer to Chaotic Neutral, but due to his naturally caring nature, this would be much harder to do. His inclinations towards good are much stronger than his inclinations towards lawlessness, despite what it might seem on the surface!

Adrian: Neutral Good / Chaotic Good / True Neutral / Chaotic Neutral

This guy is possibly the second most flexible when it comes to interpretations of his morality. (More on that in a second.) He almost always starts out as either Chaotic Good (most Thief-only verses) or Chaotic Neutral (most Spy/Assassin verses). Obviously his “hobby” automatically puts him on the wrong side of the law, and in general, he can be quite selfish. Life has taught him that nothing actually matters except for fond memories and varied experiences you can relive later. Even his “Code of Conduct” is less about easing the suffering of others and is mostly about keeping things interesting for himself.

That said, he’s not nearly as baked into those positions as Xavier is. While he’ll never cross over into being completely evil, it’s pretty easy to mellow the Chaos aspect out since his rather jaded outlook on the world comes from a place of heartbreak rather than malice. If someone feels like going the extra mile and helping him realize he shouldn’t be such a selfish dick (to everyone but those he’s attached to), you can even possibly get him into the Neutral Good category! Otherwise, he’s likely going True Neutral.

Tobias: True Neutral (HIGHLY variable)

This guy is the one who has the highest potential to change from verse to verse. He’s smack dab in the middle of the chart, not because he’s perfectly balanced in every way, but because he’s super impressionable and will change based on the last thing that sounded good to him. How he ends up depends entirely on the people he looks to for guidance, for better or for worse.

I really can’t stress this enough. So far in most of his interactions, he’s been pretty good, if not a bit annoying and dude-bro-y. With good role models like Rose and Leon, he acts pretty respectably! With girls he wants to impress like Annalise, he can (eventually) be convinced to actually improve himself to be more appealing to them. He can become neutral good, or even lawful good with enough effort. It’s possible!

BUT. The flip-side is also possible. To put it bluntly, he’s one step removed from a full-blown incel, and I mean that in a completely literal fashion. This guy is one or two seedy internet forums away from losing his mind and trying to drive a truck into a crowd of women. It is THAT BAD. His sense of entitlement and desperation for anyone that will validate him makes him a prime target for radicalization, or even being directly used by evil people who will make him feel wanted.

In short, he’s the best Grunt anyone could hope to have. If you pay him with a sense of belonging, he will do ANYTHING you ask and subscribe to ANY ideology, no matter how fucked up.

Kouki: Lawful Good

Kouki’s as stereotypically Lawful Good as you can get. He is purely a pacifist, doesn’t eat meat (or consume animal products in modern verses like dairy), and probably would answer you literally stabbing him in the gut by threatening to raise his voice.

Like basically all of the guys listed above, his point of view came from a long life of abuse and neglect, but instead of getting jaded or angry with the world, he decided to make the conscience choice to live his life in a way that will never hurt anyone the way he was hurt in the past. He’s tied that philosophy with the “religion” he now lives his life by, and it won’t be changing any time soon.

There’s no way anyone could ever get him out of the “Good” category. The most you can hope for is convincing him that some laws are designed to hurt people and are thus unjust, resulting in a more neutral take. But even that’s going to be a struggle for you. This is a guy that lives and dies by his extremely strong moral compass.

“Doc”: Neutral Evil

This guy has no morals and is utterly self serving to the point of it being cancerous. I have him classified as Neutral Evil, because he does see the use in using the law to his advantage as a shield, when it suits him. But obviously the things he does isn’t ever going to be state sanctioned.

If given a choice, though, he’d be mostly aligned with the Lawful side than Chaotic. This guy absolutely LOVES twisting contracts and agreements to serve his needs. He finds the comfort that comes with having whatever you say backed up in ink very reassuring. That way if he ever does come down, at least he can drag his associates down with him.

Kyoko: True Neutral

While Kyoko’s morality is also variant based on the universe she’s in, it’s much less so than our friend Tobias. For the most part, she only sticks to the variations of Neutral and never strays too far to the extreme corners of LG/LE/CG/CE.

She is ultimately a self serving individual like Doc and Adrian, but unlike those two that are determined to twist the world to wring every drop out of enjoyment out of it before they drop dead, Kyoko’s mostly just trying to survive. She just exists in this space and is trying to get by as best as she can without raising a fuss or raising suspicions.

If that means a few people who saw too much maybe have to disappear, that’s too bad, but it’s the circle of life in a way. One being dies so another will live. And live, and live, and live, and live.

Kaneda: Chaotic Neutral

Kaneda’s kind of a surprising one for a lot of reasons, but I think how unstable his mood is in general makes a great case for Chaotic Neutral as opposed to True Neutral. Chaos is a large part of his life, as is the opposition to norms that he feels hold people back from their true potential. He always encourages people to be most true to themselves above all else, damn society.

He’s also commonly at odds with the law in many of his verses, but that has less to do with it -- unlike someone like Xavier, who’s made total anarchy his life’s mission. Kaneda’s opposition is mostly to societal norms and stuff like the gender binary and how one is allowed to express themselves.

That being said, Kaneda is pretty impressionable and is willing to do basically anything to prove himself worthy of being loved. Depending on who is influencing him, he can quite easily drift from Chaotic Good to even Chaotic Evil. (But Chaotic Evil is a bit of a heavier lift thanks to his general love of humanity.)

Touma: True Neutral

Touma is to True Neutral what Kouki is to Lawful Good. In fact, he might be even more rigid in his placement overall. He is the total opposite to Tobias, who will flip into another category at the drop of a hat.

Touma is almost militant in his desire and inclination to only look out for his own. He would do anything for his daughter and extended family as a whole -- no matter how cruel or sadistic. If it helps him in his goal to provide for his family, he’ll do it with no questions asked and no quibbles. And trust me when I say he’s done some fucked up shit in the past to achieve this end.

That being said, he doesn’t seek out such stuff, and would prefer to not have to do it at all. He has a working moral compass and knows what’s right and what’s wrong. It just ultimately doesn’t matter to him when the chips are on the table.

#headcanons: xavier #headcanons: tobias #headcanons: adrian #headcanons: kouki #headcanons: doc #headcanons: kaneda #headcanons: touma #ooc: deep dives #headcanons: kyoko

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vasylia · 4 years

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vasylia • the wheel of fortune skeleton • application • connections

age: thirty-five, appears twelve years younger

pronouns: she/her

status: a loyalist in search of stability; advisor-in-training and apprentice to the high priestess

abilities: necromancy, limited by her own inexperience

faceclaim: anya chalotra

tw: death, child death, murder, blood, self harm, disassociation

blood and marrow • personality types

zodiac sign: virgo / virgos are always paying attention to the smallest details and their deep sense of humanity makes them one of the most careful signs of the zodiac. their methodical approach to life ensures that nothing is left to chance, and although they are often tender, their heart might be closed for the outer world.

element: water / water people are emotional, intuitive, deeply creative, empathetic, spiritual and psychic. water allows people to emotionally connect with others. and yet, water people are so sensitive that they often have a hard time unplugging from life’s chaos. consequently, many water people suffer from addiction as they grapple for distraction from life’s pain. thus, water people tend to be secretive and private.

temperament: melancholic / the melancholy naturally wants to do things right, and is quality-oriented. melancholies are not trying to be right, they are driven to figure out what is right. they have a cautious, tentative response designed to reduce tension in an unfavourable environment. the melancholy’s second response is often to become aggressive to restore peace in an unfavourable situation. they influence their environment by adhering to the existing rules, and by doing things right according to predetermined (and accepted) standards.

moral alignment: true neutral / a neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. she doesn't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. most neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. such a character thinks of good as better than evil-after all, she would rather have good neighbours and rulers than evil ones. still, she's not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way.

enneagram: the investigator / fives are alert, insightful, and curious. they are able to concentrate and focus on developing complex ideas and skills. independent, innovative, and inventive, they can also become preoccupied with their thoughts and imaginary constructs. they become detached, yet high-strung and intense. they typically have problems with eccentricity, nihilism, and isolation.

mbti: intj, ‘the architect’ / an architect (intj) is a person with the introverted, intuitive, thinking, and judging personality traits. these thoughtful tacticians love perfecting the details of life, applying creativity and rationality to everything they do. their inner world is often a private, complex one.

soul type: the scholar / being so focused on information and its logical implications means that scholars are naturally introspective and contemplative. they like to have time alone to fully process their experiences and observations internally, before trying to articulate their thoughts.

tree type: willow / willow signs are bursting with potential, but have a tendency to hold themselves back out of fear. your powers of perception will ultimately allow your true nature to shine, and will lead you to success in life. willows pair well with birch and ivy.

bones and lungs • a genesis

i. the fool, upright innocence, new beginnings, free spirit

The first thing a child sees in its life is its mother, and you are no different. The first thing you know is her, penniless enough that your infanthood would have been nothing short of unremarkable but provided for enough that she could have kept you if she’d wanted to. She has had children before, and she’s felt the billowing warmth that childrearing lends her, but you are stealing something from her. Your mother cannot quite place the feeling, cannot understand what it is you’re doing to her, but when she holds you in her arms she feels her limbs growing heavier, her muscles deaden. You must be, she determines, a punishment - so she resolves to rid herself of you. More important than that, she resolves to make an offering of you. The woman makes the long, arduous journey from Tyrholm, averts road bandits and street beggars and pardoners swearing by religious forgeries; she pushes herself halfway across Markholm with only her conviction to drive her. She commits you to the Temple of the Undying, and this is something she wants known. She wants the great, bipartite deity to know that this largesse of hers is an immolation, a symbol of her devotion. In return, she would have the punishment lifted. And you never see your mother again.

