#cw derogatory tattoo
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This Death That I Chose: Chapter 2
1613 words
CW: fear, panic, fever, bad caretaker, derogatory tattoo, pet whump
First, Masterlist, Next
~~~
Tao sat in Faye’s “waiting room,” a once-upon-a-time mudroom, long since cleared of the previous residents’ boots and jackets. He kept his arms crossed tightly to keep from fidgeting them, but that left his knee to bounce instead.
On either side of him sat Vic and Becca. Becca had understood quickly, of course. She had taken a single scan through the Conservatorium report before nodding up at him, her eyes dark and fierce. Vic took a little more explaining, but once Tao got over his squeamishness and uttered the phrase sexual slavery Vic had joined them in sitting solemnly, silently, waiting for Faye’s verdict.
When Faye finally did appear, stepping out into the waiting room with a grim expression, the three of them watched her with bated breath. She kept them on their toes a moment longer before she spoke, wiping her hands on a flowery dish towel.
“Whoever released him from the Conservatory was a fucking idiot,” she announced, “He needs to be on IV antibiotics for a couple more days. Back to pills after that. A couple weeks and he’ll be fine. I mean, his arm will still be broken, but… relatively speaking.”
“Thank you, Faye,” Becca said, “I don’t know what we would do without you.”
“Aw, shucks.” Faye’s tone was sarcastic, but the praise brought a slanting smile to her face.
“When can we talk to him?”
“He’s still pretty delirious, but that might actually make things easier if you want to try talking to him now.”
“That feels…” Becca shook her head, “Dishonest, I don’t know if I want to do that.”
“Screw honesty,” Tao stood, “I want to know what this guy’s deal is, and I don’t think he’ll tell us if he has a choice.”
“Tao…” Becca warned.
“You heard him in the interrogation room!” Tao argued, “He thinks his presence is putting us in danger. He isn’t going to tell us anything about himself, not willingly. What if he’s from nearby? What if he has family and friends that are still alive? What if they’re here?”
“The chances of that are so slim,” Becca pointed out.
“I’m with Tao,” Vic cut in, “We should use this.”
“Faye?” Becca looked to the doctor for her opinion.
Faye shrugged. “I’m a surgeon, not a shrink. As far as I know, talking to him won’t kill him, so,” she stepped aside and waved to the door behind her, “Have at it.”
~~~
Lark lay in a bedroom upstairs. Faye had removed his shoes, but nothing else, and covered his legs with a light blanket. To avoid overwhelming him, Becca and Vic agreed to wait outside the open door while Tao talked to Lark. He approached slowly, and Lark stirred at the sound of his footsteps. He opened glassy, feverish eyes and they rolled around the room before finding Tao sitting at his bedside. He stared at Tao, his expression blank.
“Hey,” said Tao softly, “What’s your name?”
“Lark,” the young man whispered.
“Okay,” Tao decided to test a theory, “What’s your real name?”
Lark inhaled and his mouth opened and closed, about to form some word – before he stopped and frowned a little.
“Lark,” he echoed.
Almost.
“Where are you from?” Tao took a different approach.
“The Capital.”
“Where did you live before that?”
Lark’s eyes drifted closed.
“No, no before.”
The Capital was only eight years old. ‘No before’ was impossible. Tao sighed. He had another idea. A cruel one.
“Lark,” he deepened his voice, and picked up just a hint of a southern accent. Imitating the voice came disturbingly easily, given how many propaganda videos he’d seen. “It’s me. The Commander.”
Lark’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Tao, and he sucked in a breath.
“Yessir, m’sorry sir,” he mumbled.
Tao’s heart twinged, but he continued.
“I need you to tell me where you lived before you came to the Capital, Lark.”
Lark’s breath came fast, and his good hand twitched where it lay on the covers.
“Poverty. Ruins. You saved me,” he whispered fervently.
“Tell me what your name was back then.”
“Didn’t have one.”
Tao frowned.
“What made me bring you to the Capital?”
“Your grace,” a weak, crazed smile crept onto Lark’s face, “Your gen… generosity, your kindness…”
Tao sat back. Propaganda. It was all propaganda. He needed to dig deeper. He stood up and leaned over Lark.
“We’re going to play a little game.’
Lark’s devoted smile quickly dissolved into a twist of fear, but Tao continued, convinced his idea would work.
“I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to answer as fast as possible, alright?”
Lark nodded hastily.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Tao took a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he began.
“What’s your name?”
“Lark.”
“Where do you live?”
“The Capital.”
Who do you serve?”
“You, Commander.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Y-yellow!”
“Faster! What’s your name?”
“Lark!”
“Where do you live?”
“The Capital!”
Who do you serve?”
“You, sir!”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Yellow!”
“What’s your mother's name?”
“Mari-” Lark’s breath hitched as he caught himself.
“Marie? Did you say Marie? Tell me!” Out of excitement, Tao unintentionally raised his voice and leaned in closer. Lark pressed back into the pillow and a heartbreaking mewl of terror escaped his lips as he clutched at his broken arm.
“Please don’t, I’m sorry, please!”
Tao jerked back, immediately awash with guilt. “Shit, I’m sorry-”
“Stop it!” Becca marched in. “You’re terrorizing him!” She grabbed Tao by the arm and pulled him away, taking his place.
“Lark?” she spoke gently, sinking down into the chair, “My name is Becca, you’re safe.”
Lark’s eyes stayed trained on Tao, bright with fear, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. Tao pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, feeling ill. He should have known it was a bad idea. It made sense in the moment, but if he had just stopped to think…
“That’s not the Commander, the Commander is far away from here. You’re with the resistance, we’re going to take care of you,” Becca soothed, “We’ll keep you safe.”
Her words only agitated Lark more. He shook his head.
“No, no, he knows where, he’ll come for me, I can’t stay-” Lark started to laboriously push himself upright with his good arm, as if to get out of bed. Becca pressed a hand to his shoulder.
“No, Lark, we’ll protect you, you need to rest now.”
Lark flopped back onto the pillow, but he didn’t stop struggling. He weakly thrashed his legs, kicking off the thin blanket.
“He’ll kill you all,” he sobbed, “He’ll kill you all!”
“Shh, shh, he can’t find us,” Becca tried to soothe him. Meanwhile, Tao was frowning at Lark’s legs. The boy’s kicking had caused the hems of his loose pants to ride up, exposing his calves. There were odd dark lines running up the sides of his legs. Tao reached out and caught a flailing ankle. Lark gasped and fell still and silent at the touch, his feverish stare finding Tao again.
“What are you doing?” Becca snapped.
“Just looking…” Tao frowned. The line wasn’t just a line, it was dense, half-inch-tall text that started just above Lark’s ankle and ran up the outside of his calf, on both legs.
I AM A GOOD PET. I DO WHAT MASTER SAYS. I NEVER TALK BACK. I LET MASTER FUCK -
Tao yanked the pant leg back down, covering the heinous words that followed, and fixed the other leg as well. When he looked up he saw Lark was flushed bright red and looking away; so he knew it was wrong, at least he wasn’t that conditioned.
Becca stood and moved to Tao’s side, concerned by his horrified face.
“What is it?”
Tao lifted the pant leg and turned Lark’s ankle to reveal just the first sentence. Becca’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Is that a tattoo?”
“Yeah,” Tao confirmed grimly.
“Shit!” Becca turned her back on Lark, hiding her face in her hands. “Bastard, bastard…” she mumbled.
“M’sorry,” Lark’s bright eyes were back on Tao, “Please, I’m sorry, please don’t break it.”
Tao dropped Lark’s ankle like a hot coal.
“No one’s… breaking anything,” he growled. He grabbed the blanket and threw it back over Lark’s body.
“Stay. Rest,” he ordered. Lark nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Becca shuddered and grabbed Tao’s arm, dragging him out of the room.
“That was a fucking disaster!” she exploded as soon as they were out of earshot, on their way down the stairs. “I can’t believe you two talked me into that!”
Tao and Vic, following behind, exchanged a glance.
“I’m really, really, sorry Becca,” Tao said earnestly, “I didn’t mean to scare him that bad, I just… I had a dumb idea and I ran with it.”
“‘Dumb’ is an understatement!” Becca whirled to face him in the once-living room, now-intake room. “That boy’s been through an unbelievable amount of trauma, and you used it against him!”
“He did find out the mother’s name,” Vic pointed out.
“Oh, yeah, ‘Marie,’ that’s super helpful,” Becca said sarcastically, “We can just look up all the Maries in the phonebook and call them, ask if they’re missing a son.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Tao was getting a little desperate. “It won’t happen again.”
“Fucking promise me Tao, right now,” Becca raised her voice, “That you won’t pull any shit like that, ever again!”
It was sinking in, just how badly he’d screwed up. Lark’s terrified face flashed through Tao’s mind, causing painful twinges of guilt in his stomach.
“It won’t,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious, “I promise.”
“Good,” Becca huffed, “Because if anyone fucks with him again, I’m bringing down hell.”
~~~
First, Masterlist, Next
Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps
#whump#whump fic#whump writing#this death that i chose#pet whump#bad caretaker#cw fear#cw panic#cw fever#cw derogatory tattoo
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Hi! Here I am with a Black Mask request 🖤. Could you write something where someone is threatening towards the reader and Roman gets protective about it?
Possessive Roman is great too but I wanna see this man go full protective mode!
You don't have to be sorry, Sweetheart.
Black Mask/Reader, 1.8K words
Request Info || Masterlist || Ko-Fi
Rubbing my hands together like a hungry little racoon being fed. I forgot how feral this man makes me. I took me a while to find my Black Mask head space again, but my Roman is almost always based on an amalgamation of his 60-2000s-ish comic appearances, for reference. Oh and the mask, that does NOT come off. 🖤
Roman doesn't take kindly to an ex employee affronting you, after leaving you alone in a bar. Rated: 18+
CWs: Swearing, blood, spit, threats of violence, actual violence, and some more violence, switchblade, derogatory names: bitch, petnames: sweetheart, failure to wear seatbelts (- please don’t do that irl), protective Roman, somewhat possessive Roman, unhealthy relationship/toxic dynamics.
