#this would be like. a sweet call-back rather than a really applicable or current gift. you know? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pjisskullourful · 2 years

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︵‿ｓｗｅｅｔ　ｓｐｏｔ ‿︵

⛓️ Thomas × reader [The Gift part9]

NSFW🚨 really nasty shit of the KINKIEST degree

Thomas Raggi/non-binary reader insert

° a local sex club hosts a regular event called Pup Night, which sounds perfect to you & thomas

wordcount::: 10,177

° commissioned by the absolute gem that is my nibling jace(@wow-ihateithere) 💋 thankyou for all the patience & support. most importantly thankyou for a truly filthy idea to have fun with [there are currently 2 fics in cue, secure your own spot in my priority list here]

° none of the lyrics included were written by me[x]

° [ITA:] caro: dear - amore: love

you got the green light, don't you hold back no more. Let's live our best life...

Usually you didn’t give targeted advertising much of your attention, scrolling past those banners without a second thought. But in the daze of jet lag (your body clock was messed up after another visit to America) you had been less critical and far more open to distractions.

That was how you had learned of ‘pup night’ at a nightclub in the city. You had heard of this club, but that had been in the pre-pandemic world, in your life before becoming Thomas’ partner. Before him, you never would have entertained the thought of going to that kind of club, your curiosity easily drowned out by your intimidating insecurities.

But when you followed the link off of a fetish gear website, the only thing that you had felt was intrigued. There hadn’t been any second-guessing to slow you down as you looked through the different theme nights that the club cycled through. So many of the options had gotten your heart pounding faster, the digital flyers earning an extended look from you.

Pup Night reigned over all others, ultimately leading you to the application form provided by the website. You sent it to your printer in the study.

The option of getting out of bed to collect these pages was quickly overruled by your boyfriend making getting up more difficult. In his sleep, he had rolled over, stretching out and invading your personal space, placing himself somewhat on top of you, rather than lying next to you. You hadn’t resisted the invitation to cuddle, placing your phone aside.

Waking up before him, you had taken the paper from the printing tray to look over as you started your day. You ate your cereal as you read over the many conditions of entry.

He surprised you, appearing in the lounge room not long after you had finished your breakfast. You had anticipated at least one hour on your own, creeping around and making a coffee as quietly as you could manage. You had planned to have a quick shower (he had a cheeky habit of taking the sound of running water as an invitation, exponentially extending every shower that he joined) before getting to your university work.

He joined you on the sofa, instantly pressing his body into the side of yours. He laid his head on your shoulder, his wild hair tickling at your uncovered neck. These were the little moments that you didn’t get when he was on tour. You put an arm around his shoulders, listening to his sleepy sighs.

“Isn’t it too early for homework, nerd?” He asked.

You took the time to reorganise the pages before speaking, letting him see the stylised header on the first page. “It isn’t homework.”

He rubbed at his eyes as he read the letters. “Our Sweet Spot, what is that and why do you need to apply, and is that my name?”

“Considering your behaviour, or should I say misbehaviour- the last time we went to a club, I thought I should look into different venues, venues that suit my slutty puppy a bit more. This is a sex club…” You said.

You felt him squirm a little in his seat as he let out an unconvincing laugh. “A what?”

“Yeah, a club where you wouldn’t be the only naughty boy trying to get his partner undressed.”

He lifted his head, looking at you with wide eyes. “So, we just go to this club and fuck in front of everyone?”

“No, not exactly.” You said. “It’s a club, not a theatre, so it’s not like people take turns on a stage, or whatever.” You raked your fingers through his soft hair, trying to tame the strands. “I’ve never been to a club like this either. But from what I could put together from the shit I’ve read-” You put your finger to his lips. “Call me a nerd again, and die. It seems to me that there’s one part of it that’s like a normal club, there’s the bar and a dance floor. But then there��s the semi-private room and a bunch of people can go in there to fool around, and do whatever they feel comfortable doing in front of these strangers.

“And there’s the private rooms.” You said, resting both hands at the back of his neck. “I guess it’s kind of like a hotel suite. You check in for a room with a bed and you get to decide who’s in there and any nastiness that happens is totally private. But there’s no way to know what it’s actually like unless we go there.”

“And we need an application to go there?” He asked.