The temple names you Vasylia, assuming the role of a strange, distant mother who plucks the word from between the stars. You have no surname and therefore no genesis, nothing to remind you where you come from and who you are. Of course, as you well know now, none of that matters. As soon as you pass the threshold of that sacred place, it forges an identity for you.

(Your heritage is a secret that tucks itself away from you, like a shadow that shies from the light. You are the result of a union between a travelling merchant and a beautiful, beautiful woman, and this is all your mother has to protect her in life. Those who covet beauty, who wish to steal it away and display it among their wares, are always equipped with a lie or two. The lie is this: he loves her, he does; devotedly, honestly, purely, and he wants her to join him. To travel with him over pale waves and into the cove of pirates. Perhaps he’d believed in that at first, but it ends as all things end; in fiction. He leaves her as all men leave her, with an enormous pouch of gold. Your mother settles in a village at the border of Volkan Forest. You do not live there long. You never learn your mother’s name. Her name is Estrid.)

Life at the Temple is, for the most part, simple. Dull, pedestrian, but simple. Abandoned, you are raised as one amongst many, a single child amidst a whole throng of neglected children. It quickly becomes clear to you that some wield magical abilities, shielded from a world which harshly forejudges them, and some arrive with nothing to them at all. Like you: not even a name. Some of them are sickly, a few of them are malnourished, and far too many of them are the reluctant offspring of poverty, charily offered to the Temple by parents who lament of their penury. But you are not sickly or malnourished or magical, even. You wail out in the dark of night for a mother who doesn’t want you, but which child here does not? At least at first, there is nothing particularly special about you. You are still a child waiting to grow into yourself, and, well, there is nothing unusual about that fact.

Your childhood is, in a word, unremarkable. The Temple does its best to inspire loyalty in the offspring yielded to them - you are, after all, an opportunity for life-long indoctrination. Your earliest days are structured by a conformity which they shake into your bones: the Temple teaches you of the wolves and the snakes and the annihilating body they make as one. On magic, their position is less clear. Messages are mixed. Necromancers are a chosen, sacred few. But the other magi are being punished, cursed for a cycle of blasphemy and adultery and theft and anything else they can conjure up. As with all children, you assume the first thing you hear as gospel, but as the years gallop past you, you find yourself cordoned off by a low drone. The Temple is not so united as it seems, and there are people who whisper in disagreement. You think you are beginning to notice the resentment growing around you, but you are still a child - you know nothing. You determine that it is safer to be ordinary.

You cannot quite be called pious, but you rise with the morning light. You work hard. You devote time to your prayers and you comply with the codes of silence which linger between them. You restock ink and parchment for the Clerics working sedulously at translation. You trim the rose bushes at the edge of the forest. You are untroublesome and, for the most part, amenable; shapeable. You offer a hand to help wherever it may be required, because that is what you’ve always been taught to do. You are nothing much like some of the other children, boisterous and ambitious, hungry for stories of politics and warfare. Hankering to feel the weight of a bronze rapier in their hands, to run their fingers through enemies’ blood and call it an act of cleansing. The Temple is not cruel, but it is cyclical, and the pattern is not enough - for them or for you. But you do as you’re told, your life moves in a progressive rhythm, because what else is there?

You have always needed a hand to guide you.

When life drifts in a sequence it all blurs into one, so you find solace in the small things. You revel in the sanctuary of the forest. Its trees keel into spirals, bent by the weight of their branches. You like the stillness of the air, the way that the birds settle on the branches so completely at peace - unaware of the eyes watching them. You learn that silence is not solitude, that the reticences observed by the Temple do not always bring you peace. In fact, they rarely ever bring you peace, and at times they have the tendency to strangle you. You marvel at the way the water refracts in the moonlight, bending with the shape of its brilliance. It moves furtively and secretly, as if beneath the surface there is buried a whole other world that it hopes to keep concealed. You are never the sort of girl with fantasies mirrored from the vellum of a fairytale book, and you never touch things so delicately that you look to be afraid of them. You would never call yourself a dreamer, but there’s an intensity to you which makes it hard for you to stop staring at things. There are only a couple of children in the Temple you ever feel particularly close to, and when you think back, they are the only things you feel are worth remembering here. Curled up on a stony ledge, watching a religious darkness fall over the ancient rock. Organising altars and scrubbing floorboards and observing silences with a dash of humour. You have never truly felt like you belong anywhere, except when you lay down in the grass or you sit on the cold stone and run your fingertips through the water, imagining that you are somewhere else. It makes this place feel a little less dull.

ii. the hierophant, upright education, knowledge, beliefs

It is perhaps no coincidence that it’s during your sixteenth Summertide that you first raise an animal from the dead, completely by accident. A butterfly, crushed beneath the weight of a snow which is only now beginning to thaw. You cannot describe what brought you to pick it up. Beauty? You have always looked beneath the surface. Macabre as the very idea of it may be, you cannot not help but take it into your hand. You feel its limp body balance in your palm like parchment: you want it to be beautiful again. And as if by magic, it shifts in your palm, it wakes. Half-amazed and half-afraid, you watch how its wings unfurl themselves and its body cracks and distorts itself back into shape. But you are overcome by something strange: the insect sits in the centre of your palm, learning about the world again, but if you were blind you wouldn’t know it. You can’t feel it there. By instinct you clasp your hands around it and bring it into the Temple and, perhaps foolishly, you show them what you have done.

The Temple determines that it is no coincidence that your gift for rebirth, the very echo of Summertide, should reveal itself now. It’s an ancient celebration of renaissance. Fate twists, and the Temple has two Necromancers already, devoted to the craft and resolved to educate you. Educate perhaps puts it generously: they test you, push you, assign you tasks to complete without any tangible goal in sight. They never teach you what it takes, what you must sacrifice, what it truly means to excavate that void between life and death. This is the truth of it: you have been chosen by the Undying Herself and this gift is yours to own, but as with all things we take, it demands sacrifice. A piece of you, snapped off from bone; it lingers there at your side. They teach you that you are different, you are special. The other magi can manipulate solid matter and regenerate limbs, but you are sacred. They will not see twenty-five years, but you? You can live for hundreds of years.

Your schooling begins small. Insects, mice, small woodland creatures. But it’s a demanding, exhausting process - still, you continue to work hard. When you’d brought back that butterfly on the third day of Summertide, it had seemed so easy. A case of simply wishing and being. But things are not so easy now. You find it difficult to pour that same longing into the creatures put down in front of you; you are more sophisticated, less candid. But you do as you’re told, make as many successes as you do failures, and for whatever end goal the Necromancers have in mind for you, you progress.

Then, as if you have not already experienced enough change, the world spins carelessly on its side. You are eighteen and you have been under the tutelage of the Necromancers for just under two years. You feel you are drifting away from the green beauty of that first instance, the first time you bartered with the universe and it chose to answer you. But you are still just a child and your teachers have lived for hundreds of years. Unfortunately, you learn that Necromancers are dangerous, they’re volatile, they’re lethal, and that includes you. It takes little more than the impetuosity of a boy sat next to you at dinnertime, for him to waggishly swipe the bread roll from your plate - as children are mischievously wont to do - for you to wreak tragedy. The action irritates you, infuriates you, even, because you have less patience for things now. You snatch the roll from his hands. Without warning, he collapses, body limp on the floor. You are puzzled at first, you’d scarcely touched him, but as the Brethren roll his body over on the stone, you realise what you have done. The boy is dead. The boy is dead, and you’re learning your emotions have consequences. But this you’ve forgotten. You’ve scrubbed it from your skin raw, as if that will absolve you.

Things are accelerating. You perform your lessons largely in isolation. You are kept away from the other children, particularly those who hope to take vows, because you are dangerous, you cannot be contained. Your tutors take the opportunity to teach you more diligently, more industriously. Your accomplishments are growing: frogs, small birds, rabbits. But the hours are slipping away and you don’t understand what it’s all for, bringing back forest animals contentedly buried beneath the moss. Nevertheless, you move forward. You think you are getting better at this. When you have lived for twenty years, they bring you live animals; they show you how to drain them, how to cleave to your youth. The work you are performing is an honour.

You have always needed a hand to guide you.