Please remember: You are stronger than your fears and doubts
Roman Sionis is no stranger to getting his hands dirty. In fact, anyone who’d worked close enough with him, himself included could tell you that Roman thrills in dirty work. However, there are some essential jobs that even Roman won’t touch. When these errands come up, there’s only one place to go to find a runt with morals low enough to get it done.
Noonan’s is the worst bar in Gotham, at least in your opinion. Roman didn’t seem to care much for it either. In fact, the first time you’d accompanied him on a business meeting there he’s told you; “This place is dicey at the best of times. Anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as fuckin’ looks at you the wrong way, you come get me, alright, Sweetheart? I’ll set 'em straight.” And hadn’t let you leave his side until you’d sworn to come find him at the first sign of trouble.
Usually, you didn’t run into any real problems during the scarce amount of times you’d been there. Roman would conduct his dealings in a function room out back while you tried to keep to yourself. Most people knew who you were, who you were with, and were smart enough to keep to themselves. Nursing a drink in a dark corner typically didn’t draw any more issues than a few side-ways looks. Looks that didn’t seem worth mentioning to Roman. You love him, but he knows how to make a scene, and a scary one at that. It isn’t always worth the fuss. Usually.
It seems somebody was feeling unusually gutsy today. From the moment you’d entered, a familiar face had been watching you. You didn’t know their name, honestly, you likely couldn’t name a single person in this place. But you knew a lot of their faces, Noonan’s always seemed to draw the same crowd of washed-up and bitter ex-goons. Moments after Roman had taken his leave, your watcher approached, tripping over drunken feet until he was close enough to slam his drink onto your table, splashing you with beer in the process.
“Hey, you.” He leans over, pointing a finger in your face, far too close for comfort.
Careful to avoid elevating the situation you remain as still as possible, only moving your eyes in order to get a better look at him. Up close you can see smatterings of scars, and tattoos. He’s clearly tried to pay his dues with a lot of Gotham’s crime bosses and villains. A question mark, a penguin, a black skull.
“Yes, may I help?” You ask cordially, offering a smile.
“You’re Sionis’ bitch ain’t ya?” He slurs as he speaks, spit dripping onto his chin, and ricocheting towards you. “I got a bone to pick with that asshole.”
“Well, I’m afraid he’s busy.” You’d tried to be amicable but now your hospitable tone is gone, replaced with as much nonchalant venom as you can muster. “And his ‘bitch’ doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“I don’t give a shit what you want.” He bangs a fist against the table. Luckily, you’d seen it coming and had had the foresight to grab your drink. But whoever this fucker was, had not. More of the amber liquid spills out onto the table. “That bastard fucked with the wrong guy when he laid me off. Do you know who I am?”
Do you know who he is? No, and you relay that information by staring at him with a pointedly blank glare.
“I said, do you know who I FUCKING AM?” Spit fires from his lips, hitting your face, you feel your already simmering blood begin to boil with each drop. “I’m. Henry. FUCKING Byrne.”
“Good for you, ‘Henry fucking Byrne’ but…” You shouldn’t say it, you know you’ll only provoke him, but he’s on your last nerve. “I. don’t. FUCKING. care.”
“You don’t care, I don’t bleeding care, I don’t care who cares! But he’s gonna care…” Your comment has set him into a long, drunken, incomprehensible ramble, you presume the ‘he’ in reference is Roman, but all other thoughts are cancelled out by the sight of Henry removing a switchblade from his back pocket. As he leans in closer, pointing the blade in your direction, the gravity of the situation sets in. If you don’t act soon, you might just meet your maker in fucking Noonan’s. Tragic. “He’s gonna fucking care when I wreck his bitch.”
Searching for a defence, an exit route, anything, your eyes dart around the bar, quickly locating your salvation.
His pristinely tailored suit highlights him amongst the crowd, the waxy polish of his mask glowing under the dingy low-handling lights. He advances with confident, assertive strides. Instant relief floods through you, followed by a completely different brand of panic.
Relieved to know that you’re almost certainly safe, panicked by the thought of whatever mess he’s about to make.
Despite the tap of Roman’s shoes and your obvious stare, Henry is too wrapped up in his own anger and babblings to notice the impending danger. Like a frantic school of fish being advanced upon by a shark.
He doesn’t deserve your kindness, but you offer it anyway, sliding your chair back, out of his reach as you shout; “Roman, don’t.”
“I just wanna talk.” He spits, holding both hands up, feigning innocence, showing that he’s unarmed. As if he needed a weapon to be dangerous. It’s a lie, you both know it.
Alerted to Roman's presence, Henry begins to turn but is stopped by a leather-clad hand fixing to the soft spot on the back of his head. With rapid force, he’s pushed face-first against the table. Once, twice, three times. Blood is pouring from his nose, mixing with the already murky puddles of spilt beer. Stray chunks of what you can only assume are broken teeth jump with every collision.
Henry’s knife clatters against the floor, narrowly missing your foot. You grab it, holding tight.
“Roman stop.” You say, certain you’re no longer at risk. “He’s had enough!”
Roman's brown eyes bore into you as he slows, gripping tight to your almost attacker's neck, guiding him back into a standing position.
“Do you think you’ve had enough?” He asks through gritted teeth.
“Yes, yes sir. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Henry’s already slurred speech is muffled even more by his own fluids.
“Oh, you’re sorry.” Roman mocks, his neck is red with rage, his mask creaks as he juts his jaw back and forth, a habit you’ve learned is a calming mechanism, something he’d picked up since getting his pacemaker fitted. It isn’t working. “See ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it, you need to be taught a lesson.”
Using his free hand, Roman reached over to you, pulling the switchblade from your clutching fingers.
“Cause you see, when you mess with what’s mine, you mess with me.” Tension hangs thick in the air, every patron is watching, waiting to see how this unfolds, what the infamous Black Mask will do next. “And nobody messes with me.”
“Roman.” You warn, standing and placing your hand on Roman's shoulder, gently tugging at him, urging him to cool off.
“Fine, I’m gonna let you go.” Henry’s face hits the table one last time with a hard smack, followed by the sickening crunch of his own blade being stabbed through his hand, pinning him to the table. “But be grateful, and know that if I see your face anywhere near us again, I won’t be so gentle.”
All eyes remain on you both as you turn to leave. Roman doesn’t care. He firmly wraps a hand around your upper arm, leading you between tables, past the bar, and toward the door.
“Let that be a lesson to all of you.” He chides the onlookers in one last display of warning, before making his exit.
The time passes in a blur as Roman guides you outside, summons the car, herds you inside, and informs the driver to take you home, all the while his hands never leave your form, but once the car starts running time rapidly slows.
You sit together on the back seat, in silence. Roman is not traditionally expressive, for obvious reasons, but you’ve been together long enough to pick up on his emotional tells. He’s rolling his jaw again, and flexing his hand in and out of a fist shape, trying to cool off, trying to prevent himself from snapping at you.
In an effort to help soothe his anger you manoeuvre closer, until your sides brush together. You move to place your hand on his chest, but he grips your wrist, denying you.
“What did I say?” He isn’t yelling, but there’s still an anger to his tone, and a hardness in his eyes that you’re not accustomed to being on the receiving end of. Before you can respond he continues; “I told you, if anything happens, you come get me. What was that?”
“I know, I know, but I’m fine.” You reassure, nudging your arm until he releases you. “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle him, but it just escalated so quickly.”
His look softens, never able to stay mad at you for long. He lets your hand fall against the soft fabric of his blazer. In a quick, practiced motion he lifts your legs up and over his own, positioning you into a cradled position. Removing his gloves before resting one hand on your lower back, and the other on your thigh where he strokes his hand in slow circles.
“You don’t have to be sorry, sweetheart, just promise me, next time you sense trouble, you come to me.”
It would be easy to lie to him, to make an impossible promise, he tells white lies all the time. But you know he values your honesty, he has expectations for you that he does not hold himself to, you’re the light to his darkness. “If I can, I will, I promise, but it’s not always that simple Roman. I’ve got to defend myself sometimes.”
He lets you talk, but he’s shaking his head, disagreeing before you can finish.
“This isn’t up for discussion.” He speaks in the gentlest tone, a voice that is reserved for your ears only. “I know you’ve had to look out for yourself in the past, but you’re mine now, and always. You don’t have to do that anymore.”
Your back hits the plush upholstery of the car seat, contrasting with the hard wood of Roman’s mask pushing against your lips. You welcome the familiar mahogany smell, the taste of spice that invades your senses. Kisses from Roman are never gentle, they’re harsh and cold against your skin, no matter how gently he runs his hands along your body.
When he’s satisfied, he pulls away, just enough to get a good view of your face, to look into your eyes. The coolness of his forehead presses to yours.
“Nobody is more important to me than you.” His voice is sharp and gritty. He holds you just a little bit tighter. “I’d burn this city to the ground before I let anything happen to you.”
#black mask x reader#roman sionis x reader#black mask#roman sionis#gilverrwrites#black mask imagine#roman sionis imagine#scheduled post
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Therapy Appointment Thoughts
(Doc said I should go start an online blog and journal my thoughts there and I was too afraid to tell her I already had tumblr....)
It was disappointing, she's just mitigating my symptoms than addressing anything. Only had an hour to talk
"It's normal for teenagers to have mood swings"
(Threatens me with going to a psych ward) "Do you know what that is?" (I answer how it keeps the patients /safe/ and monitored)
"Okay let's go over that because you have the misconception that it's pleasant."
UHM???
Well yeah I know that psych wards are an absolutely horrendous place to be, where it's a prison but you have no autonomy at all there now.