“Oh yes, it’s kind of exclusive, you can’t just wander in from the street, RSVPing is mandatory.” You said. “They even have a membership program, but I figure we can’t jump into something like that blind.” You studied his face, your eyes scanning for those subtle, accidental tells that you had gotten to know during the course of your relationship. “Do you want to check this club out with me? ‘Cause it didn’t cost anything to get this form and honestly, I can chuck it in the trash right-...”

“No, no, no, don’t throw it away.” He said. “Of course I’d love to check it out with you. I just have no idea about places like that and- well, I’m a little caught off guard.” He held your gaze, his hazel eyes unwavering. “I hadn’t realised that this would be your scene.”

You had started to smile. “Yeah, I hadn’t realised either. But we’ve talked about showing off what a good li’l bottom bitch you are. And I was only inspired to go down this route after how much you misbehaved when we last went out.”

He squirmed in his seat. “But I thought- we put that whole thing to bed, didn’t we? You reprimanded me, I took my punishment, then I was forgiven, right? Did I misread that situation?”

“No, that is exactly what happened.” You said, pushing his hair off of his face. “But forgiving isn’t the same as forgetting. And I certainly haven’t forgotten how much fun you seemed to be having that night, you were having a whole lot of fun being cheeky and boundary-pushing when we were out in public.” He dropped his chin, slipping into this pouty-façade rather easily. “And now that I’ve found this club, it seems like I’ve found the perfect place to have some fun of my own, by owning you in public.

“But only if you want.” You said with an instant change to your tone of voice.

He nodded, looking up at you again. “Yeah, I do, I definitely do. But… well, what do I wear?”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, caro. They have to approve our application first.” You pointed out, you resettled yourself on the sofa. You offered him one of the pages, reorganising the paperwork in your lap. “Here, you can read the conditions of entry.”

Instead of taking the piece of paper from you, he frowned at it. “I think it’s great that they’ve got this policy to keep the guests safe, that’s a fabulous practice, truly. But I’m gonna need a coffee before I can attempt reading this. Or three- three coffees before I read this. Do you want one?”

“Yes, please. But just one for me.” You said and he pecked you on the cheek as he got up.

He started to leave the room and you could hear him yawning as he responded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

You moved down to the floor, finding a clear spot on the coffee table and lying the form down here. You were working your way through the remaining pages when he returned, setting a steaming mug down.

“So they need to know if you’ve ever been known by any other names…” You told him, pointing to a section that had been left blank.

“Like a screen-name?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, raising your voice as he strolled out of the room. “No, like an alias, like something that you’ve introduced yourself as, or written down on some form anywhere.”

He carried his beat-up laptop back into the lounge room. “Chad Sexington.”

“Swear to God…” You huffed and looked back at the page. “I’m gonna write Jackass…”

“I don’t have any alias’.” He found a place on the coffee table for his laptop, sitting adjacent to you. “Should we come up with a cool one?”

“Uh-huh, I’ll put that right at the top of my list of priorities.” You said sarcastically.

After a pause, he looked away from the computer screen. “Would I be the only pup there? Is it a come as you are kind of vibe?”

“Oh fuck, I totally forgot to tell you the best part.” You said, frustrated at your momentary lapse, your sales pitch hadn’t been planned out well enough. “They have an event, like regularly, called Pup Night, specifically for puppy kinks. That’s how I found out about the club, and I don’t know if I’d say that it’s the only reason why I wanna go, but it’s definitely a big driving force of my interest. I figured that would be the ideal place to start.” You reached your hand across the tabletop for his. “We could go and get some inspiration for our own play. And if we like the club, we can check out the other non-kink specific nights.”

He laced his fingers through yours. “When is the next Pup Night?”

“Uhm…” You picked up your phone, finding the screenshot you had captured last night. You read the date out to him and a new expression came across his face, a sheepish kind of smile forming.

“I’ll be home that week.” He said of the date two weeks in the future.

“Oh, I know.” You said. “But there’s no guarantee that they’ll be done with our application by then. They said that it can take up to a month.”

“A month?” He repeated, eyebrows raised. “They’re super busy with half of Italy applying to get in. This is the place to be, huh?”

“Yeah, getting into your pants was easier than getting into this club.” You teased.

His mouth dropped open in exaggerated shock. “How dare you sully my good name like this. It wasn’t until our fifth date that we slept together. I don’t think that puts me in the category of easy.”