Something has changed in you. The forest recedes from you. You wake and you learn and you perform and you dream empty, hollow dreams in an unbroken cycle. More often than not you lie awake for hours, allowing your eyes to rest on a rotting mark in the corner of the ceiling. You smile still and you try to laugh, but as each chuckle worms its way up your throat you feel it strangle you in the process. Sometimes you cough up blood, thick and hard, and you stare at the red spot in confusion. One day, you catch your hand on a piece of shattered glass and feel nothing. You don’t even flinch. At the wound you simply stare and, out of curiosity perhaps, or a pointed desire to hurt at something, you pick up a shard of glass and feel the weight of it in your fingers. And with all the force you have, you burrow it into your flesh. That, you feel. You drop the glass, wincing, and a hot tear rolls down your cheek.

You lie in your bed and wish on a comet for somebody to steal you away from this place. You whisper it into existence. But in the morning you wake and everything is the same. A blur settles into your bones. Things are a cycle, so much more so than when your life had begun. But you know nothing else. You stay.

iii. the wheel of fortune, upright change, cycles, inevitable fate

In your life you have learned much. How to raise animals from the dead. How to canalise energy away from the living and into your bones. You have learned that things change, of course they do, but they also stay the same. For people like you, life motionlessly moves from one event to the next. You remember the day that your life had spun so carelessly on its axis once again with such precision that, at times, you are sure that you are back there. You think that you are back at the Temple, raising rabbits and drawing the lifeforce from dandelions. You think that the clouds are weeping into the earth with salted rain, and the chill of your salvation buries itself into you.

By now, you know she is not your deliverance. There is nothing holy in her but power, and how she revels in it. The woman alights on the Temple without a horse, without a thing to carry her here, and if you had ever been a foolish sort of girl you might have assumed she’d undertaken the journey on foot. But you have never been a fool. You are twenty-five years old. A solemn cold which seems to swell in her at once brings you a much-desired quiet and chills you to the bone. To your surprise, all bow to her. Cower from her. Even your teachers are beneath her. With purpose she pulls you aside, ungloves your hands and takes them in her own, and she promises you that the two of you are the same. She does not fear you, and you have no cause to fear her. You are cut from the same dust and made from the same bones - there’s divinity in that. Like you, she can raise the dead, and what’s more: she’s good at it. Perhaps for the first time in your life you are asked what it is that you want. You feel like the decision is yours. She offers you an ultimatum: remain here, raise rabbits and mice and crows, be nothing; or join her, learn the craft, study beneath her, become something. While you are torn between your desire to flee this place and a thick, breathless lump which lingers at the back of your throat unexplained, it is never really a question. It is an answer. You pack up everything you own: garments, mementos, fear and desire, all. You accept willingly, unthinkingly, blindly. You pass through the egress and step into a shimmering new world.

Even now, that is the only way you can think to describe this place. This new world you have chosen for yourself coruscates beneath the light as if in dance. It’s a world that winks like glitter - Castle Tyrholm is so unlike anything you’ve ever known. By now you are so accustomed to rough hems and the bland taste of food on your tongue that you have forgotten there was anything else. You only know things bland and bloodless, humble devotions. But here? Here, they dress lavishly. Here, they eat lavishly. Here, they live lavishly. You stand at the fortress’ great, impressive windows and you contentedly watch the way the pale waves lick at the black stone, the way the castle bends over the waves and balances on top of the rockline. It’s more than regal: it’s thunderous, luxurious, rich. Of course, you know a little better now. You know that glitter catches in the corner of your eye. It has the tendency to blind you, to force you to look at things between the sequins of a kaleidoscope, all twisted and torn out of shape.

You have been under The High Priestess’ tutelage for two years now, and you feel your life bisecting into two distinct worlds. You must reconcile yourself to that. Statesmanship has very little in common with religion, and unfortunately, that’s all you know. Religion is devotion, fidelity, constancy. Whatever fidelity you see before you has been rigorously shaped, re-wrought in the shadows for years, and that is the only constant here. Still, it does not shake you. Your first lesson is this: you must cut the history of yourself out into stone. You do. You become a silhouette which cleaves to your mentor’s side, a thing that can’t be shaken. Like a shadow you observe the way your mentor manoeuvres; the way she holds her tongue and the way she weaponises it; the way she plumes and crows and deceives as if she’s been doing it for a thousand years. You watch the way that King Septimus’ hands move with hers, shifting in mirrored gestures - like she has attached strings. You become an accepted prerequisite at her side, a creeping outline which follows her devotedly. Part of your status, you brush shoulders with some of the king’s most trusted advisors - you attend assemblies, convocations gathered in the throne-room. You are so far from home now; wherever your home is, wherever it was. You are beginning to learn the meaning of diplomacy: one keeps a knife permanently unsheathed beneath their cloak.

Your instructor resolves to fill in the gaps that the Temple left barren: you learn what you must give up for this gift, you learn of all the grief it has caused you. This is a magic you watch her lean into so deeply at times you think she’ll splinter apart - but, of course, she never has. Never will. This is a truth that lies uneasily in your stomach. It lies heavily on your lungs and it chokes you. You can feel your heart climbing up and down your windpipe - you aim to seize it in your hands, to still it, but you can only retch at it. You’ve lost count of all the creatures you’ve poured yourself into, and you wonder where all those pieces of you are now. The fading feeling of your bones makes sense now, at least; the universe is a glutton and it has been stealing from you. You never even knew the rules of the game.

The king’s physician brings you animals to practice upon. The High Priestess teaches you the most painless portions of yourself to sacrifice: you learn the things you need and the things you can go without. Your abilities are growing, and with that you feel the weight in your chest shift a little - things are becoming easier to swallow. You learn the importance of giving back: to creatures, to people, but also communities, dynasties. Yours are regular faces in the Farmlands which edge on Tyrholm. Here, you resurrect animals, livelihood; they are indebted to you both. One day, a farmer’s son slips from a ladder, cracks his skull open on the coarse ground. The High Priestess takes the opportunity to teach, to have you bring him back. But too much of you clings to the Temple, the way its cold was settling into your bones. The High Priestess’ dissatisfaction is evident. You’ve been studying beneath her for three years now, and still you have not raised a body. She wants you to look at this world without Necromancy directly in the eye: destruction, death, misery. You cast your eye down to the boy and swallow the lump growing in your throat. Grief. As painless as breathing, your teacher brings their son back. The world is better with Necromancers, she has resolved. Dutiful, devoted, you have resolved that as well.

You have always needed a hand to guide you.

As part of your schooling, you ride out with your mentor and Tyrholm’s great military army. To squash rebellion, to quell revolt. The two of you are never far from each other - you are a shadow clinging to a shadow. There’s something about the way that you both sit, regal and harrowing above your white horses, lingering like death at the rear of Septimus’ forces. You are a lethal sight, but your power is not enough. Not yet. You arch over the body of a fallen soldier, but something is stopping you. You try, you really try, but you fail. Half-alive, he blinks back at you. A lungful vibrates at the back of his throat. His chest rises and falls with air, but is nothing in his eye to suggest he recognises the figure bending over him. It is half a failure - but half a failure is still a failure. You have given him nothing human. As if flowing over water, your mentor dismounts her horse and puts an end to her experiment. She doesn’t look at you. You don’t look at you. Sometimes, you can’t bear to.

But your failures do not last forever. When you are thirty-two, you animate a body. At last. It has taken you seven years, seven long years of unlearning the Temple’s way, but at last, success. Of all the places you manage it, it is on the battlefield, and you are in your element. Surrounded by blood and warfare and death - ah, always death. You are getting better at this. At night, you rest your head down on your pillow and you dream. You dream of your hands, reaching out. The Undying God reaches back. You feel you are becoming one with Her.

iv. the high priestess, reversed repressed intuition, confusion, dissonance

You are a vault of fears, but you have spent these last ten years bent on throwing away the key. For the last decade you have been following your mentor indiscriminately, almost blindly, and while you are finally beginning to make progress, you are also beginning to feel that haze gather around your fingertips, weighing down your wrists. You feel yourself swallowing the sensation at times. You don’t like to close your eyes. If you do, you think you are back at the Temple, raising creatures injudiciously, feeling your soul taunt you in the air between you. A cold is settling into your bones again. Your dreams turn themselves inside out and empty themselves when you finally fall asleep, and when you wake in the morning you are confronted with a sense that your emotions have slipped out of you in the night. That you have slipped out of you in the night.

Your fingers pressed to rotting flesh, you decide that the bodies you have brought up in halves are warnings. As their eyes roll demonically back into their skull and the listlessness of their breath catches at the back of their throat, you cannot help but think that your half-failures are warning you. That this is what awaits you should you consider to amble down this narrow path. Not death, but instead life: long, death-defying, rotten life. A life of nullity stretches out in front of you, like a void that opens its black mouth and eats you raw. Impassibility is creeping into you, settling into the spaces between your bones and lungs. The taste of blood in your mouth has recently returned to you, though you only notice it when you can taste at all; you cannot determine whether being able to feel it flip thickly over your tongue brings you a sense of peace or horror. When you slip your rings over your fingers, heavy with all the ore you could never have afforded when you were young, you can’t feel them there. You feel ancient impressions dig their way into you.