"I'm saying this because with your outbursts (that my MOM described, which happened two years ago)— you are a danger to yourself, your family, your friends and classmates."
"You have to learn how to be human."
HELLO???????????
Like there was no mention at all about evaluating how my symptoms could be co-morbidity or that I get depressed because there's an underlying issue that hasn't and still isn't being addressed.
I'm not that upset with her though because of course, this comes with the industry and dealing with personal or deepseated issues like these can suffer in a systematic industry based on "taking care of it".
And also she has a right to deattach herself from her patients as that can also affect her mental health, for someone who appears young as her (like mid to late 20s) she seems to have a lot of experience on her belt, and also really professional about it.
She positively reinforced me when I raised my hand to ask for my turn talk!!
My mom was complaining about her secretary being money hungry www, like how I asked to throw some trash and she said "oh it's outside" but after I bought some confectionary she offered to throw the waste I got.
BUT she seemed nice and I don't want those worries to taint it.
She did witness me pace around the room all anxiously while my mom was left alone to tattle about my former violent self to the therapist.
Like yeah I understand why she said that I'm a danger.
For context when I was 14 I had a breakdown, made a mess of my room and got into a struggle with my mother who I almost stabbed <- I am aware that this is a public space but like, it happened quite a long time ago
But I was thankfully stopped and got to cry it out with my friend over call who suggested I get help (cue my very first attempt at professional help getting thrown in the dumpster because my mom didn't see any improvement ww)
No but like my violent self stemmed from my mother also being violent towards me (she did grow milder as my brothers were born)
(cw: mentions of violence, I'm basically just dumping here because I'm salty that my mom got like thirty minutes to talk to my therapist while I had FIVE— ??@?? Ten if you count the time when my mom was also present with me)
She hit me with coathangers all the time, threatened to use my dad's belt, made me kneel on both peas and then rock salt.
When she caught me on my phone she doesn't remember that she almost threw a laptop at me and would have blamed the damage on my behaviour, threatened to stuff a phone into my mouth and almost was successful with it.
Oh hey! Repressed memories bubbling up, no thank you!
She doesn't remember stuff like calling me a piece of garbage and that I should tattoo it on my forehead so people would know (it was ~sarcasm~) or taking a picture of my knees after I kneeled on the peas/salt and saying how embarassing it would be to post online (oh but she didn't go through with it, did she?)
And those are just the physical things, all the little dismissive and blatantly derogatory comments she said to me just pile up eventually.
But she's changed a lot now, and doesn't do it much anymore.
You know what I take from that? Cycle of abuse, because my grandma did that too to her. It's hard for one person to be able to break from generational abuse after all.
#talking about the stuff my mom did to me is not triggering and I don't mean to say it out of pity but to just give context dont you @me#journaling ☁︎✧.*#cw violence#cw mentions of abuse
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Popular Danmei Character Tournament
CWs: suicide, violence, death, murder mention
Hua Cheng / San Lang from Heaven Official’s Blessing
Submission: he's my boy, my blorbo, my big fav, i can't believe he wasn't on the list yet
Ahhhhhhhhh, we love a sassy devoted love interest in this house
Devoted himself to Xie Lian for 800+ years before they properly met and was one of the only people who actually listened to how Xie Lian wanted to be “worshipped” / treated as a god
“The one standing in infinite glory is you; the one fallen from grace is also you. What matters is ‘you’ and not the state of you.”
“To watch with your own eyes your beloved be trampled and ridiculed, yet unable to do anything. That’s the worse suffering in the world.”
“If I could, I would have you use me as your stepping stone, the bridge you take apart after crossing, the corpse bones you need to trample to climb up, the sinner who deserved the butchering of a million knives. But I know you wouldn’t allow it.”
“Your Highness, I am forever your most devoted believer.”
“...I don’t care if anyone else is disappointed. But to some, the very existence of a certain person in this world is in itself hope.”
His handwriting is HORRIBLE. He literally tattooed Xie Lian’s name on his arm, and NO ONE KNEW because of how bad his handwriting is.
His communication array password is so embarrassing Xie Lian assumes that pretty much no one wants to say it (and that may be the point)
Xue Yang from the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation
Submission: I love him he's so fucked up. Nobody's doing it like him (simultaneously affectionate and derogatory)
A morally corrupt person with such a compelling story you can’t help but look at him like a train wreck. He’s simultaneously such a bad person you can’t look away and a kicked puppy who doesn’t know shit
Plays house with the man whose best friend he blinded (which led to Xiao Xingchen giving up his own eyes) while making him kill innocent people as well as said best friend. Freaks out when Xiao Xingchen kills himself but still refuses to admit he was fond of him, even as he tries to get Wei Wuxian to fix Xiao Xingchen’s shattered soul.
He honestly reminds me of Mo Ran from The Husky and His White Cat Shizun if he didn’t have a redemption arc, and Chu Wanning didn’t accept him (though the stories are a bit different)
#tgcf#mdzs#hua cheng#xue yang#polls#danmei#danmei character tournament#danmei character polls#my polls#popular danmei character tournament#danmei character polls round 1 side B#queue
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2, 4, 18 🐝💖
HIIIIIII JO
2 what am i obsessed with right now: the hit cw show supernatural (2005) ok no but actually noncanonical angel lore (talkin bible stuff here) because my middle name is jophiel - the guardian of poets and visionaries, and angel of beauty and joy - and i just learned that archangels sort of have crystals associated with them and i've wanted somebody to teach me crystal shit for a while (cause i once got to hold a big ol' chunk of raw jade and. goddamn. shit just feels powerful wtf) and so i'm doing that. i guess. very fun makes me feel very early seasons spn going through totally bullshit 2000s websites about angel lore
4 what piercings do you want: so i currently have none. i wanna get at least a couple on my ears. probably none on my face but i could be convinced to do some nose shit. and then probably nipples (or lack thereof??) post-op
18 what tattoos do you want: OH I JUST KNoW I"M GONNA HAVE A TATTOO PROBLEM. ough. my first one is gonna be constellations across my abdomen where i do my testosterone shots (potentially in the shape of the chemical structure of testosterone we'll see). i've got plans for an spn tattoo (derogatory) as well as designing some form of trueform angel for my middle name. one that i can't say without saying my other irl name. and "smidgie" in my mom's handwriting. probably something floral, too.
ILY thanks for the ask
send me a nosy ask
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💋 Good Girl
So okay, listen- This is incredibly self indulgent, and very nasty. Inspired by an ask @disembowel-me got about forcing Lawrence into prostitution. This fic in the aftermath and result of torturing and conditioning Lawrence for nearly 8 months, Being deprived of drugs for a while now, he’s starting to lose his fight.
CW: forced sex work, mentions of torture & scars, drugs, crossdressing, derogatory f slur, homophobia, minor mind break
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“Two hundred fifty bucks, right? This better be good. Mack did say you had the best cross dressers in town.” The client is fidgety and clearly using substances from the twitch in his eye. He hands over the cash though, and the boss smirks.
“Best and most beautiful, you’ll be orgasming before you even slip in,” they laugh, dragging from their cigarette. “No lube needed, it’s prepped and waiting.”
“Good. Take me to her, I’m sick of waiting,” the client huffs out, twitching in the hands, an ache forming in his stomach as his desire to drain his balls increases.
“Right this way, sir.” The boss leads him to a side room. There are many, many rooms. The client swears he hears groans and cries of pain from other rooms. He wants to make whatever bitch he gets scream louder.
They enter a bedroom, looking similar to a motel in setup with only a well-dressed bed, a table, and a few lounging chairs. There’s a television and several DVDs and VHSs full of snuff and porn. Some of the names scribbled on the DVDs make even the client shudder.
“Here’s your new pet. Its name’s Poppy. Boy name’s Lawrence if you’re in to that. Enjoy.” And the boss is gone with a slamming of the door. The client chuffs and gazes to the bed as a figure stands up.
“G-g… good evening, how… how can I p-please you today?” calls a stuttering, quiet voice in the dim light.
Lawrence is caked in makeup, thick baby pink lipstick and soft fading red eyeshadow, his lashes done prettily so they make his blue eyes even more vivid. His hair is done into a high ponytail, bangs long since grown out enough to be tied back with it. His body is hairless, thin, waxed and shiny, covered head to toe in whip scars, cigarette burns, and floral tattoos. Dressed sultrily for the client, just like he likes his girls, Lawrence is wearing a red and black skintight tankini crop top, a miniskirt that shows off his conditioned erection beginning to form, and his pert ass peaking out from the bottom, as well as a lacy, doll-like collar with dainty bows.
“Can’t wait to rip that off you, faggot~” the client titters. Lawrence visibly puffs his chest and blushes bright red.
“Yeah- I mean yes, sir,” he tries to calm the rush of blood. Just take it. Just take it and your boss will give you your hit. It’s been three weeks. Just behave. “S-s-… So, what are you uh… looking for tonight?”
“First off quit the stutter, whore,” the client mutters. “It’s annoying as fuck, jesus what’s wrong with you. I came looking for freaks but not like that.”
“Sorry. Sorry, sir.” Lawrence shuffles his feet, eyes fixated on his painted toenails, embellished with small flower designs.
“Get on the bed.”
Nodding, Lawrence complies.
“Stick that ass in the air for me.”
Shivering, feeling prickling of tears in his eyes, Lawrence complies. He can’t go another day without his drugs, he can’t handle the beatings anymore, being touched and fondled by the boss til he’s cum so many times he doesn’t know who he is. Just be a good girl, he tells himself.
The client grips his ass roughly, squeezing the flesh enough to bruise. Flipping up the skirt, the client laughs loudly at the heart-print bottom of a long, thick, dildo butt plug.
“Got other men’s cum stuffed in there, fag? How many cocks can you take at once, huh? I bet you’ll suck me riiiight up.”