You just smiled. “You can keep telling yourself that you aren’t easy, baby.”

“Anyway, what should I wear?”

“Clearly you’ve gotta wear your collar-”

“Leash?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’d say that it’s the perfect occasion to bring the leash out. And then… Well, we’ve never tried to pair the chastity belt or the tail with clothing before. So the logistics of that- I think we would have to do some experimenting to figure out how that would work.” You said, the uncertainty showing through on your face. “I guess that’s the kind of thing we could Google to find-”

He was turning the laptop around, allowing you to see the screen. “I already did. It’s a whole lot of rubber thongs.”

Your eyes grew wide as you took in the sight of so much flesh, unable to keep yourself from giggling. “Oh, I don’t know if we’re that kinky. I’m gonna need more than one coffee before I can deal with that.”

… … …

“There is so much ass in here!” Thomas exclaimed over the bass-heavy music coming from the large speakers.

Unlike many of the other people in attendance for Pup Night, your boyfriend had decided against wearing a latex g-string. In the two weeks since sending in your application, he had been able to find an alternate option, something that still allowed him to wear the tail plug.

He was wearing a pair of glossy black vinyl pants - designed for kink with two-way zippers that extended to the very back of the pants. His curved tail poked out from his ass, with the zippers allowing him to hide everything else beneath the plastic material.

He was less covered up on his torso, wearing a mesh top with a black fabric strap running across his chest. This was accessorised with oversized safety pins, the whole look completed by his collar and leash - the end of this you held in your hand.

“You can say that again.” You said to him.

“Alright, there’s so much ass in here.”

You giggled a little. “Doesn’t it remind you of being at work?”

But this club made Måneskin, and every other part of your regular lives, look so very tame. Our Sweet Spot looked like any other nightclub from the outside - while on the inside everyone was taking advantage of the opportunity to fully embrace their kink side. They were relishing in this freedom, showing skin and playing with personas of their own creation.

You were used to your and Thomas’ expression of a puppy kink, and you were fascinated to see how others expressed this identity.

There was so much to see, you could hardly find a place for your eyes to rest. Because you wanted to see all of it, all of the different styles and colours of masks. You were paying attention to the wide variety of tails, so many more unique designs than what you had come across at Sexpo.

This large main room had a familiar floor plan - the dance floor was in the middle of the space, with a bar running along one of the walls. There were dedicated sitting areas with burgundy couches and armchairs for the patrons.

You and Thomas were headed for the bar when you were stalled by a couple crossing your path. One partner was holding the end of a leash and the one on the leash had their hands and knees down on the carpet. They crawled alongside their dom, who showed you a courtesy smile as they passed.

You shared a look with Thomas, the two of you silently acknowledging this extraordinary sight. You let him lead the way to the bar, keeping your hand in his as you got distracted by looking around again. Before you had reached the end of the cue, you had already spotted two more people navigating around the club on all fours.

Once at the front of the line, Thomas ordered your cocktail first. “On the menu there, you’ve got two prices. Is that for different sizes, like at Starbucks?”

“Actually, the lower price is for our members.” The bartender gently corrected.

He quickly looked at you, mouth agape. “Cheaper drinks for members?”

“Something to consider…” The bartender said with a knowing smile.

You appreciated when they didn’t instantly try to upsell you from two drinks to a yearly membership. Instead, they allowed you and Thomas room to breathe.

And that was true to the rest of the club. Despite all of the people in attendance, the area didn’t feel crowded. The only person to invade your personal space was your boyfriend.

You got your drinks and found a spot to stand off to the side. You faced him and raised your glass. “What should we toast to?”

He lifted his bottle of beer into the air, copying you. “New experiences?”

“Yes, here’s to new experiences.” You tapped your glass to the side of his bottle.

“You don’t have to join me in this…” He said as you had your first sip of the green cocktail. “But I would like to drink in celebration of how hot you look in that leather jacket.” He was smiling as he lifted the bottle up to his lips.

He stepped in closer, sliding an arm around your waist so that he could place his hand into the back pocket of your jeans. He was close enough that you could smell cigarettes and the styling products he had applied to his hair to keep it in the same state of rumpled all night.

“I can hardly believe that you aren’t taking advantage of all of that available space on the dance floor.” You told him.