Perhaps you have been foolish. You have been believing that carefully handpicking the parts of yourself to sacrifice can go on forever; that you will never feel the weight of your earliest years again. And while that’s true, you have been slicing off the most unforgiving parts of yourself and offering them up to the Undying God, you feel yourself recede from Her. They are determining that these pieces of you are not enough, and They would have you offer more. When you travel out with Septimus’ forces to quell revolts you feel eyes on you: The High Priestess’ eyes, impatient. In the battlefield you are anxious to stop your hands from trembling. Perhaps you can’t bear the pressure. Perhaps you can’t bear yourself. Your teacher is always left to clear up your mess, always left to do the brunt of the work, but she is never cruel about it. Sometimes you wish she was. Then, you might be better.

And yet, you are not all failure. In the last two months you have successfully resurrected five bodies, breathing and seeing and living, and that in itself is commendable. The High Priestess brings you to orphanages, and it is there that you set about your reanimations. While, like always, your mentor bears the brunt of the work, you manage to resurrect four bodies. Three girls, three children, and a boy who has been bound to these walls for too long. At Koldam, much to your own mystification, you bring back another. A Lieutenant, a real piece of chainmail in the king’s military armour. When his undead eyes finally settle upon your face, noticing the way that you lip quivers at your achievement, he breathes a sigh of relief. He looks at you as if you’re an angel, sent from the Undying God to rescue him. You are sent by Her, this you concede, but you are no angel.

Whispers of a coup have been present for as many years you have been beneath The High Priestess’ care, but they are thickening now - they are becoming more difficult to ignore. Still, you ignore them, as you must. You are not ready for Septimus to be toppled, you are not ready for the throne to keel over into the pale waves beneath the black rock. You don’t want to watch it drown, you don’t want to watch it to be torn apart like some; more than anything, you want it to stay put. Every time you squash a rebellion, every time a coup fails, you allow your heart to settle in your chest again. But it only lasts a moment, because treason is always being whispered, mutiny is always being accounted for. What you think of Septimus is irrelevant: you aren’t strong enough to fight for a place in whatever new world results from it. There’s still so much you can’t do, so much you don’t know if you want to do, and even now all you want is balance. It is a line you have toed your whole life and it has always got the better of you: religion and politics; life and death; permanence and impermanence; the girl you were and the girl you are becoming. You want the world to stop spinning. You want stability. You can’t know what you want if everything you know keeps changing.

You are only loosely beginning to learn the sort of vacancy you have inside you. Perhaps if you knew better, if you were better at knowing what you want, you would say: the world is creeping away from me, I am creeping away from me.

Do you still need a hand to guide you?

heart and soul • a making

METAMORPHOSIS: What she wants is stability. If she will live for centuries, she must have something to endure with her. Vasylia’s loyalty is very intricate. She doesn’t quite block out the throne’s transgressions in the same way that Temperance does, but there’s still a degree of selfishness to her fealty. She calls herself a Loyalist not because she believes Septimus is genuinely deserving of her love, but because her body cannot bear the instability. I’d like to see that shift very gradually, though. She can’t cling to this dream of stability forever, not when the path she’s chosen is so weathered by impermanence - and the dream will only become more impossible to uphold if Septimus grows in cruelty. I’d like her to realise that slowly. It begins small: she focuses her attention on those who bear the brunt of his mistreatment. I can see The Star, The Hermit or even The Hierophant factoring into this. And then it grows - whispers intensify. The king’s mistakes become impossible to ignore. Maybe he orders heads to be put on spikes on the castle barracks. Turncoats are beaten and hung as if crucified in the main hall. Equally, it could have nothing to do with violence at all. She may simply determine, like her mentor, that the throne doesn’t suit him. Either way, I’d like Vasylia to move with the developments of the game. She wouldn’t fight for Septimus, but she does tend to ignore whispers of coup. Right now, she is trying to balance the parts of herself she feels at war with; she can’t handle another one. Nevertheless, I want her to be forced to grapple with the fact that this is bigger than her and that she may have to act. I don’t know whether she’s likely to have confided in Vasylia of her intentions (depending on the player), but should the divergence become evident, questions of loyalty would certainly be pulled into the fore. Would she follow her mentor into revolt? There’s an opportunity here for conflict - but also for growth. Growing into the person The High Priestess wants them to be: willing to fight, to take, to reconcile yourself to your powers, hardened to the consequences. I want to see her really become a part of this war rather than hesitating at the edge of it.

NO MORE FALSE HEAVENS: The High Priestess never hesitates, she leans into this gift as deeply as her body is able without prying itself apart, and Vasylia believes that this has always been her way. The same can hardly be said for her, though. She is hesitant, at times she has misgivings, and the sight of a corpse almost always makes her tremble. The High Priestess has been guiding her for ten years now and in that time she’s discovered a lifetime’s worth of arcane knowledge, twice as much power as the Temple ever bequeathed her, but there is still so much she can’t do. What causes her to fail is hesitation, placing one foot in the art and one foot out of it. I suppose this is an alternative to plot #1, depending on which way things develop, but I’d like to see Vasylia turn away from The High Priestess. When she looks at her, at The Sun, she recognises what she might become. It is a fate she wishes to escape, and if she is truly committed to that, she may be forced to act. It’s no easy feat to kill a Necromancer, even one as wavering as herself, but severing ties with The High Priestess could breed disaster. She has always needed a hand to guide her in life, but it’d be fascinating to see her break away from that. The world opens its jaw and waits to swallow her whole, and The High Priestess is certain that without her guidance she’ll falter, but she needs to make herself more than what other people have made her. I’d like to develop her self-sufficiency, her willpower, but most importantly, I’d like to explore her desperation, to develop the recklessness which would no doubt begin to grow. Leaving The High Priestess’ tutelage is a make or break moment: and unless something considerable changes within her, it is likely to be the latter. Over time, she needs to determine whether she wants to be a Necromancer or a human-being. How far is she willing to go to excavate that small part of her, and is the act her genesis or her epilogue?

THE DARK MARK OF ME: As a Necromancer, she’s used to instilling at least a bit of apprehension in others. The Lovers’ eyes scan Vasylia’s skin for evidence of a pulse, a suggestion that, even now, she is alive. More importantly, though, The Emperor goes out of his way to make himself available to listen to her. Listen maybe isn’t the right word, to have his curiosity sated is probably more apt, and in moments of weakness, her secrets spill out of her like a river. He’s used to getting what he wants, and she will not stand in his way. But the very act of this is dangerous; it could breed conflict, consequences, even bring about Vasylia’s death (!?) should information fall into the wrong hands. I don’t think Vasylia has shared her hesitancy to continue down the path that The High Priestess has forged for her with her mentor - there’s no need to, it’s as easily distinguishable as ink spilled on skin - but there could be disastrous consequences should her concerns spill out. Not from The High Priestess, I don’t think, because I don’t see her as having an aim in mind to destroy Vasylia. Her resolve at least appears to be motivated by cutting away the thorns and making space for her prodigy to grow. Yet, Vasylia’s vulnerability is a weakness, and weaknesses can be exploited. While the dynamic between The Emperor and The Wheel of Fortune is… by far one of my favourite character dynamics you’ve written, perhaps The Emperor’s player would like to use this to his advantage in some way. The Emperor certainly isn’t The High Priestess’ first choice for the throne. So, I’d like to see these words come back to bite Vasylia, to further complicate her oscillation between this path or that. She’s no fool, but she by no means has the experience of her mentor. She studies underneath The High Priestess and lauds her propensity for manipulation and schemes, and while in her experience she’s picked up more than enough tricks, her hesitancy is weakness. She sacrifices her feelings and anxieties freely - because he coaxes it out of her, but also because she needs to purge. Over time, I’d like to see Vasylia’s actions breed consequences, over and over and over, to the point that she can’t run from them. She can only follow them blindly down a path she was always meant to.

SKIN AND TEETH: Maybe this is less of a personal plot point and more of a worldbuilding idea, but given that Necromancers have the ability to kill, I’d like Vasylia to dabble in that in the future. It’s something The High Priestess can do as second nature, as if she was born with the gift, and while Vasylia is better at drawing life into her than pouring herself into things, it’s not something she’s easily reconciled to. Still, I’d like to develop her skill here, figure out if it could be of use to The High Priestess or Septimus (because she serves the former first, the latter second). There’s an opportunity here to flesh out a dynamic between Vasylia and The Sun, who of course kills for a living, but I certainly think it’d be an irreversible path for her to walk down - one that, should she give herself over to it, solidifies her fate.