Lawrence hides his face in the pillows, crying silently from the shame of it all, lipstick coated lips trembling. “Y-yes. Yes sir. I’m- I’m a whore. Take me.” It sounds unnatural, forced. Lawrence can only hope the client didn’t notice, if he mentions it to the boss, Lawrence will be whipped again, more long, thick keloids along his back, more screaming and begging for it to stop, promising to be a good girl if only it would stop-
Lawrence’s spiral is cut off as the plug is roughly tugged from his ass. The client is behind him, grinding his hard cock against Lawrence’s hole. He shivers and puts his face in the pillow, pretty red eyeshadow smearing on his face.
Just be a good girl and you’ll get your hit, he tells himself. He sighs. He stops crying. He braces himself.
Lawrence takes it like the whore he’s become.
#my writing#lawrence oleander#boyfriend to death#btd lawrence#btd lawrence oleander#btd fanfic#boyfriend to death fanfic#btd fanfiction#boyfriend to death fanfiction#'sex work'#nsftumblr#'nsft'#'kink'#'crossdressing'#'sissy'
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Do you know when the racism and ableism accusations against Nora started? Because back when I was active in 2016/2017 and don't think they were a thing, or were very low-key. Was it something she said or are people just basing it off the things she wrote in the books?
From what I remember, the first time I heard the blanket statement of “Nora is racist/fetishizes gay men” blanket statement was early fall 2019 (which is so ironic for the fandom to say on so many levels lmao). There wasn’t a catalyst or anything, just she went offline 2016 and no new content was coming out and the aftg fandom is such an echo chamber that… an accidental smear campaign happened.
Before then, I would see occasional “Nora used ableist slur” which… is funny (not that ableism isn’t serious) to me people care more about that than Seth saying the f-slur. IMO this is because with Seth, it clearly shows the character thinking it and not the author who is writing about what will be an end game mlm relationship.
But anyways! Long story short, it's the fact that she’s an ace/aro woman who wrote a mlm book, and based off of the events in canon. There is no “Nora called me/someone else a slur” it’s “Nora wrote a book where slur(s) are used” and “the Moriyama’s are Japanese.”
Below I put my own opinion on these claims and go into more detail:
CW for discussions of: racism, ableism, mlm fetishization
Fetishization: (and mentions of sexism at the end)
To one question in the EC about her inspo for aftg she jokingly responded how she wanted to write about gay athletes. On other parts of your blog you could see she was a hockey fan and an overall sports fan (anime or otherwise) but I've seen this statement taken out of context and framed as “she's one of those BOYXBOY” shippers. Considering how… well-developed both Andrew and Neil’s relationship is, and it takes them until like the 3rd book and there is a whole complex ass plot going on around, you can see how that's just. Not really true. And considering the fandom is like… 85% women (queer women but still women) and I've gotten into a discussion with someone who is a woman and called Nora a fetishizer and was ignoring my opinions as a mlm, and I really just wanted to say “well what does that make you?” it's a very ironic high horse. She didn’t write 3 all 3 books to put Neil in lingerie pwp or crop-top fem-fatal fashion show, fandom did.
Also, I talked to an ace/aro friend about this, and she talked to me about how AFTG spoke to her very much so as an ace/aro story. Neil is demisexual, Nora didn’t know of the word at the time of reading it, but she did get an anon asking if Neil was demi after, and she said “had to look it up, and yep, but he doesn't really think about it” (paraphrased). Obviously it would have been cool if andreil were canonly written as wlw by Nora instead, (which would have increased the amount of wlw rep and demi rep) but tbh I don’t think tumblr would have cared about it nearly as much and everyone would just call Neil a cold bitch–like people do with Nora’s other published book with a main character who's a woman. Plus they're her OC’s, not mine.
The fact is that 50% of all LGBT+ rep in literature is mlm, mostly white mlm, and not written by mlm. I’m not going to hold her to a higher standard than everyone else, she already broke a shit ton of barriers in topics she discusses that otherwise get ignored. I’m grateful to these books for existing even if it's a mlm story written by a woman. I still will prioritize reading mlm written by mlm–and vice versa with wlw– in the way I prioritize reading stories about POC written by POC. But credit where credit is due, this is a very good story, and a very good demi story.
Ableism:
To me, AFTG is a story about ableism and how we perceive some trauma survivors more worthy than others. Neil and the foxes using ableist language shows how people actually talk. Neil thinks shitty things about Andrew, like the others do too, and thinks he's “psycho”. The story ultimately deconstructs this idea and these perceptions of people. Wymack, someone who says the r-slur (which is still not known by the general population as a slur even in 2021 much less the early 2000s when the book was beginning to be written and what the timeline is based off of) is a character who understands Andrew better than most of the others do, and gives him the most sympathy and understanding despite using words like the m-slur and r-slur. Using these words isn't good, but it is how people talk, and this character talks. Wymack is a playful “name caller” especially when he’s mad, the foxes think Andrew is “crazy” and incapable of humanity and love because of it. They call his meds “antipsychotics” as an assumption and insult in a derogatory way, when really antipsychotics are a very helpful drug for some people who need them. Even Neil thinks these things about Andrew until he learns to care about him. All the foxes are hypocritical to am extent, as people in real life tend to be. Nora herself doesn’t use these or tweet them or something, her characters do to show aspects of their personality and opinions and how they change over time.
Racism:
As for the racism, I've seen people talk about how racial minorities being antagonists is inherently bad, which I think lacks nuance but overall isn't a harmful statement or belief. However, Nora herself said she wrote in the yakuza instead of another gang or mob because she was inspired for AFTG by sports anime, (which often queer-bait for a variety of reasons). I haven’t seen a textual analysis acknowledging the racist undertones surrounding the Moriyama’s as the few characters of color who are also major antagonists, but instead just “Nora is racist”. Wymack having shitty flame tribal tattoo’s is just… a huge 90’s thing and a part of his character design. Her having a character with bad taste in tattoo trends doesn’t mean she's racist. There is the whole how Nicky is handled thing, but that's a whole thing on it’s own. The fandom… really will write Nicky being all “ai ai muy spicy, jaja imma hit on my white–not annoying like me–boyfriend in Spanish. With my booty hole out and open for him ofc.” and as a Mexican mlm I’m like … damn alright.
I think there is merit to the fact that she writes white as the default* and unless otherwise stated a POC a character was written with the intent to be white is another valid criticism, as well as the fact that the cast is largely white, but everything Nora is accused of I've seen the fandom do worse. That goes to the debate of, is actively writing stereotypes for POC more harmful than no representation at all? And personally I prefer the lack of established race line that lets me ignore Nora’s canon intent of characters to be white and come up with my own HC’s over the fandoms depictions of “zen monk Renee with dark past” “black best friend Matt who got over drugs but is a puppy dog” “ex stripper black Dan who dates Matt” vague tokenism. I HC many of the upperclassmen as POC and do my best to actively give thought behind it and have their own arcs that also avoids the fandom colorism spectrum of “darkest characters we HC go to the back and fandom favorites are in the front and are the lightest.”
*I however won't criticize her harsher or more than… everyone else who still largely does this in fanfiction regarding AFTG as well as literature in general. This isn't a Nora thing, it's a societal thing, and considering the books came out in like 2014 I'm not gonna hold her to a higher standard than the rest of the world. She's just someone who wrote her personal OC’s and self-published expecting no following. I don’t know her race and I’m not gonna hold her to a higher standard than everyone else just because.
The criticisms I've seen have always been… ironic IMO, and clearly I have a lot of thoughts on it. I think most people say those things about Nora because they heard them, and it's the woke thing to say and do and don’t critically analyze their actions or anything, but just accept them.
#ask#aftg discorse#fandom culture#fandom politics#fandom psychology#mailob#damn cant wait for my words to be twisted lmao#sorry the ableism one is the shortest I wrote that one first actually
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Family Meeting
For @amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Family Business
Tagging a few people who might be interested: @painful-pooch @whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, organized crime, heavily conditioned whumpee, derogatory language, mention of severed fingers, not super heavy on the whump but a look at the McIntyre family, consensual sex mention
***
“Does the pet really have to be here for this?” Siobhan asks, crossing her arms across her chest from her seat at the head of the table, her pursed lips painted mulberry purple.
Rhys smirks. “Of course she has to be here. My toy can be good.” He sits down in his chair and pats his lap. “Up.”
Pumpkin gives Rhys a longing look, climbing up into her Master’s lap and burying her face against his chest. He grins, running his hand along her back. His gorgeous toy. So obedient. So perfect.
Siobhan rolls her eyes. “I still don’t understand why you bought a Romantic. My Guard Dogs are much more useful.”
“You have no appreciation of art, dearest sister. My Pumpkin is a masterpiece. Carefully crafted. Made for me.” Rhys combs Pumpkin’s short black hair out of her face.
Siobhan sighs. “You just like wasting money.” The oldest of the McIntyre siblings has always focused on cold, brutal efficiency, especially now that she’s had children and the lines around her eyes are starting to show. Rhys often wonders why her husband Fergal puts up with her—until he remembers that they married for money, connecting the McIntyre family and the O’Sullivan family.
Still, Rhys chuckles. “She’s not a waste. She’s very well trained. And good at what she does.”
Darragh, the youngest brother, makes a face. “I don’t want t’ hear about your sex life, Rhys,” he says, his voice slightly slurred from drinking. “Tha’s what the pet is for.” Darragh, just twenty-six, wears band t-shirts to these business meetings, his intricate Celtic tattoo sleeves on full display. He’s got more kills under his belt than most of them.
Except for Rhys and Nessa.
Aine shakes her head and takes the coffee cup away from Darragh, smelling it. “This is just alcohol!” she says indignantly, pushing her glasses further up her nose. Aine is the youngest and the smartest, handling most of the finances.
“Will both of you shut up?” Nessa snaps. She’s wearing a sunhat indoors, her red hair pulled into a bun. “We have business to do.” Nessa is the fifth oldest and a twin, but Eireann…
Pumpkin’s grip on Rhys gets impossibly tighter at the sound of Nessa’s voice, snapping Rhys out of his thoughts. He smiles and rubs circles onto the pet’s back.