It was something that he was known for - his energetic dancing with movements too big to be contained in small spaces, he needed room to go nuts and have fun. He got less enjoyment from crowded clubs, leaving dance floors if they got too full because he didn’t want to risk his fist-pumping injuring another.

“Maybe if they play a song that I know.” He said, providing you with another surprise. His knowledge of music was unmatched by anyone you had ever met - he had taught you about genres you had never before heard of. It didn’t matter the occasion, if he was asked to put a song on, he always came through with the perfect choice.

You hadn’t recognised any of the dance music that had been playing in the twenty minutes since arriving. But you assumed this was only an issue for you. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to suss out where the DJ booth is and I think they don’t have one. So maybe this is just some really obscure Spotify playlist.” He said. “Think about it, who is coming here to see a kick-ass DJ set? It’s not about playing the hottest tracks. No, this music is just a soundtrack for grinding.”

You hadn’t considered it like that before - now you looked over the dance floor in a new way. You couldn’t deny that his enthusiastic jigging would have him sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the other patrons. Nobody was showing off their voguing skills, nor was anybody jumping around with the ecstasy of getting to hear their favourite song.

You realised that the music was inconsequential. It didn’t matter what the lyrics were saying (you couldn’t quite figure out if the few words were being sung in Italian, or English, or something else), so long as the horny people had a beat that they could move their bodies to.

“That’s a very eloquent way to put it, caro.” You complimented.

“So, do you wanna?” He asked, eyebrows raised as he nodded to the direction of the dance floor.

“Hm?”

“Is the music providing you with any kind of inspiration?”

You smiled knowingly and shortened his leash by winding more of it around your fist. “Are you looking to get your grind on?”

“Yeah, can I entice you into that?”

“Sure thing, honey.”

He led you to an available spot on the dance floor, bobbing his head to the beat. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t heard this song before, he could quickly get into the rhythm and he turned to you with a smile.

There was no reason to hold back, you stepped forward to place one of your feet between where his were planted and you pushed your body into his. This wasn’t like when you went out in a group of friends, having to hold back because of a sense of modesty and understanding that public displays of affection were usually frowned upon.

It also wasn’t the same as getting a night out for just the two of you, wherein there was an underlying threat of someone recognising him. If anyone in here thought that his face looked familiar, they wouldn’t have the opportunity to record any of the nastiness you shared. The club had a condition of entry for phones to be checked at the cloakroom, no one could be photographed. There were no consequences that could come from this night, your boyfriend could enjoy the freedoms of anonymity - an indulgence that was getting rarer with seemingly every passing week.

You could grind your hips on his and let your hands wander without worrying about what someone else might think of you. Everyone around you was far too preoccupied to pay attention to you.

You let the music take up only a fraction of your focus as you continued to behave like a tourist, taking in all of the brand new sights with great curiosity. Amongst the many kissing couples, you saw riding crops striking asses. You saw someone with a gag strapped to their face, in the place of the typical ball, a bright red bone kept their lips parted. A lot of people had chosen to cover their nipples with tape, as opposed to putting a shirt on, their exposed breasts decorated with glitters and eye-catching jewels.

Everywhere that you happened to look served as a reminder that this wasn’t a regular bar, served as an invitation to indulge in what you usually kept strictly in the bedroom. It was all as lustful as you had hoped.

Thomas was looking around as well, giving you an insight of what he was thinking when he leaned in closer to ask you a question. “How sweaty do you think those hoods are?”

You followed his line of sight to where a masked individual was dancing. Their entire head was covered by a leather hood, with only their eyes showing, their identity had disappeared behind the protruding dog’s snout. The accessory was completed by the pair of ears on either side of the head.

“Extremely sweaty.” You said. “But you don’t have to worry because I would literally never put you in anything like that.” He looked away from the black and red mask. “I wouldn’t even dream of covering up this beautiful face.” He smiled as he raised his bottle for a sip of beer. “Why would I deprive myself like that?

“Because then I wouldn’t be able to do this…” You gave him a kiss on the cheek, keeping the contact quick in the effort of avoiding any transference of the dark lipstick you wore. “Or this…” You kissed his other cheek. “And where would I be if I couldn’t do this?”