TRICK BOXES: If The High Priestess is the type to gather secrets in her plotting against Septimus, it could be interesting to have Vasylia drop by places such as The Rosewood Maiden in disguise. To gather secrets in a place where secrets are spilled like blood. She wouldn’t even need to disclose her plans to Vasylia if the player didn’t want her to, but I’d love an opportunity to branch out beyond the castle. Much of her life has been limited, either by the Temple or Castle Tyrholm, and it’d be interesting to feel her form an opinion on the ‘outside’ world; to get an idea of the sorts of people she’d be fleeing to should she leave The High Priestess’ care. Alternatively, it could be a good way to turn Vasylia away from her neutrality/loyalty and into the company of revolters.

A PLACE OUT OF MIND: Depending on how things shape up, I’d love to see Vasylia finally become an advisor. Perhaps not to the same degree as her mentor, but in some shape or form, I’d like to have her officially offer advice to the Crown. While The High Priestess’ intentions in extracting her from the Temple are, of course, ambiguous, it’s what she’s been training towards. What would make this even more interesting is: who will she be advisor to? To Septimus? Well, that spot is already taken by her mentor. The Emperor? Well, that depends whether his father can hold onto the throne until he dies. The Chariot? The World? Two vastly different options, but I suppose it depends which of them The High Priestess hopes to install on the throne. Vasylia is already quite content with the notion of serving The Emperor, and that could breed conflict, but it could also change.

WRITTEN IN THE FLESH OF US: While Vasylia is getting better at nominating the more sacrificable parts of herself every time she uses it, the sickness is spreading. She’s heard rumours, though. Rumours of a mage with the inexplicable ability to draw from two bodies of magic. I think The Moon could be a source of real fascination for Vasylia. If she fears anything, it’s that she’ll turn herself so irreversibly over to Necromancy that she loses the essence of who she is. Given that The Moon’s abilities lie in healing, I’d like Vasylia to investigate. If there is a possibility of regeneration, she wants it. It could be an opportunity to rehabilitate her self-image, to reconcile herself to this fate of hers, or even to break away from it - depending on what she discovers.

#d.#i literally just copied and pasted from my app BUT....#THIS WILL DO FOR NOW

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years

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some quick alignments for a few of my OCs! (I also considered the Palladium alignments, but thought they were a bit obscure.)

Tiashar: Neutral Good, veering towards Chaotic Good. She doesn’t really have any opinions on the rule of law or the necessity of absolute freedom, and doesn’t understand the abstractions as yet. She just goes with her gut and wants everyone to be happy and have dignity, and her principles are iron-clad.

Odina: Lawful Good, possibly Lawful Neutral with Good leanings depending on how you interpret her disinclination to go adventuring. She definitely believes in the value of a moral code and the rule of proper law, both personal and civic-wise. Her preference to stay home and mind her own business no matter what gives her a few Neutral dings.

Gritzgrotz: Chaotic Good. he’s worked as part of hordes to set worlds free, topple tyrants, and he has a view that ultimately, people alone can decide what’s right and wrong and don’t require a personal code.

Chopstop: Chaotic Good, in much the same way as Gritzgrotz (as they were also part of the same horde). She’s a firm believer that tyranny must always be fought, in whatever form, and that people are happiest when free.

Fixerup: Lawful Good. Not just because she is naturally inclined to eusocial ways of thinking, but she firmly believes that you must never break your word, your oath, or your bonds of fellowship; that if you do a bad thing for a good reason, you do it again for a bad one. Not even one slip up!

Cocoa Grace: Lawful Good! For context, she pulls a ‘I won’t turn my back on ANYONE who needs me!’ vibe, and considers it as a sort of transaction thing; she’s very much about debts and personal vows, and she considers it part of a universal arrangement to help others.

Now, for antagonistic OCs

Jord: Chaotic Neutral. She’s not malicious, but she is selfish, prone to either heroics if its fun and suits her needs, or villainy if it, again, is fun and suits her needs. She strictly avoids genuine malice, however.

Edhitha: True Neutral, with Lawful leanings. This may be a surprise, given her role thus far, but she’s not genuinely evil. She’s a mercenary, with no real loyalties beyond whoever employs her, but she views that as giving her word, and she’d NEVER break her word. She just gets... intense about rivalries.

Belladonna Parvus: Neutral Evil for the default version of her we see as a villain in Crossthicc, Lawful Neutral in the OC Storebox scenario. In the former, she is a proud citizen of the Commonwealth and all its cruelties, and she is experienced by now to be aware that there are alternatives and what they are doing is wrong, she just likes to hurt people and dominate things. ultimately she’d probably go with whatever provides her the most power; she has no real code or interest in individuals beyond herself. In the OC Storebox, this trait is excised in favor of her still being a patriot to an unspecified human-led society, and here, while she is too selfish to be truly moral, she’s not quite cruel enough to be truly evil.

...i wanted to do a whole ‘hero group contrasted by villain group’ dynamic, but i dont have enough villains on the regular to do that, while i DO have some villains, they need to be developed more, preferably the ones suggested and workshopped a while back.

#/#//#///#////#/////#twitchy!ocs

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jennywolfgal · 5 years

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Demonology: Succubus/Incubus