Nessa, thirty years old, can be ruthless. Especially with pets.
“What’s the problem, sister? Ran out of hair dye this morning?” Donal, the second oldest, rubs his beard and gives Nessa a smug look. He handles drug and human trafficking for the family.
Nessa pulls out an ornate dagger, inlaid with pearl. “Watch yourself, Donal.”
“What are you going to do to me with that toothpick?” he growls, tensing up.
“She’ll do to you what she did to that Platonic,” Darragh says. “Gut you like a fish and keep you alive for it.”
Nessa nods. “Exactly.”
“Sorry I’m late!” Tiernan says, running into the room and taking his seat. “The wife needed my help getting our boys to school.” Tiernan is the fourth oldest, just three years yonder than Rhys, but already burdened with three children.
“I told you that marriage was a mistake,” Siobhan says, her voice neutral. “You should have married that nice Fitzpatrick girl.”
“I didn’t like that Fitzpatrick girl. Or her Romantic.” Tiernan sighs. “I love Zoe. That’s what matters. You and Fergal are fucking miserable.”
“We didn’t need to be in love to procreate.” She pours herself a glass of whiskey. “All we had to do was fuck.”
Rhys and Donal burst into laughter, Aine chokes, her face bright red.
Nessa stabs her knife in the table. “Can we please get to business now that we’re all here?”
“Not all of us,” Darragh mumbles, pulling a flask from his pocket and taking a long swig.
“Don’t fucking mention her!” Rhys yells, pushing Pumpkin off his laugh to lean over and grab Darragh by the shirt, pulling him in. Rage blinds his senses as he growls, “That traitorous bitch has no place here. Eireann is less of a McIntyre than Siobhan’s mutts.” He gives Darragh a shake. “Got it?”
“Yeah. Whatever.” Darragh stares down at the table.
Rhys nods, hoping that was enough to resolve the issue, and sits back down. Pumpkin is on the floor, perfectly still despite the bruise forming on her temple. Rhys pulls her back onto his lap. “Let’s get this over with.”
“It’s about damn time,” Donal says. “What’s on the table for today?”
“Updates from each of you on last week’s assignments.” Siobhan leans back in her chair. “Let’s make it snappy. Fergal and I have to handle one of his enemies.”
“And Rhys promised me a turn at that thing,” Nessa says hungrily, her eyes latched onto Pumpkin.
The pet whimpers, hiding her face in Rhys’s chest.
Rhys tuts and rubs her back. “You’re upsetting her, Nessa. She doesn’t like you.” He puts two fingers under Pumpkin’s chin, turning her face up to look at him. “But you love me, don’t you, sweet thing?”
The look she gives him is filthy, her eyes half-closed, curled up against him. “I love you, Master. I’m loyal to you.”
“Good girl.” Across the table, he mouths to Nessa, Cattle prod after the meeting.
She nods, her face lighting up with excitement.
The McIntyre family doesn’t fuck around, and Tiernan, the smiling family man, picks up his backpack, pulls out a grocery bag, and dumps a pile of severed fingers onto the table. “Let’s start this off with the Providence Mafia.”
#amow mafia madness#family business#pet whump#bbu#box boy universe#lady whump#derogatory language#rhys mcintyre#pumpkin#nessa mcintyre#siobhan mcintyre#donal mcintyre#tiernan mcintyre#darragh mcintyre#aine mcintyre#eireann mcintyre#blue's words
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Mickey Character Profile
More character profiles. This time, it's Mickey, another well developed character and a favourite of mine.
TW/CW: Ableist language, suicide mention
Full Name: Michaela Abigail Montague
Pronunciation of their name: Mihk-ay-lah Abih-gayl Mont-agyoo
Title: Mx.
Nickname(s): Mickey (preferred name), Micks (family/friends only), Sparkles, Smiler, Mental Mickey (derogatory), Mickey Mouse (derogatory)
Gender: Agender (they/them, she/her)
Race: Black
Species: Human
Sexuality: Biromantic Asexual
Height: 5'6"/167cm
Weight: 12st 6lbs/78.9kg
Age: 22
Eye colour(s): Hazel
Contacts?: No
Glasses?: No
Face shape: Triangle, prominent cheeks, narrow at the top, widens towards the bottom, prominent chin, cleft chin
Describe their eyes: Large, round, eyelids slope downwards, long dark eyelashes, slight bags under eyes, permanent sparkle in eyes
Describe their nose: Flat bridge, wide, slightly bulbous at the tip
Describe their lips: Cupid's bow, bottom lip is fuller and paler than top
Ears: Small, attached lobes
Body build: Pear-shaped, narrow shoulders, wide hips, long legs, short trunk, prominent stomach, thick thighs, flat chest, average length neck, average length arms, average length fingers, short toes, small hands and feet
Disabilities: Schizoaffective depression, focal epilepsy, autism, tuberous breasts, flat feet
Extra extremities: None
Hair colour(s): Pale pink (dyed, natural redhead)
Hair length: Short
Hair style: Undercut
Skin/fur colour(s): Dark red brown
Complexion: Dark, oily/sensitive skin
Patterns/designs: None
Scars: Various small scars from accidents during childhood (Mickey was a rough-and-tumble tomboy as a kid, most of these scars are from fights or playing football.)
Birthmarks: None
Tattoos: The Red Clover Fairy from the 'Flower Fairies' book series on right shoulder (Mickey's hair in its natural colour has been said to resemble red clovers, so as a child they gravitated to the Red Clover Fairy.)
Piercings: One in each earlobe
Personality snapshot: Cheerful, idealistic tomboy with a vivid imagination
Most prominent personality trait: Idealistic
Best traits of their personality: Kind, imaginative, idealistic, friendly, helpful, generous, creative, just
Worst traits of their personality: Fantasist, moody, reckless, insecure, deferential, fatalist, quick to judge, quick to anger, secretive, easily swayed by emotions, overprotective
Current faith: None
Current superstitions/quirks: TBA
Alignment: Neutral Good
Marital status: Single
Occupation: College student (studying law), private detective
Good habits: Looks after friends, keeps self busy, always kind, always helpful, politically active
Bad habits: Drinks heavily, isolates self, doesn't let people help them, lies to people, loses self in fantasy, acts rashly
Abilities: Can see supernatural creatures ('The Sight')
Special skills: Can draw, plays football to a professional standard, social butterfly, expert in folklore/supernatural subjects, fluent in the subject of law
Hobbies: Drawing, football, blogging, clubbing, reading fantasy books, watching TV, gaming, sewing, shopping
Random facts:
Mickey loves all supernatural creatures, but loves fairies the most. These stories have always represented an attractive alternative to their unhappy real life.
Mickey's cheeriness is a facade. They have always been desperately unhappy because no one around them understood them and their later mental illness made things worse.
Mickey wanted to be a police officer like their parents and because they have a strong sense of justice, but they are questioning this decision now that they are aware of police corruption.
Mickey has spent time in a psychiatric hospital when they were a teenager after a suicidal, paranoid breakdown that lead to them threatening their parents with a kitchen knife. The whole experience was very traumatic and Mickey has tried very hard to put it behind them.
Mickey's favourite food is chocolate.
Mickey's personal style is girly with a tomboy streak with lots of pinks and blues and purples, sparkle and fantasy imagery. They favour sweaters, t-shirts, leggings, sneakers and ugg boots and they patently refuse to wear skirts, dresses or high heels.
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This Death That I Chose: Chapter 8
2862 words
CW: dubcon (not explicitly described), conditioning, derogatory language, manipulation, dubcon kiss, panic attack, derogatory tattoo, pet whump
First, Previous, Masterlist, Next
~~~
Sex with Vic was strange. He moved carefully, like Lark was some kind of fragile object. He was deeply mindful of Lark’s broken arm, and the IV antibiotics in the other. He used a condom, stolen from Faye’s supplies. He plied Lark open slowly, and it barely even hurt when he pushed himself in. In the end Lark found that an orgasm came easily to him, rather than being something he had to drag out of his body like a rotten tooth.
Lark almost enjoyed it. It scared him.
Vic left in a hurry after the act, guilt written all over his face. Good. He’d eventually turn on Lark to absolve himself of the blame. He was replaced by Hannah, who sauntered back in with her books, none the wiser. After Faye checked in on them at lunchtime, Lark tested the waters with Hannah as well. It couldn’t just be one person; one person fucking Lark was that person’s mistake, Lark needed to tempt multiple people to bed in order to prove that he was a foul, corrupting influence.
Unfortunately Hannah started gushing about her girlfriend as soon as Lark brought up relationships, so he fell silent and let her gush. He’d also preemptively struck Becca and Faye off his list; Becca was a barely-disguised bleeding heart, and Faye was too strictly professional.
Tao was a whole other puzzle. Despite reminding Lark so strongly of the Commander, he seemed to have zero interest in Lark’s body. That was… confusing. Lark didn’t like it.
But as long as the Watchmen keeping guard at his bedside changed every eight or so hours, he’d have an influx of new targets and plenty of time to work them. He just hoped none of them made him feel as strange as Vic had.
~~~
Tao ran into Marina on his way to check on Karlo that evening. They met at the end of Faye’s driveway, each carrying a bundle of cloth.
“I brought Karlo a change of clothes,” Tao lifted his bundle.
“So did I,” Marina smiled sheepishly.
Tao shrugged. “He can mix and match.”
Marina laughed brightly, but it quickly faded into a nervous silence.
“…Do you think I could try seeing him again?” she asked, “This morning was – I’ll handle it better, now.”
“Yeah, of course,” Tao nodded, “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“Oh,” she blinked at him, “Yes. Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
They entered the building and walked up to Karlo’s room together. Marina knocked, and waited until Hannah called, “Come in!” to enter.