The next kiss went to the tip of his nose, which brought a wide grin to his face. You felt the arm that he had been holding around your waist tighten. You didn’t resist or instruct him to slow down, instead you just enjoyed how his body felt on yours - the rhythm your hips worked at was beginning to give you ideas.

“And how could I pass up an opportunity to do this?” You asked before kissing him on the lips. You could have given more (that was a very tempting thought), but you made it chaste, keeping the moisture to a minimum. When you pulled back, you saw him take a moment before opening his eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get any of my lipstick on you.”

“Why would I be worried about that?” He asked as you downed the last mouthful of your Midori cocktail. “You can get your lipstick all over me, I think that would look great. I would love that.”

“Yeah, I bet you would.” You said, draping your arms around his neck. “But I’m not about to ruin my makeup less than an hour into the night.”

“So it’s a timing kind of thing, I have to wait until it gets past a certain time to be able to kiss you?”

You grinned at him. “Yep, let’s say that’s what it is.”

“When can I kiss you?”

“Oh, I’m not gonna just tell you, lover.”

You put an end to any further discussion of this by spinning yourself around. With your back to him, you popped your ass out, driving this against his crotch. You slightly relaxed your hold on his leash, letting the chain hang down the front of your body with the handle looped around one of your wrists. You rolled your hips back, timing your movements to the quick beat, until you felt him moving with you again.

His arm went around your middle again, his hand firmly pressed to your stomach. You were finding that the colourful and shiny crowd were posing less of a distraction, you were just concentrating on this intimate embrace with your boyfriend. You felt free to explore more, absolutely thrilled by the fact that you didn’t need to stop anytime soon.

You wondered if he knew how sexy he was when being teased. There was something about it that shifted the dynamic between the two of you and it made your heart pump faster.

It sounded to you that the electronic beats were getting quicker, seeming to be building to that moment when the bass dropped for the song to come to an exciting conclusion. Bending your knees, you started to slide down his front, letting your butt rub against him as you went.

There was a look in his eyes - one that you were very familiar with. It was the same look that he gave you when you had just finished tying a knot in the shibari rope. Or when you got out the bottle of lube.

You placed your hand on his leg, beginning to trail it upwards. Before you could get too high, you were distracted by a multi-coloured flashing coming into your peripheral vision. You turned your head, discovering the source to be LED lights embedded in the caster wheels of someone’s wheelchair. As you watched them wheel past, you noticed the two neon leashes they had in one hand, they were going in different directions. One was tethered to a pup who was leading the way, the other secured to the person pushing the chair.

The bright trio made their way over to an elevator, which you had taken for granted upon first spotting it. Now, with one hand wrapped around the back of Thomas’ knee, you noticed a wall-mounted directory beside the buttons. From your current vantage point, the words were too small to be read. But you wanted to know what they said.

You wondered what you were missing out on. You needed to follow through with your plan to see as much as you could in this adventure.

You stood up, pulling on Thomas’ leash until his face was almost touching yours. “I wanna go upstairs. Are you ready to come with me?”

“Upstairs?” He repeated, casting his eyes up as if expecting to see a mezzanine overlooking this area. But the only thing to be seen was the wallpapered roof. “I totally didn’t realise there were other floors.”

“Well there are and I don’t know what’s up there, but I wanna find out.” You said.

“Sex. That’s what’s going on up there, the sexy times.”

“Right. Do you wanna check it out with me?”

His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything at first. He scratched his cheek as his eyes went over to the mechanical doors, then he looked at you and back again, seeming to need extra time to find his words. “I- yeah, I do want- yeah, well we can… ahem…”

You put your hands on his cheeks, getting him to look into your eyes. “Tom, we don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. The whole point of coming here was to have fun and we can experiment within what we’re comfortable with. I brought you here to arouse you, not make you cringe.” He nodded as he listened. “I’m having fun dancing, we can keep dancing.”

He put his hands over yours, wrapping his fingers around them. “No, I want to go and I think that we should.” It felt like he was squeezing a bit tighter than usual. “But I’m just- I don’t know how I’m gonna react and I’m worried that it’ll- what if it’s embarrassing?”

You linked your fingers with his, silently taking in this moment and letting him squirm because that was what he felt he needed to do. You understood that he was only allowing you to see this vulnerable side because he felt safe with you. And you had to show him that you could rise to this occasion - just as he had done for you so many times.