Succubi/Incubi (Daemon delenimentum) are a type of demon that lurks and hunts within human settlements like villages, towns, and cities. Origin/evolutionary history: This offshoot of the retrovirus-carrying species of cordyceps is specialized in operating in not only dark moist environments like most other types but also places that have little to no activities from other demons, and so places like human settlements are the perfect breeding grounds, and thus making them highly specialized at preying on humans and werecreatures. Despite them still being formidable predators to face in a one on one fight, they've evolved the ability to be skilled ambush predators that'll allure and seduce their prey. Their place of origin's been theorized to be either Southern Europe or the middle east, and diverged from other demons when colonization of humans and werecreatures really gained a solid foothold on the land, essentially becoming literal sleeper cells once they've gained a host. Physiology/biology Despite the different names of "succubus" and "incubus", they aren't really the male or female members of the species, but are rather two interchangeable forms of the same individual that can switch back and forth or even mix, being in an "intersex" or even "hermaphroditic" form, the latter form being their preferred "neutral" form. Succubi/Incubi, like all other demons, start off as a cloud of spore that is expelled from pods that form on the surfaces of gooey fungal masses that're either formed from the outer edges of Hell-zones or are regurgitated by other succubi/incubi that have collected enough of their own excess mass to let out. Unlike most other demons they're only capable of possessing sleeping hosts, and their host is their first prey as well due to them feeding on the production of serotonin and dopamine that they stimulate when the host/prey is asleep, giving them wet dreams, and very rarely can do such things when said host/prey is awake, but they do increase their libido. This gradual nightly feeding routine lasts for up to 2-5 weeks, and in the later weeks when they're accustomed to the host/prey's brain, they're able to manipulate it to induce increased sleepiness and thus have more time to continue to feed and spread, eventually encasing the entire brain in fungal mold, before then sprouting a pair of stems which will pierce and erupt through the fully fed-upon host's head, but they'll be numbed to it and feel the highest of euphorias in the stead of agony, and by this time the host's blood would've already turned dark green due to the sulfur atoms being mixed with the host's hemoglobin, just like with all other demons. Unlike within regular cordyceps and like with most other demons, this cranial eruption is nonlethal, and the host is usually barely conscious during the process, as fungal mold seals the wound like hot glue, before then slowly envelop over the host's head and body, which takes a week to finish. Once the host is encased in a form of thin cocoon-like membrane, the retrovirus will start molding and changing the host's form, the pinky toes will be absorbed as the rest get altered and gain talon-like growths and become suited for a more digitigrade posture, but with the big toes migrating high up to the heel before remaking contact to the ground, thus forming a sort of "high-heel" appearance, the hands also change into being taloned-like, save for keeping all five digits and the thumbs don't migrate backward. The eyes become suited for an ambush predatory with slits and can glow an alluring blue from fungi, and the ears become elongated, well-suited for hearing prey's heartbeats clearly from up to 69 ft. The more drastic changes during the metamorphosis are the extension of a prehensile tail-like tentacle, tentacles erupting from the back and splitting to for a wing-like structure, and a monstrous jaw, previous x-ray studies show no actual change to the tail vertebrae, save for some neurons between the vertebrae and tentacle being formed, connecting them. This pseudotail ends in a spade-shaped organ that's capable of opening up like a flower with 6 tiny brightly yellow stinging tentacles that contains a neurotoxin in a very similar manner as the tentacles found on jellyfish surrounding a hole in the middle of the tentacle. This pseudotail is used for maintaining extra balance much like a real tail, as well as conveying their emotions, but the major purposes for the tail includes using it as a means of incapacitating prey by having the smaller internal tentacles converge just barely out from the closed tip and inject the venom into the thigh region, preferably right in the femoral artery, which has a mild numbing effect along with a strong aphrodisiac property too as the arousal that it inflicts is crippling, and the tail can also engulf around a part of the prey, whether it be a breast, penis, or vagina, and then start performing a sucking motion to extract not only fluids but also the prey's lifeforce/energy as well, and even though they mostly use their mouths for that too, doing it with their pseudotails is not dissimilar to alcohol consumption via anally. The back tentacles are located right underneath the shoulder blades and split off into four tentacles branching out on each tentacle, and create a retractable membrane, thus forming a wing-like structure. These pseudowings are capable of expanding up to 19 ft in wingspan, enabling for good gliding and some poor form of flight, they're also able to release spores and are the main indicators for their health. The host's teeth all become sharp fangs, and the jaw's able to extend into a muzzle to take bigger and easier bites out of unsuspecting prey at a force of up to 389 psi, and the tongue becomes purple in color as well as long and semi-prehensile and contains retractable barbs, capable of ripping out their prey's own tongue or esophagus. They can also grow out black hair-like fuzz throughout their body, but they mostly just do it on their heads, unless their prey may prefer otherwise. The original gender of the host no longer matters and the Succubus/Incubus is able to flatten or expand their chest and change overall body shape at will, including having pseudo penises and vaginas, with the latter organ being able to suck up and store excess semen that doesn't get absorbed and once the efficient amount is collected within their pseudowombs over the many hunts (which is estimated to be around 2-6 tablespoons). The pseudopenis is also able to take in fluids but is normally used for injecting the collected semen into a female host, the collected semen takes a week or a couple of days less to get infected/contaminated, in which it'll gain a grey tint to it. Why they do this when they make more succubi/incubi via regurgitating excess fungal mass into a dark damp part of a settlement is far more nefarious, for the offsprings that gestate and get birthed by the uninfected female are [REDACTED] if it's a human female and a [REDACTED] if it's a female werecreature. Despite their polymorphic capabilities, they're actually quite mild, for they can't actually morph into whatever their prey desires the most in a sexual partner, no matter how they mold their shapes to be, you'd still see their pale red fungal visage, horns and all, which is why they passively produce pheromones from their "skin" which act as a strong cognitiohazard, making prey and bystanders think they're looking at just a normal attractive person, this of coarse won't effect photography or film, and thus showing their true form through them. Their strength varies depending on how well-fed they are. The strongest a succubus/incubus got, thanks to being spoiled with a plethora of 53 willing meals The Order set up for them and the feedings lasted for a month with only 3 fatalities and 27 injuries, was able to lift around 4 and a half-tons and was able to run and fly at a top speed of 50 mph. Behavior: Unlike many other demons that have fully taken over their hosts, succubi/incubi retain sapience as it's still a greatly important feature to keep as they dwell and hunt within civilization. They're highly sensual, lustful, and predatory in their mannerisms which they'll use to their advantages in seducing prey. They're also quite untrustworthy, and what little of a moral compass can be easily swayed with the offerings of a meal, tiny shreds of power, shiny objects, revenge, or all of the above. Their favored hunting grounds are places like brothels, strip clubs, sidewalks in lowly-populated streets, parks, alleyways, etc. For most of the time during feedings, succubi/incubi try to keep each person they feed on tired and weak but alive and capable of mobility in a couple of hours after the ordeals, but prolonged exposure will cause health deterioration and, if continued, death. While it differs depending on how much the succubus/incubus drains, frequent feedings on one person for 3 months will bring certain death. No matter what form of life they make for themselves within society, their natural instincts will always ultimately overwhelm them and will make them go into dark and damp areas to form the fungal pods and/or find a female host to use as an incubator for producing [REDACTED] or [REDACTED]. Weaknesses/termination methods: Aside from always showing their true self within film and photography, they also can starve to death if they haven't fed for about 2 months or so. Surprisingly, despite their formidable abilities and being demons, it's actually quite easy to wound and kill one with just conventional weaponry, although they'll still react violently to silver, iron, and salt. However, if they're either well-fed or would happen to feed after not getting killed by the initial assault, they can heal up fairly quickly from most trauma, and unless they're starving, will be capable of limping off from normally fatal wounds, like a shotgun to the chest. The best means of terminating a specimen in a quick and clean manner is through methods like decapitation, severe head trauma, sudden and grievous bodily trauma like from bullets (approximately 10 shots into the body from a 9mm has shown to be quite efficient) or explosives, or a simple stab from an iron or silver blade. Containment/handling procedures: The common containment cell for succubi/incubi is a dimly-lit 15x10 bedroom with a two-person bed, the subject is permitted to be given trinkets to keep like weekly meals, miscellaneous shiny objects, porn mags, The Kamasutra, sex toys, and BDSM gear. There're also bedrooms that are 3 times the size of regular ones which contain a king-sized bed and are used to provide for orgies and to give them some more power/authority should they be well-behaved. A couple of android units are sanctioned to be guarding these rooms, armed with shotguns loaded with rock salt, and several small stealth cameras are placed around the insides of the rooms to monitor the subject(s). Once a subject's collected enough mass or semen they are to be either escorted to a 9 ft round dark and humid chamber to regurgitate the excess mass, after which will be air-sealed shut after they've finished, or be brought a willing female to inseminate the infected seed into, both the fungal mass and the woman will each be safely monitored 24/7. All subjects are to wear metal collars that contain antimony and have four bolt eyes on them for chains and/or leashes, which are to be placed immediately upon the subject's capture. An offering of chalices or bowls filled with sexual fluids like semen (which will put them in an intoxicated state, the warmer the better for more potent intoxication) and presenting yourself as no threat will placate them and make them well-suited for safe and easy transportation out from settlements and into facilities. Aggressively dangerous specimens are to be neutralized via injections by darts or syringes filled with sexual fluids, which are luckily just as effective as the offerings. The means of "domesticating" (these creatures CAN'T fully become passive and trustworthy, so never really let your guard down around them, no matter how tamed and loving they may act, they can still be deadly even when intoxicated, albeit rarely) a succubus/incubus involves occasional but indirect feedings through masturbation and ejaculating on their faces for about a month or so. Direct contact of genitalia is ill-advised, as the most common thoughts of a captive subject during the first week or two definitely would be to drain and devourer their would-be master/mistress and get their freedom. When wishing to get more intimate and engage in more physical contact with them, be sure to have them pleasure you manually and keep your genitals out from the reach of their mouth and hips, as well as keep an eye on their tail and wing-like tentacles. Aside from feeding them, providing them with items of interest is advised as such things will keep them feeling intrigued and comfortable as they settle into their new life. During the first week of the next month after getting used to each other, engaging in oral sex is recommended to try out at least once. When oral sex is performed it's important to keep them firmly under you and settled in between your legs, and to tug on their leash on occasion to remind them of your place above them, so that they may be unable to drain any life from you as they're struggling to breath, but thankfully they don't really need to breathe in order to get healthy doses of oxygen, and as they'll still get to feed on the sexual fluids during your climax, so it's a win-win at the end of it. Eventually, anal and genital sex with them will be possible, as they'd learn how to fuck without draining you, to both of your surprises, and can go off on just a few ounces of your life for a couple of months or a few more. When spent but they still hunger for sex, it's best to keep sex toys or even another person to keep them occupied nearby, least they end up killing you in a sudden and spiteful rage. Art is by www.deviantart.com/ramul and was colored in by RickWhitetiger on Discord.

#Trail of Beasts #cryptid #demon #demonology #retrovirus #fungus #cordyceps #speculative evolution #speculative biology #tentacles

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lmonsour · 4 years

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( sarah gadon, 30, cisfemale, she/her ) Have you seen LEMON BAILEY around ? I hear they’re a PHILANTHROPIST (WANNABE VIGILANTE) who can sometimes be DOGMATIC & PHARISAICAL. But I also heard they can be INTREPID & CONVIVIAL if you catch them on a good day. They’re usually hanging around UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO in their spare time. I sure hope they’re alright !

howdy!! helloooooo!! I’m so pumped for this roleplay!! I’m hannah and I live in the central timezone! 24 and ready to explore!! Nyway, hit me up for plots!! lets get rowdy.