They found Karlo sitting up with a book open in his lap, mimicking Hannah in the chair next to him. His eyes caught his mother’s for the briefest of moments before he looked away, stone-faced.
“Oh, are you reading?” Marina asked softly.
When it was clear Karlo wasn’t going to answer, Hannah piped up. “Yeah, I brought him something. I figured it’d get boring, stuck in here all day.”
“Thanks, Hannah,” Tao said, “You can take a break.”
She checked a cracked but functional watch on her wrist. “Dylan will be here in a minute anyway, I’ll just take off. G’night, Lark.”
She stood, and as she passed Tao he said quietly, “His name is Karlo.”
She hesitated.
“Not according to him.”
Once Hannah was gone, Marina took her place at Karlo’s bedside after setting her and Tao’s combined stack of clothes on the end of the bed. Tao leaned against the doorframe, watching.
“Tao and I brought you some things.”
No response. Karlo stared down at the open book, his eyes unmoving.
“What’s your book about?”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
“Well, I spent all day cooking for everyone. That’s my job, here, I cook.” She knitted and unknitted her hands together in her lap. “Karlo-”
“My name is Lark.” Hissed out like a curse.
Tao caught it: there was the tiniest waver in Karlo’s voice. He was sure Marina heard it too. She swallowed.
“Lark, then,” she yielded, “I-”
“I want to go home.”
Marina took in a shuddering breath. “Oh, baby-”
“To the Commander,” Karlo clarified, “I want to go home to the Commander.”
“Ka- Lark, honey, I don’t understand-”
“Then I’ll tell you.” Karlo’s eye flashed with some kind of mania as he almost – almost – looked at Tao. “I – I am – I am the Commander’s pet,” he drew himself up straighter, forcing out the words, “I’m his whore. I give him everything he wants. I’m not your son. I don’t belong here.”
Horror and gut-wrenching pity tore through Tao. Karlo truly believed he needed to be returned to the Commander – but that didn’t stop the shame of admitting what the Commander had turned him into. As adeptly as Karlo could control his posture, his face, and his voice, there were some things he couldn’t control. A bright red flush crept up his neck and flooded his face as he spoke, as it had when Tao saw his tattoos. His good hand trembled in his lap.
Tao’s eyes flicked to watch Marina; one hand had lifted out of her lap as if to reach out to Karlo, but she thought better of it. She touched her hand to her mouth, then dropped it; then, her voice came out unexpectedly strong.
“Well, you’re here now, whether you like it or not, young man, and here you will stay. You’ll go back to the Commander over my dead body.” She stood up. “Change your clothes, God knows how long you’ve been wearing those.” She turned on her heel and marched over to Tao, her face crumpling as she approached.
“I don’t know…” she breathed when they were toe-to-toe. Tao squeezed her arm.
“It’s okay,” was all he said.
That seemed to fortify her. She cleared her throat and said over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Lark,” and fled the room.
Tao watched her go, then stepped fully into the room and closed the door.
“I’m going to wait with you until Dylan gets here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, alright?”
Karlo had turned his head to glare out the darkening window.
“Whatever,” he muttered.
Whatever? Tao wanted to shout back. He wanted to tell Karlo off for talking to Marina like that, wanted to get some straight answers out of the boy about what he was actually feeling. But Karlo’s shoulders were quivering, and his chest rose and fell too fast. Tao bit his tongue.
They remained in silence for a long minute, Tao shifting from foot to foot by the door and Karlo slowly calming down. Eventually, the boy spoke in a low, icy voice.
“He’ll still kill you to get me back, even if you leave this place.”
“Well, you know what?” Tao replied, “Coms has been listening, and we’ve heard nothing from him. If he really wants you back, he has a funny way of showing it.”
Karlo started to respond, but the door opened without warning.
“Hey Tao!” Dylan, a wiry young man, stopped short in the doorway, “Here for babysitting duty.”
“Right, yeah, um-” Tao bobbed his head, thrown off by Dylan’s sudden appearance. “Okay.”
“Did I interrupt something?” Dylan looked back and forth between Tao and Karlo curiously.
“No, it’s fine, just, uh… Don’t let him out of the room except for the bathroom, got it?”
“Got it, boss.”
“Okay,” Tao looked back at Karlo where he sat in the bed, suddenly looking very small. “Goodnight, Karlo.”
When he got no response, Tao reluctantly shuffled past Dylan out into the hallway, where he took a deep, instinctual breath as if he’d just been diving underwater, searching and grasping for an object lost.
Becca estimated that they’d be able to leave the following night, as long as everything went smoothly. The sooner they got on the move, the sooner Karlo would understand that he was safe. Tao had to believe that.
~~~
“Y’know, I was one of the ones who cracked the transport info, about you,” Dylan smirked at Lark from where he lounged in the chair at Lark’s bedside, “I know what you are.”
Lark tilted his head.
“That makes this so much easier, then,” he murmured.
“Whatcha say?”
Lark took a slow, controlled breath. This was the plan he’d decided on. This was the plan he’d already started. This was the plan he had to go through with.
“Can you… help me change clothes, sir?” Lark asked, putting on his best sweet-and-timid voice, “It’s just, it’s sooo hard with this cast, to get things on and off.” He lifted his broken arm slightly to illustrate his point.
Dylan’s slanted smile widened, and his eyes glinted with unabashed lust.
“Sure.”
Something surged through Lark’s veins, and it took him a moment to identify it as power. Lark had never before been able to pick and choose when and with whom he had sex, and here he was, playing these men like a fiddle. Lark was the one in control now. His beauty and allure made him the dominant one.
He was going to bring as many people as he could to shame and ruin. Then they’d have to get rid of him.
They’d have to send him back.
~~~
“Hey, Tao!”
Tao paused halfway down Faye’s driveway and turned to see the surgeon sanding on her front step.
“Yeah?” he called, starting back towards her.
“Did you steal condoms?” she asked loudly.
“What?” Tao glanced over his shoulder, making sure Marina wasn’t still lingering around. He jogged up to Faye, lowering his voice. “No, why would I steal them when you just give them away? And what do you care if someone snagged a couple?”
“Well, one, it fucks up my inventory, and two…” she hesitated, which was out of character for her. Tao frowned.
“What?” he repeated, concerned this time.
She folded her arms and drummed her fingers on her elbow.
“Vic was the only other one who had an opportunity,” she said quietly, “He came downstairs and then went back up, while I was out of the room. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
“So Vic stole condoms, what does that matter?” Tao huffed.
“Well, a half hour later he left early.”
“And?” Tao shrugged, getting annoyed.
“God, you’re thick!” she threw up her hands, “I think he fucked Karlo!”
“Holy shit, why would Vic f- Why would he do that?” Tao couldn’t bring himself to echo Faye’s vulgar language.
“Because if he had literally any other hookup going on, he would be crowing from the rooftops about it, which is exactly why he gets none and is a desperate horny bastard, Tao!”
Tao froze in shock. Faye was right. The last few times Vic had found willing partners, he’d bragged about it for days leading up to the event and weeks afterward, absolutely destroying the chance of a repeat experience; but Tao knew from that very boasting that Vic was not someone who would ever be interested in an unenthusiastic lover, much less an unwilling one. Tao couldn’t imagine Vic forcing himself on Karlo, not in a million years.
But suddenly, what Tao could imagine was Karlo doing whatever it took to prove himself right.
I’m a whore.
I don’t belong here.
Tao jumped up the steps, brushed past Faye and ran inside. He bounded up the stairs two at a time to the second floor, and flung open Karlo’s door.
Dylan sat on the bed, and Karlo straddled his lap. Karlo cradled Dylan’s face in his good hand, and the other rested in its cast on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan jerked his head back out of a kiss as the door opened. They were both shirtless, and Tao saw the tattooed lines of text on Karlo snake out of his pants at his hips and arc over his ribs before meeting at the top of his spine, where the words encircled his neck in a permanent collar, previously hidden by Karlo’s turtleneck shirt and his long hair, now pulled aside.
“What the fuck?” Tao shouted.
Karlo turned his head to look at Tao, his eyes burning with a kind of crazed energy and his mouth stretched into the imitation of a smile, slightly pink from kissing. He laughed – the first time Tao had ever heard him laugh, and it was a strange, strangled noise – and he said, “Would you like to join us, Tao?” It sounded more like a threat than an invitation.
Dylan, on the other hand, had a much more appropriate oh shit expression on his face. He roughly shoved Karlo, who fell and landed hard on his back with a whump.
“What the fuck!” Tao yelled again, rushing forward and dropping to his knees at Karlo’s side. The boy hadn’t even winced, he just lay on the floor, grinning.
Dylan jumped to his feet.
“I didn’t mean to, I, I-”
“Put your fucking shirt on and go wait for me downstairs,” snapped Tao.
Dylan snatched up his t-shirt and made a run for it, nearly trampling Faye in his hurry. She cursed as she watched Tao help Karlo sit up.
“Of course he pulled out his IV, too. You know you need that if you’re ever going to get better?”
“Not helping, Faye.” Tao kept one hand firmly on Karlo’s back, and with the other he reached into the stack of clothes that still sat on the bed and pulled out something familiar – one of his own flannel shirts, definitely too big for Karlo but the sleeves were wide enough that the cast wouldn’t give him any trouble.
“Here, let’s put this on.”
But Karlo was looking at him with the same unsettling, manic smile.
“You’ll send me back now, right?” He shifted onto his knees to face Tao. “You have to send me back now.”
“No.” Tao held the shirt open. “Arm.”
“No, no, I…” Karlo gulped, his breathing becoming erratic, “I proved it, I showed you, I’m a whore, I need to go back to the Commander now.”
Tao lowered the shirt. “We’re not doing that-”
“No, please, you don’t want me here,” Karlo shook his head fervently, his smile gone, “I fucked your friend, I fucked Vic, I’ll, I’ll fuck anything that moves, you don’t want me here, I’ll ruin everything.”