“Embarrassing for who?” You asked. “I don’t know how I’m gonna react either. But we won’t know unless we try.”

He took a deep breath. “That is true. And we’re just trying it…”

“Exactly. We can just walk in and do a lap and leave if it’s not okay. Or we can sit, we can sit far away from everyone else.” You said, you let go of one of his hands and started to turn your body in the direction of the elevator. “We can hold hands the whole time. And nothing else, nothing unless you want to.”

He started to walk with you. “We can use the traffic light system.”

“Yes, we definitely will use that. Good puppy.”

There was a worker standing by the elevator's control panel, they looked friendly as you approached. Before you could begin to read the directory, they were showing you their open palm, getting you to slow down. “Sorry guys, no alcohol past here.”

“Well I’m done anyways…” You added your empty cup to the tray positioned on a shelf beside the worker.

Thomas held his bottle up to eye-level, considering the liquid left and shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, that’s about half.”

He placed the bottle to his lips and threw his head back. Without pausing, he swallowed down the remaining beer in a series of greedy gulps. You watched, wondering how much this quick intake of alcohol would affect him as the night unfolded.

Once the beer was gone, he placed the bottle into the provided tray. He was out of breath but he smiled. “Ready to rock ‘n’ roll.”

There were four levels that made up Our Sweet Spot - the parking lot beneath where you currently stood and two upper floors described by a single word each.

Public.

Private.

You pressed the button, holding Thomas’ hand. The doors started to slide open and the worker nodded to you. “Enjoy the rest of your night, guys.”

It was just the two of you in the elevator.

“I think it’s good that the sexy rooms are upstairs, instead of down.” He remarked as you began to travel upwards. “It breaks that cliché of a sex dungeon.”

“Yeah, I hate it when I go to a sex club and all that I see are clichés.” You said, making him laugh.

The doors opened to this new floor and he took the first step forward, with you hurrying into motion again. You had no idea what to expect.

This large room wasn’t very well lit - you supposed the dim lighting and the shadows were to create a mysteriously sexy atmosphere.

At first it didn’t seem so different to where you had just been. The music was quieter, but still present. The way that you could hear people talking and laughing together kept you from separating from the feeling that you were just in a club.

But as you took some more (slow) steps into the room, the change in environment began to properly dawn on you. Instead of having a dance floor, this area was filled with more burgundy sofas and other comfortable-looking seats. Everyone was sitting, either in pairs, or in some sort of group.

Unlike when you were downstairs, you were no longer interested in what these patrons were wearing. Seeing someone having their dick sucked quickly got your attention off of cool body harnesses. Your grip on your boyfriend’s hand intensified and you followed your first reflex, which dictated that you look away.

But looking in another direction only resulted in you seeing a different variation of someone giving head. A fellow club-goer had a partner sitting between their parted knees, who was performing cunnilingus. This time, with slightly less shock in your reaction, you decided to keep looking. You watched how the receiver was biting their lip and gently playing with their lover’s hair. It seemed sweet, and authentic, not done for the enjoyment of any kind of audience.

“We should find a seat.” Thomas told you. As you nodded your head, you wondered if his tone sounded more tense now, or were you projecting?

There was a walkway that wound through the groups of seats and he led the way. Nobody was noticing the two of you, they were all entirely absorbed in their own interactions - from sharing passionate kisses, to giving a hand job or grinding on a partner’s lap.

Against the wall, he found an unoccupied sofa. There was a couple making out in the seat beside you and directly opposite to you another couple were stretched all over a couch. They were lying down, spooning and kissing in a way that reminded you of movie night at home.

As you got settled on the sofa, you placed your hand on Thomas’ knee. “What colour is your light?”

It took a moment for him to move his eyes off of a person bent over the arm of a nearby chair, having their bare butt spanked. “Green.” He told you.

“Me too.” You said, playing with the length of his leash.

He shuffled in closer, pressing the side of his body to yours, until you could feel his body heat through your clothes. You pulled your arms free of the jacket, placing it behind you before returning your hand to his knee. He took advantage of this change, placing his fingers to your wrist. With both hands, he slowly moved up, exploring the skin left exposed by your tank top.

You started to look around the room, taking in all of the intimacy on display. Removing your jacket hadn’t allowed you to cool down much as you spent longer staring at each explicit act.