TW: MURDER, PARRICIDE

DOGMATIC: inclined to lay down principles as indisputably true. PHARISAICAL: hypocritically self-righteous and condemnatory. INTREPID: resolutely fearless; dauntless. CONVIVIAL: cheerful and friendly; jovial.

pinterest (TW: blood, teeth, knives, guns)

whispers batman

anyway

lemon was born to some wealthy, powerful parents! like I’m talking –– had their own estate, their name was printed on everything –– rich. they were old money based out of orange county, ca. never needed nor wanted for anything growing up, except maybe some attention. as the problem often lies for children of affluent families, affection was hard to come by in the bailey household. sure, they could pretend all they liked in front of others, but truly ––– lemon was a lonely, unloved child.

she had no siblings and was home-schooled with a hired tutor, so ultimately the girl had quite the isolated upbringing. not being socialized with children her own age, lemon became... a strange child.

the tutor, on numerous occasions, was left baffled by the girl’s behavior. on several occasions, the older woman had recommend to her parents that the young girl attend therapy. the baileys, ever concentrated on their public appearance, got rid of the tutor, not wanting the world to know that their “perfect” princess was broken. and with the only person who truly cared out of her life, lemon continued on the path of solitude.

college was quite the wake up call. lemon moved away to study at university of southern california. with the minimal knowledge on making friends and acquaintances that she had, the girl struggled her first semester. that spring, she decided to rush as the school was big on greek life. with rich parents and a pretty face, she was quickly recruited into a sorority. lemon would study her sisters and learn to become more of a charming and charismatic person. it was all an act, of course. fake it till you make it, right?

she met brandon at a swap one evening. she was immediately besotted with him. no person, male or female, had given her such attention before!! she felt fulfilled by the other and grew obsessed with the other, craving his presence like a drug. it was he who convinced her that her family had wronged her. although they had given her everything, she would never be normal because of the lack of parental nurturing. the young woman was easy to manipulate and soon she was wrapped around the man’s finger. she’d do anything he ask. even kill her own parents.

it had been easier than lemon could have ever imagined. the killing had been the simplest part of all the plan. and deep down inside, she liked it. getting rid of the evidence and thus, the bodies had been the complicated part of the plan. in fact, it didn’t pan out like brandon had planned and was caught with the bodies in his trunk. the young man tried to take the girl down with him, but the family lawyer was a sly one and managed to get lemon out. she HADN’T been involved, after all, despite what brandon (the liar) said.

she was the last living bailey, so she inherited everything. the new benefactor of the estate and now billionaire at the age of twenty. but lemon no longer wanted an easy life, not the one she was expected to have, at least. she wanted to make a difference, wanted to help. and in her twisted little head, becoming a vigilante was the answer.

for years after, she trained and trained and trained. hired the best to teach her everything from guns to hand-to-hand combat to seduction.

her marks tend to be men who have wronged women in some way or another. she doesn’t want other girls to be in the position she was in. but also, wants a hand in the punishment and retribution. she has a weird sense of justice?? like sometimes she goes way too far for simple things?? tends to be very hypocritical because she believes that while she is not spotless in her sins, that she’s the only one capable of bringing righteousness back to this world.

she’s currently in chicago because one of the professors at the university has picked up quite the record of avoiding consequences. many girls have come forward, claiming misconduct from the man, but again and again, he manages to get away with only a slap on the wrist. not her first case and certainly not her last, the bailey woman moved east to fix this wrong, all in the guise of the new opening of a charity!!

her hair’s bleached!! almost no color to it! but her natural color is a darker shade of blonde so she really has to stay on top of it. a way to tell if she’s doing well is to judge the roots of her hair. if she’s out “on the job”, her hair is in tight twin french braids. always, without fail. its a superstitious thing for her. but nonetheless, stay out of her way as this particular hairstyle is a bad omen of whats to come or has already been done.

likes to use knives but mostly stick to guns with silencers or a sniper rifle!!

TLDR: she’s basically trying to be batman, but has too much harley quinn in her to ever be truly good. and by good, I do mean both morally and whether she’s actually suited for this line of work. she’s a bit too unhinged to be trusted. a chaotic neutral, if you will. her story was highly publicized so your muse may recognize her but for the most part, she’s known for her charity work, her rubbing elbows with celebrities and politicians.

#&&intro.#&&about.#crimson.intro #this is absolute garbage but I finally have it uuuuup