“We want you here, Karlo,” said Tao gently.
“My name is Lark!” Karlo raised his voice, hugging his cast to his body, his eyes welling up, “And why would you even want me here, you don’t even want to fuck me! That’s all I'm good for anyway!”
“You deserve to be safe, Karlo,” Tao asserted.
“No I don't!” Karlo screamed, and the tears overflowed. He sobbed, then turned his head sharply to the side, eyes wide, like he was seeing something that wasn’t there. Then he folded forward over his knees, slamming his head into the floor and awkwardly clasping his hands together in front of him around the cast. Now that he had started crying, it was like the floodgates had opened, and he sobbed and babbled uncontrollably.
“Please, please, sir, please, you have to send me back, I don’t want my mom to die, I don’t want my mom to die, please, oh my God, please, you have to send me back-”
Tao sat frozen as Karlo wept, temporarily paralyzed by shock and horror, until he found himself moving as if by instinct. He threw the shirt around Karlo’s bare shoulders, sat him upright, and pulled him into a crushingly tight hug, until he was practically sitting on Tao’s lap. Karlo collapsed against Tao’s chest, wailing full-throated into the older man’s shoulder. Tao held onto him for dear life, rocking him back and forth and whispering words into Karlo’s hair that he didn’t know the origin of.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it's going to be okay, you’re safe here, nothing’s going to hurt you anymore. Shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He lifted his head, pausing his affirmations.
“Faye, can you get Marina?”
She nodded and slipped out, but Karlo struggled in Tao’s grasp.
“No, wait, I don’t want her to see me, I don’t want her to see…” He sobbed, clawing at the tattoo around his neck. This close, Tao could see the words.
I AM A GOOD PET. I DO NOT THINK. I OBEY.
“Hey, hey,” Tao caught Karlo’s hand, “She’ll still love you, no matter what.”
Karlo looked up at him, almost looking like he could believe it, before his face twisted and he pressed back into the crook of Tao’s shoulder.
“Karlo,” he spat out bitterly, “She loved Karlo.” His shoulders shook with renewed sobs.
“Well,” Tao squeezed his hand where it was pinned between them, “I like Lark, too.”
Lark let out a little gasp, and Tao realized it was a laugh, a real laugh, not the strained, forced thing he’d heard earlier. Lark relaxed in Tao’s arms, and Tao held him close, pressing his lips to the top of Lark’s head without a thought.
“I’ve got you. You’re okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
Lark took a slow, shuddering breath, and squeezed Tao’s hand back.
That’s when they heard the gunfire.
~~~
First, Previous, Masterlist, Next
Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em, @morning-star-whump, @thecyrulik
#whump#whump fic#whump writing#this death that i chose#pet whump#dubconcw#cw conditioning#cw derogatory language#cw manipulation#cw dubcon kiss#cw panic attack#cw derogatory tattoo
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Daisy Character Profile
Character profile for Daisy. I'm planning to do character profiles for all of my protagonists before moving on to the other characters. Daisy is very easy to write and define and is one of my favourites because of her sweet and earnest personality.
(TW/CW: This text contains brief, non-detailed descriptions of transphobic abuse, bullying, sibling abuse, verbal abuse and xenophobic attitudes.)
Full Name: Daisy Aster Drake
Pronunciation of their name: Day-zee As-ter Dray-k
Title: Miss, Airixa (‘Chosen by Airis’)
Nickname(s): Daisy Bubblegum (derogatory), Dais, Little Star (family only), Chosen One (title used by gods)
Gender: Trans woman (she/her)
Race: Mixed Race (Black mother, Arab father) (this mostly applies to Daisy if she were human, but she is roughly equivalent to these identities in her world)
Species: Anseri (anthro ducks), specifically a mallard
Sexuality: Panromantic Demipansexual
Height: 4’7”/1.40m
Weight: 6st 2lbs/39.0kg
Age: 11
Eye colour(s): Sky blue
Contacts?: No
Glasses?: No
Face shape: Round, prominent cheeks, fat roll under chin
Describe their eyes: Round, big, long eyelashes
Describe their nose: Part of her beak, flat, small nostrils
Describe their lips: Part of her beak, small mouth, short beak
Ears: N/A
Describe their body: Short, fat, round stomach, apple-shaped, shoulders wider than hips, short torso with long legs and arms
Disabilities: Autism
Extra extremities: Beak, tail
Hair colour(s): Yellow-brown/dark blonde
Hair length: Short
Hair style: Undercut
Skin/fur colour(s): Feathers are pale yellow with yellow-brown markings, beak and legs are pink and dark grey
Complexion: N/A
Patterns/designs: Typical mallard duckling markings
Scars: None
Birthmarks: None
Tattoos: None
Piercings: None
Personality snapshot: Sweet, cheerful duckling
Most prominent personality trait: Cheerful
Best traits of their personality: Kind, optimist, friendly, helpful, even-tempered, social, intelligent, curious, creative
Worst traits of their personality: Passive, placative, repressed, shy, nervous, prone to anger
Current faith: Agnostic/Anseri religion
Alignment: Neutral Good
Marital status: N/A
Family:
Bluebell Duckington (formerly Drake) - Mother
Sycamore Drake - Father
Lily Drake - Older sister
Cornflower Drake - Younger sister
Dicentra ‘Bleeding Heart’ Duckington - Maternal grandmother
Friends:
Zephyr St. Mallard
Xanthia
Occupation: Secondary school student, choir girl, Chosen One of the Anseri
Good habits: Kind, creative, curious, practical, intelligent
Bad habits: Represses feelings, passive, shy, prone to anger, gets frustrated easily, placative, too trusting
Powers: Bubblegum creation and manipulation (via the Chosen One’s Gauntlet)
Skills: Gets good grades, good at drawing, knows a lot about butterflies, good singer, can swim, good at blowing bubblegum bubbles
Hobbies: Butterfly spotting, swimming, singing, drawing, chewing bubblegum
Random facts:
Daisy has only been out as a trans woman to her family for three years. They’ve suspected that she might be for a long time, because Daisy wasn’t exactly subtle about her preference for girl’s clothes and toys, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to them. However Daisy’s coming out still got a mixed reception. Her mum is trying to be a good parent and support her, but secretly she’s having trouble adjusting to her new daughter; her grandmother, father and younger sister are unconditionally and wholeheartedly supportive of her; but her older sister Lily has the most trouble accepting her. Lily has always bullied Daisy and her transition came at the worst possible time for Lily, their parents divorce. Lily was full of anger and hurt and directed it all at Daisy and refuses to accept Daisy’s gender identity, frequently mocking her and deadnaming her. Daisy’s schoolmates don’t know that she’s a girl yet, but they will when Daisy starts secondary school and goes to school as a girl for the first time. The only one who already knows is her best friend Zephyr, who was the first person Daisy came out to. Zephyr completely understands and supports Daisy because Zephyr is also trans.
Daisy is a choir girl at the local Anseri church at her grandmother’s insistence. Daisy’s mother isn’t particularly religious and has raised Daisy the same way, but her paternal grandmother is devoutly religious and insists that her granddaughter participate in church activities, despite Daisy being uncomfortable about it. Daisy doesn’t feel very welcome in the church because of the snotty, superior kids in the choir and their gossipy parents and the well-meaning but pushy priests, but feels duty bound to keep going for her grandma’s sake. She does like one thing about being in the choir, singing, something she’s very good at and one of the ways she expresses herself. She has a beautiful, angelic voice that rises above everyone else’s and has made her the star of the church service on Sunday, much to the jealousy of the other kids in the choir.
Daisy’s species and nation are the Anseri, the ducks and geese, who live on the tropical island of Pritani on the planet of Ge. The dominant species on Ge are anthropomorphic birds who live in nations that are based on their species and mostly stay separate from each other, and Pritani is no exception to this and is easily the most isolationist and the most hostile to immigrants of all the nations. Very few immigrants are allowed in and most of Pritani’s population is still ducks and geese. The Pritani government cites religious reasons for their isolationist policies and hostility to other nations, but none of them are that religious. It’s more that xenophobia is baked into their culture and they refuse to change their minds or their policies due to fear of the unknown. Daisy and her family are not like this, because her parents have always taught her to be accepting of others and she is, but she has passively absorbed a lot of xenophobic ideas from the people around her, so she can be ignorant and insensitive sometimes.
Daisy chews bubblegum as a nervous habit, despite her mother’s worry about the damage it’s doing to her teeth. It’s the only thing she gets in trouble at school about, earning her the unflattering nickname of ‘Daisy Bubblegum’ from the other kids. Daisy has got very good at hiding the evidence of her bubblegum habit from her mum and her teachers. This habit and her talent for blowing bubbles with it is going to come in very handy when she becomes the Chosen One and gets the Chosen One’s Gauntlet, which is especially adapted to create bubblegum weapons as a tribute to Daisy’s skill.
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Vita Character Profile
Since I'm starting the 'Forward' comic once my shoulder is healed, here's the character profile for the protagonist, Vita.
(TW/CW: This text contains descriptions of parental neglect and discrimination, as well as mentions of death, ableist insults and one character being burnt by another.)
Full Name: Vita (English translation, spelled ‘Vitae’ when written in-universe.)
Pronunciation of their name: Vee-tah
Nickname(s): Vee, Vitaceae (pen name), Little Grape (family), Little Ant, No-brain (derogatory), Abomination (derogatory)
Gender: Agender (they/them pronouns)
Race: Mixed (Black/Polynesian) (if human)
Species: Chaos Butterfly/Muscant hybrid (Anthro butterfly/ant)
Sexuality: Aromantic Asexual
Height: 7’2”/2.18m (Chaos Butterflies range from 4 - 8ft tall. Vita is considered tall by their standards.)