You watched a couple where one person was vigorously sucking on their partner’s fingers as they were offered. They pumped their fingers quickly, wearing a satisfied smile as they watched their sub maintain suction.

You reached your hand up, pushing it into Thomas’ hair because you needed something to keep your own fingers busy, something other than shoving three of them into his mouth because it was getting difficult to think of anything else. You were suddenly filled with memories, able to clearly recall how he had looked when you had given him your fingers to suck. Always when you were in the throes of passion, with his eyes looking a little dazed, as he rode that edge of bliss. This action had been required when you had overnight guests in your home because he couldn’t be counted on to come quietly.

You didn’t let these memories merely pass you by - you indulged them, unpacked them. Soon you were thinking about the things you did that made it impossible for him to stay silent, all while watching this pair of strangers enjoy their oral fixation. Your blood was pumping through your body faster as you made a mental list of the many ways you could make him want to be very loud.

Making him beg to have his cock released from the chastity cage. Using a vibrator in his ass to get the most deliriously happy orgasm from him. Hitting his perfect ass until he was yelping. Licking him until he was a needy, whimpering mess.

His fingers finished their journey up your arm, loosely holding onto your bicep and he kissed you on the exposed part of your shoulder. You felt a little out of breath as you turned your head to look at him.

There were no words that you wanted to share, instead you kissed him. You held no consideration for the transfer of your lipstick, not now that your brain was overflowing with depraved thoughts. It had an intoxicating effect when combined with the sensuality all around you.

You sucked his top lip into your mouth as you readjusted how you were holding onto him. You wrapped one arm around his back, placing this hand amongst his hair. Your other hand went to just above his knee.

He was smiling as you separated, he kept his eyes on you. “It’s time to kiss you now?”

“Yes, it is.” You said, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Good things come to those who wait, honey.”

He licked his lips and placed a hand to your cheek, using this to draw you in for more kisses. You were tasting beer as you moved your hand higher onto his thigh, squeezing a little.

As his tongue teased your lips apart, you trailed your other hand to the nape of his neck. You let the tips of your fingers play across the skin above his collar. You were tapping into each other’s bodies, with you rubbing his neck while his tongue rubbed at the roof of your mouth. You drew patterns across his skin, enjoying the feel of his reactions.

The kiss was broken and he leaned in closer with a shiver. He placed his mouth next to your ear. “You give me tingles when you touch my neck like that…”

You didn’t remove your hand, just smiling. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s like tingles all the way down my spine, the feeling is totally irresistible…”

“Really?” You repeated, leaning in closer to him. “Just from my hand?” You were bowing your head down. “But what if I…?”

You placed your fingers under his chin, gently easing his head back. Then you filled in this available space with your face, and kissed him on the neck.

This time he didn’t shiver. He let out a dreamy sigh and lifted his leg, draping it across your lap. You tightened your arm around him, applying chaste kisses on his throat - some of them left lipstick prints, almost like you wanted to mark your territory.

As you were working, your eyelids fluttered open. Beyond his body, you noticed the couple in the armchair next to you. They had changed their positions, no longer just kissing. Now you were seeing a blow job being performed. You curiously watched the technique of the giver as you continued to kiss Thomas’ throat.

You kept checking the progress of the fellatio as you started to suck on Thomas’ skin a little. Your goal wasn’t to leave hickeys, you simply had to do more, you needed the next level. You slipped your hand down from his neck, onto his chest. You caressed and groped him over his mesh shirt, prompting him to arch his back, looking to get even closer to your body.

You sat up, keeping your eyes on the blow job. “How badly are you wishing I would do something like that to you?”

He followed your line of sight, putting an arm around your waist as he looked at your neighbours. You continued to stroke his chest, watching the blow job with him.

But he looked away before orgasm could be reached. His interest moved elsewhere and he nodded his head to the lounge directly opposite you. You turned to where the cuddling couple had been lying earlier.

It was the same couple as before, but their spooning had grown more intense. The person lying in front had the hand of their partner buried into their shorts. You saw the crotch of their pants bulging, the material twitching and dancing to a frantic rhythm. You licked your lips, your eyes growing wide as you watched what were familiar movements.

“Actually, I’d rather do something like that to you.” Thomas said of the fingering.

It felt like the two of you were looking through a living and breathing catalogue. You could peruse the many sexual acts as effortlessly as you could flick through the pages of a catalogue, reviewing it all until you found the thing that jumped to the top of your wishlist.