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zrw · 5 years

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Letter 1.0.1

I'm writing this to you on Thanksgiving Day, it felt fitting despite us not celebrating it, so instead I will be wishing you a merry Christmas. A tad bit older photo added for depth, immersion and personalization while reading. None of it is scripted in any way, the idea is to make me emotional & it will all be written on the go. Make sure you read it all, and you will never hear from me again. Please do respect my terms also and do not under any circumstances share this letter or it's contents with anybody. Remember, only you will truly understand the context and true meaning of this letter. Quite likely it will change your whole perspective on me, but it won't matter anymore. If you think you're the bigger victim and believe you've had it worse than me & that you've suffered more and dealt with more... well, a bit of a free of charge reality check for you... you're dead wrong. I'm the one who is being tormented maniacally and brutally every other night, to the point where I simply don't know what's real and what's not. Scared of living life, kind of. It's clear to all I made a mistake last year. No weasely lies and fabrications in this letter, this is the Me you've longed to finally see. Anxiety through the roof, among other things/issues. I'm deeply sorry, Annie. Bless you & bless me, more importantly. Please tell me you forgive me. Do not dare to share any of the contents of this said letter with anybody, be a grown-up and act like one for once, you live all alone, now try and impress me, it's far too personal, a glimpse of me, and meant for you alone. Only you will understand the context of this letter. You're not exactly the golden carrot of the yield, but this one should be fairly easy to follow - Keep it to yourself, and stay quiet about this, I'm begging you. You're not legally obligated to do anything, this is your life and you make the rules, you're a good and kind gal, you're by no means a bloodthirsty vampire like some of them, and as I made very clear it wouldn't be fruitful & would shortly after turn into a proper clown fiesta, and possibly a meaningless waste of government resources. You wouldn't gain anything at all from this. I was going to say let me know if you need anything, and I'll gladly donate a fair sum to your PayPal, and it kind of made me realize that is something that would be morally and legally wrong of me to do, it wouldn't feel like a donation, it would almost feel like I'm trying to buy you and win you over, after causing this much pain to your heart, which I deeply regret. (I'll pay for your nsfw future cosplays maybe? Jkjk, leave that avenue to the twonks who'd actually find pleasure in doing that.) I don't donate much anyways online, if I'd donate it'd have to be an actual animal charity, I feel like when people think of charity they instantly think of like some Cancer Foundation or elderly/orphan fund, not that those are not fair causes, it's just that some dying/sick animals really need our support too, and they're just as worthy. After this i'm doing my own thing & staying away from you, promise. I'm a great citizen, mind my own business and never cause trouble. I just needed for my own sake to send something meaningful and pure your way. Everything that you will see here comes from the heart & I will do my best to be as honest as humanly possible. Whenever I begin working on these long 50,000 word essays I always tend to fear that I forget something crucial or run out of time, so let's hope it doesn't happen this time around. The writer usually spends 10 times the time and effort the reader does, so please do sit down, get comfy, and please read all of this letter. This is going on your SC and Tumblr & will be deleted once the timer on my stream deck reaches zero, you have a tendency to take photos and eventually show them to outsiders, this will ensure it's a one-off, and for your eyes only. It is mainly to apologize to you, among other things. To make you realize that in just 3 years time I'll be completely "reformed", as they say. If you must know "breaking the law" to say sorry could be considered as... noble, in most countries at least. Without a doubt in my mind they'd love for us to bury the hatchet and shake hands, but after this "letter" to you I am actually done with you altogether, and you'll not be hearing from me ever again... unless fate says otherwise. Do remember that this and me apologizing to you for being an awful male, this was mostly done so I can live, function and mentally function like a normal human being again, I will get to that later on in the letter, all you should know now is that it was more of a ME thing, and less of a YOU thing, if that makes sense. Needless to say I have 8 VPNs total with unlimited data running on all of my systems including 2 iPads, laptops, and even phones, to ensure that my IP is impossible to find and non-existent. Just a quick pitch, you could've used common sense to figure that one out yourself. Naturally somebody as wealthy as me would be untouchable, at least in the virtual world, where everything is simple and made easy. I am quite clever, yes, yes I am indeed. But I would not use it for evil deeds, deep inside I am a shockingly kind and nice guy. Oh, you were looking for a bad boy? We can talk, my dear, you know full well that I'd be/become anything for you. No candlelit dinners so I can compliment your cheekbones? You have kept your eyes open, and tonight your knowledge of me is getting greater and greater. You could write a book about us. It almost feels like deja-vu, I've been here studying and doing research on you, now I'm giving you the sheer opportunity to do the same. And 4 years after first talking to you online (in 2014), I, I touched your cat's black fluffy tail once, and catbug, she ran right away, it almost looked like she did a tiny leap forward before running. Yes, it was her 100%. I'm a shining star, just waiting to unlock my full potential, it will happen when the right time comes, you can never rush such things. My financial status would only indicate I have great things waiting for me and a brimming bright future ahead of me, should I play all my cards right, I do adore graveyards, but there is no reason at all why I should perish in the next 5-15 years. I can only hope that you're smart enough to not mention any of this to your mom, I realize you two are close, but being a grown-up means you know what to mention to somebody and what is better left unsaid. Wiser to let this one go and keep it to yourself, no need to waste government resources, and do understand that being fortunate and getting me potentially taken to a mental asylum for 3 weeks would not benefit you in the slightest, I've made it very clear that I don't associate myself with social outcasts, and we of course are done for good after this bit, so let's make it count. Being respectful is calling you a lady even though I full well know it's a girl in sheep's clothing I've been dealing with, hard to tame, always needs to have it her way, borderline blunt at times.. how come Annie the girl does not have a feminine soul, a bit odd, perhaps I do rest my case. You certainly are special, as your mom would say, she means you're not like the other girls. You're way different & not necessarily in a good way. Wanted you & Nora for the experience... Do find you both quite boring, even on the dating spectrum, she's the snappy one, you're the calm one. Will surely do better in the future. As far as I go... I'm your little ghost. I'm a spirit, roughly 500 years ago people like me were considered as and called witches, simply since we were ahead of our time. As you know there are good and bad spirits, I would stand somewhere in the middle as a classic inbetweener I've always been, casually swaying towards either or, but ultimately staying put in the middle. Some days I hate you, other days I love you... Yet here I am ending this "letter" to you with the words "I Love You", and perhaps "Muah" on top of that should I feel classy enough, as always, on the cheek, one final time. Do remember that I will always remain near you & overseer your doings, we don't need to interact, in fact it would be silly to think we can't co-exist in eachother's hearts. When you get the strange feeling that you can't find the explanation for, perhaps it's just me, and nothing more. It's been a sheer clown fiesta witnessing the names and things you've called me thus far. What's new, right? At the very least you don't take me for a joke anymore, which is wise of you, since I'm not. The casual 21st century term "stalker" simply insults me. Even somebody with as little intellect as you would know that stalkers are for years, spirits are for lifetime. I'm nothing less than a S-P-I-R-I-T, one with high capability & intellectual intelligence. I've never commented on your idiocy or your weird friends (90% of them are weird), I'm awfully passive and neutral. I've never insulted/talked-down-on the soyboys, e-slags, pre-mature losers, weebs, memers, or entitled punks you interact with every now and then. No point including the 16-21 year old boys and girls in that category, as I understand how these underage and barely of age children follow you, and you see yourself as their "mama" and friend, not strange in the slightest, not the harvest of living inside of a box for the majority of your life, when fantasy is taking over, sis. Those kids are the only community you have left... surely it would be cruel to let them off the hook, you can't let them go, some of them still see you as a role model! ~ I suppose you could say I'm on a whole different level, and people like me tend to not notice people who are "less". But good luck to them, perhaps some day they too will get themselves out of their holes and start moving towards things that actually matter. Speaking of which... God bless Great Britain if you actually end up scoring an actual decently paying job after all your studies. I would donate a fair few braincells to you... If I didn't have such a bright future ahead of me. In a universe where employers and companies actually did background checks on people before hiring, a silly bean like you would never score anything worthwhile. Personal assistant for a single individual would probably be your peak. Back to me... I am a millionaire, as you expected, seeing as how doors just open and close for me and my kind. I never worked even a day for what I have, but the people before me certainly did. Even more wealthy now in fact, as of last year, now that my professor and casual alcoholic of a grandpa is finally under ground, he was respected by many, but his lifestyle choices were hilariously fractured. See? We (are) similar, kind of. Ah, how I hate drinking and alcohol, I literally drink only twice a year and always feel guilty after, I hate people that consume alcohol in the spirit of the party at clubs or live concerts, and those who tend to constantly drown their sorrow and unhappiness into the bottle. I adore a good coffee and tea though. Living a promising life of luxury, hence the 3 years I will take to improve myself, improve my body to the maximum for the sex appeal and quality of life, get your name 'Annie' with a mini thorny rose underneath tattoo'd on my left arm, so I can take you to places and talk to you, enjoy your company & so I would never forget you (not that there is a chance in hell I'd actually ever do, of course, hahaha.), dye my hair pale/pastel color, purple in 2020, letting it heavily fade to soft pink, After that focus on the pastel spectrum of colors, re-do my driver's license, own a 40k car, but have not driven anything in 3-4 years, begin buying land and potentially own more land, farmhouses, households, countryside villas and mansions than some of the more wealthier businessmen in my area; as you can tell "owning" things & writing are two big passions of mine, the latter for expressing myself and influencing others, and so is real estate, country and marketing to an extent, legally change my first name to something sleek such as Jed, Jed Nei... or you know whatever else that feels unique and not-so-common; pick a powerful name that people will remember (and fear, jkjk), basically get my life on the line/on the rails and get a woman who will massage my strong pectorals with oil every Sunday morning only to ensure I will be more than ready to take on the next week. I adore romance, but still feel that death is the most romantic thing out there. Now of course she could cook for me just fine, but i'd actually really want to taste something you've cooked, as long as you do the cooking with just an apron on and absolutely nothing underneath. Oh Annie, unlocking your true potential would be a really easy task for me. You like cherry blossoms, I on the other hand like 400 year old oak trees. However our worlds could of collided & you could of been my sweetheart under the bright sun and moon. Currently own 2 countryside 2 floor homes and plenty of actual land around them, looking to expand in the future of course. Imagine leaving your silly big city life behind. Imagine laying there (on a hill) naked on the grass in the middle of the day, or relaxing in the bikini, depending how confident you are with your own body, and breast size, I also would not be totally satisfied if mine looked so "below average", but god does your bottom/bum make up for it. Loads of flowers that I can gather and give you, or put in your hair, plenty of forests nearby perfect for mushroom picking, hiking or picnics, loads of plants, fruit bushes, ponds, fruit trees, acorn trees ideal for climbing, farmland, greenhouse, ponds big enough for swimming, cyan blue skies large and wide enough for any balloon or kite you may want to play around with. Or if that’s not entirely your cup of tea then we can plan our big vacation to the Canary Islands in Spain, whatever you like, as long as you stay with me forever. You're a sweet creature and I'm certain we could of started something unique & exciting together, but that's all gone now, i'm still certain that I could of loved you right and shown you extreme passion, to go to bed with you and make you feel happy, loved & excited for the next day, our next day together in paradise. This is not a fantasy tale/dream, this could of potentially been our reality, assuming I would accomplish all my goals, and you willing to leave your current life for me. But why dwell on what could of been, I will never feed you fresh strawberries straight from the greenhouse, I will never "own" you, you will never be my girl, my companion, my life's purpose. I see now why I felt so heavily against friendship with you... being your friend considering the things I had planned for us, that would only lead to romance and love, that friendship would be over so quick you could not even call it one. Oh, and, I can be very sensual and passionate at times. And possibly start a IRL vlogging channel on Youtube in 3 years time, just to influence & motivate others and to portray my lifelong journey to greatness with the dozen obstacles I had to face and overcome along the way, making it all even more bittersweet, especially the main final goal, which if you can recall is to become the biggest standalone landowner/businessman in my area. Maybe you'll randomly stumble across the channel one day & wonder what could of been & what you missed out on, not only that but you'd also visually see the beautiful landscape and things I talked about earlier. Oh and I'll definitely purchase at least one or two more expensive cars, driving around with just one specific car all the time, obviously being somebody who clearly is able to afford another one, it feels kind of lame. P.S I've never ever actually been obsessed with you. You were just a girl I liked because of a few key factors/reasons. Plus we seemingly have dozens of things in common.And we have reached the part where I'll try and explain why writing this was needed for me, and my mentality; Are you a demon baby/girl? If not keep reading and don't even think about showing this letter to anybody else. If you are however... Come with me & with the assistance of our genitals let's try and produce a demon child. A bit NSFW, but we're 25 and nobody else is going to see this (Right? Good gal.), so I'd so-so-so take you raw on the floor in every single position imaginable, your front hole would naturally be so loose afterwards that no guy would want to or feel comfortable with doing it with you anymore. White stuff would go in both 'A' and 'V' holes several times to ensure pregnancy is triggered. Jeez, having and making a baby with you would be so unbelievably sexy. Anyways, back on the topic we go, so me and my issues I've been dealing it... I mentioned it at the start & will do it again... If you think you've been affected by this or you've had it worse/suffered more than me... Well think again. Ever since earlier this year I've had horrible anxiety, hearing unnatural beings and things talk to me and gradually hearing their voices around me. I don't think I'm losing my mind or going crazy, but this does all feel very real to me. Always closing my door at night, not even trying to, it just comes naturally to me to do it, much like a habit. I fell in a deep pit, and I'm so sorry to you, I really do apologize, my dear. My darling Annie. now my situation is being abused and i'm being taken advantage of by these demons/ghosts/shades, I'm now shaking for no reason, it's not even cold in here, it's awful. Psst, I'm not a monster. Imagine being too messed up mentally to go to the grocery store/supermarket alone & having to call your mom and tell her to bring you some food and supplies - telling her that the reason for it is that you have a massive headache right now & that you're unable to get out of bed. Yikes, that does sound bad. And to make it even worse, it has happened more than once. I feel like I need a 12-hour nap after sending this letter your way, feel a bit odd all of sudden, please read it all, it's a glimpse of me and my story and life. I can only hope that I will feel better and be able to go back to living my life like a normal human being now that I threw everything out there and apologized to you. I will leave you be now. It's a peek into my life essentially. I really do adore your tight little pale pink p*ssy, and Nora’s all the same, you gals are & stay important to me. Please do respect my terms and do not under any circumstances share this letter or it's contents with anybody. All the best to you and your family. I Love You. Muah. 💞

#YouCouldWriteABookAboutUs #101101101101101101101101101 #CodePalePink #EasterEggCity

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