Weight: 19st 2lb/121.5kg
Age: 20
Eye colour(s): Grass green
Contacts?: No
Glasses?: No
Face shape: Teardrop, long, tapers towards muzzle.
Describe their eyes: Very large, upturned, green irises and sclera, large irises.
Describe their nose: N/A
Describe their lips: N/A, has a proboscis.
Ears: N/A, has antennae.
Body build: Pear-shaped, wide hips, fat, thin arms and legs.
Disabilities: Autism, anxiety, dyspraxia
Non-human extremities: Four arms, butterfly wings, flexible proboscis, elbowed antennae.
Hair colour(s): N/A
Hair length: N/A
Hair style: N/A
Skin/fur colour(s): Dark purple with dark magenta accents. Wings are dark magenta and light green.
Complexion: N/A
Patterns/designs: Wings have markings that resemble a Lettuce Lion, a local predator of Chaos Butterflies.
Scars: None
Birthmarks: None
Tattoos: None
Piercings: None
Personality snapshot: Quiet, stoic botanist.
Most prominent personality trait: Quiet
Best traits of their personality: Helpful, curious, kind, driven, caring, polite, loyal, methodical, dutiful.
Worst traits of their personality: Obsessive, stubborn, secretive, passive, placative, uncommunicative, prone to frustration, prone to anger, vindictive, insensitive.
Current faith: Chaos Butterfly beliefs.
Alignment: Lawful Good
Marital status: Single
Occupation: College student/amateur botanist
Good habits: Will do set tasks, will help others, wants to learn, is thorough.
Bad habits: Hides feelings, won’t stand up for themselves, bears grudges.
Powers:
Acid generation/control - Vita can produce acid from their body and also control sources of acid around them due to their natural elemental affinity for Acid.
Limited precognition - Chaos Butterflies have the ability to predict how a small event will cause a chain of events leading to a larger event.
Permanent hunger - Chaos Butterflies are incapable of feeling full. Most strictly control their food intake, including Vita.
Skills: Encyclopaedic knowledge of plants and animals, can care for and breed plants and animals, can draw.
Hobbies: Studying, breeding and caring for plants and animals.
Random facts:
Vita lives in the Chaos Butterfly village of Phasja, one of the many Chaos Butterfly villages ringed around Mt. Rabbiteye on the island of Polaris. Chaos Butterflies tend to build their villages around a focal point, like a tree or a mountain, which they believe houses their god. Mt. Rabbiteye is an active volcano that houses the Burning Rabbit, the god of death and fire, worshipped by the Chaos Butterflies of Polaris. Chaos Butterflies are almost always fortune-tellers, using their species’ ability to see chains of events to read fortunes for tourists. Their species are seen by outsiders as mystical female oracles, so tourism to their villages is very high and their main source of income. When tourism season is over, they go back to their regular roles in their community. Outsiders aren’t welcome in their villages until tourism season starts again, as Chaos Butterflies are very secretive to preserve their reputation to the outside world. Any Butterfly that leaves the village must preserve that secret by being fortune-tellers. Taking any other career path is inadvisable.
In the world of Floraverse, every being, place and object has its own elemental affinity which affects their appearance, personality, skills and the kind of magic they excel at. Vita’s affinity is Acid, a secondary element formed from the combination of the primary elements Fire and Water, the two elemental affinities of Polaris. All Polaris Butterflies have elements related to Fire and Water, including Vita and their dad Makoa, who has the Cloud affinity, a secondary affinity of Water. Vita’s affinity gives them control over everything from fruit and soil acidity to chemical acids used in various products to natural sources of acid like caustic lakes and even allows them to produce acid from their own body. It also gives them a natural aptitude for Potions and Incense based magic, as they are the types of magic associated with Water and Fire, not that Vita has any interest in developing these talents beyond their use in their chosen field of botany. Vita’s Acid affinity is dangerous if not harnessed properly, but they can usually control it, unless they get emotional. When Vita gets upset or angry, acid leaks out of their body, causing damage to anything or anyone nearby. This has led to a couple of incidents in the past, including an incident where they burnt the grandson of a Village Elder during a confrontation in the playground.
Vita is a rare Chaos Butterfly hybrid, their mother being a Muscant Queen from a nearby colony. Vita’s father, Makoa, being shy and effeminate, was never very attractive in a society where males must be strong and masculine. A chance encounter with Vita’s mother in the forest surrounding Phasja led to Vita’s conception. The two parted ways unaware that anything had come of it, until Vita’s mother laid an unusually large egg that hatched into a very large, weird looking ant larva. Vita’s mother tried to care for them, but was not equipped to care for a baby caterpillar, so ended up dumping them on Makoa’s doorstep and fleeing into the night. Vita was raised by their father and grandparents, their father lying to the whole village and his own parents about the identity of their mother. He had no choice, Chaos Butterflies do not breed with other species and especially not with non-sapient species like Muscants. Once the identity of their mother was revealed, Vita and Makoa lost everything, their family, their home and their reputation in the village. Vita is called an ‘Abomination’ by the village and they and their father are generally avoided by other villagers.
Vita lives with their father and he’s all that they really have. They live a fairly lonely existence together, but they love each other very much. Vita worries about their father’s loneliness and Makoa worries about his child’s inability to look after themselves. Vita has only seen their mother a handful of times. She only visits when it suits her, not really having the same kind of parenting instinct that a sapient parent has. She’s attracted more to the ant pheromones coming from her child than she is concerned about their welfare. Once she sees Vita, she does remember them and remember that they’re her child, though. They can’t really communicate in a way that is meaningful to Vita and she soon leaves when she remembers that she’s supposed to be at the colony. Vita has issues with all of this. On the one hand, Vita knows that their mother is a wild animal and can’t help her behaviour, but on the other hand, wants their mum to be like a normal mum. Vita has their dad, who fills the mother role in their life, but can’t help but resent the absence of their actual mother.
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Ama Character Profile
I did a thing on DeviantART to fill in the time between posting drawings and I’m cross-posting it here.
I'm using Spelledeg's Character bio sheet BASIC as a template and I've edited it slightly to suit my purposes.
We'll start with Ama, since she's one of my more developed characters and a favourite of mine.
TW/CW: Sexist/Ableist language
Full Name: Ama Rika Branika Arnika Grivillix (Ama's middle names are the feminine forms of the names of her father, grandfather and great-grandfather, the three previous kings of the Grivillix dynasty.)
Pronunciation of their name: Ah-muh Ree-kuh Brah-nik-uh Arn-ih-kuh Grih-vihll-ihcks
Title: Kir (king), Kistri (princess, former), Kir nor Hol (Sun King), Miss
Nickname(s): Ams, Amri ('Little Warrior', family only), Beskri ('Little Dragon/Serpent', family only), Holistri ('Sun Girl', derogatory), Princess, Kistri Sulna ('Crazy/Halfwit Princess', derogatory), Kiristri ('Girl King', derogatory)
Gender: Cis intersex (Congenital adrenal hyperplasia) woman (she/her)
Race: Mixed race (Black/Latina/White)
Species: Ixen/Dragon hybrid
Sexuality: Homoromantic Asexual
Height: 6'2"/187cm
Weight: 11st 8lbs/73kg
Age: 20
Eye colour(s): Red (true form)/Brown (human form)
Contacts?: No
Glasses?: No
Face shape: Long, narrow, oval, square chin
Describe their eyes: Heavy-lidded, small, narrow, slit pupils, short light eyelashes, bags under eyes
Describe their nose: Long, narrow bridge, widens at the bottom, rounded tip
Describe their lips: Thin, bottom lip is fuller
Ears: Pointed, long, free lobes, pierced
Body build: Tall, thin, narrow shoulders and hips, small breasts, paunchy stomach, long neck, small long hands and feet, long fingers and toes, long trunk, long legs and arms
Disabilities: Paralysed right arm (Erb's palsy), autism, clinical depression
Extra extremities: Wing nubs, tail, horns, claws, sharp teeth (All inherited from her dragon mother.)
Hair colour(s): Dark blonde
Hair length: Very long
Hair style: Shaved, high ponytail
Skin/fur colour(s): Medium yellow brown, gets gradually redder towards the wings and tail
Complexion: Tan, dry skin
Patterns/designs: None
Scars: Acne scars on cheeks
Birthmarks: Stork bite birthmark on the back of neck
Tattoos: None
Piercings: Three in each ear
Personality snapshot: Reserved bookworm with a strong sense of justice
Most prominent personality trait: Reserved
Best traits of their personality: Curious, analytical, driven, practical, kind, just, imaginative
Worst traits of their personality: Quick to anger, obsessive, socially awkward, stubborn, secretive, avoidant
Current faith: The Ixen worship of the Sun King and Moon Queen (It would be weird if she wasn't since she's the reincarnation of the Sun King.)
Current superstitions/quirks: TBA
Alignment: Neutral Good
Marital status: Single
Occupation: King of Ixenor, Messiah, Private detective
Good habits: Polite, always helpful, always tidies up
Bad habits: Forgets to eat, violent outbursts, doesn't ask for help
Abilities: Fire breath, super strength, shapeshifting
Special skills: Diplomacy, analytical skills, proficiency in several musical instruments
Hobbies: Reading, watching crime dramas, drinking tea, doing crossword puzzles, going on walks
Random facts:
Ama more than anything wants to learn and explore, because she's been stuck in one place and in a restrictive role for most of her life, making her similar to quite a few Disney protagonists.
Ama's entire race lives in one cave (Ixen are very small, about the size of a small butterfly), so cave sounds are very relaxing to her.
Ama prefers dogs, but she still likes cats.
Ama is incapable of sitting in a normal position, unless someone else is in the room with her.
Ama wears similar clothes all the time because it's easier and she's never had much input in her fashion choices.
Ama's favourite food is mushrooms.
Ama's hair defies gravity because it's stiffer and made of harder material than normal hair. This is a feature of European dragons in their human forms since their dragon forms don't have actual hair to shapeshift.
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