You looked at him, feeling how your heart had started fluttering. You followed the line of his jaw with your fingertips. “Should we head home and take care of that impulse you’re having?”

“Home?” He repeated, a quizzical look on his face. “We’re gonna leave the sex club to go and have sex?”

“Well I didn’t want to just assume…”

“I think we should check out the private suites, don’t you? In the spirit of experimenting and just trying things out, right?”

You smiled and nodded your head, pleased to see that he had seemingly found his footing in this environment. “Right.”

Without hesitation, he got to his feet. He grabbed your jacket in one hand, before offering to help you up with the other. You were filled with excitement, ready to share all of the horny thoughts that had been building up in your mind.

You placed the loop at the end of his leash around your wrist and followed his steps to the elevator. You admired as much as there was to see on your way out. Someone was performing an impromptu striptease for a couch full of people, the puppy hood remaining on their head as everything else was being shed.

You and Thomas stepped into the empty elevator, then you pressed the button to take you up to the next floor. He smiled at you as you placed an arm around his waist. You rubbed your hand across the small of his back before reaching down lower, until you could wrap your hand around his temporary tail.

He drew in a quick inhale, seeming to be able to predict what you were planning to do. And he didn’t try to stop you, just biting into his lip when you found the plug’s hidden button. It offered less options than the Bluetooth-connected control panel on your phone, but it vibrated and that was all you really needed.

Under the elevator lights, you could see how the look in his eyes had changed as you leaned in closer. As you kissed him, you took your hand off of the tail, the lowest setting of vibrations would be enough for right now.

The doors slid open to a much quieter room, but with equally dim lighting. Walking out of the elevator you saw the tall check-in desk on the right. This was the main feature of the room, which quickly became a corridor. You felt less like you were in a night club, now you were being reminded of visiting a hotel.

The clerk behind the counter showed you a bright smile (far happier and more polite than any hotel worker you had ever come across in all of your travelling). “Hey guys, how can I help?”

“Are there any rooms available?” You asked.

“Indeed there are. Can I just get your names to check in our database?” They asked and you provided both hands as Thomas quietly stood half a step behind you, keeping his eyes down. “Here’s your access card.” They gestured to the hallway full of shut doors. “You’ll be in suite thirteen. If you run into issues, we have a comm’s system and you can hit the button to get through to our staff and they will come to help you straight away. Condoms are provided and we have both latex and non-latex in case you have any allergies. Play safely and we hope you enjoy the rest of your night here.”

“Thanks so much.” You said.

The hallway had better lighting, and you led the way past the other numbered doors. Your suite sat somewhere in the middle, with more doors running along the corridor, exceeding number thirteen.

The key-card unlocked the door and you stepped in, Thomas close behind you. It was a straight- forward room, the only piece of furniture was a large, four poster bed, covered with white sheets. He shut the door and you let go of his leash, walking forward to get a proper look at the space. There were some shelves mounted on the wall beside the bed and you recognised the row of candles lined across the top as fakes, the light coming from an LED light, programmed to flicker. The phrase ‘play safely’ echoed in your mind, and you saw the multiple packs of condoms on the next shelf.

“I swear to God, our bedroom has never smelled this clean.” He said, crossing the floor. He peaked through an open door, opposite to where you had entered. “Oh cool, we’ve got our own crapper.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Don’t say crapper right now, caro.”

He turned to face where you had sat down on the mattress. “No?”

“No- sure, it’s good to know there’s a toilet in here. But this is the time when we should be having dirty talk, not gross-out talk.”

“My bad.” He said with a sheepish smile. “What kind of dirty talk?”

“I wanna hear how you’re feeling.” You said as he joined you on the mattress, needing to take extra precautions when it came to sitting down with the plug in his ass. “I wanna know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you- I’m not thinking a lot of thoughts right now.” He said and you cupped his face in your hands. “But I feel pretty great.”

“Do you think that’s because of the buzz from the beer and the buzzing your plug is doing?” You asked.

He licked his lips. “Partially. But it’s mostly because I’m glad that it’s just you and me again.”

“Me too.” You said, smiling as you leaned in to kiss him. “So, you truly aren’t wishing you were having your cock sucked like that guy in the other room?”

“It’s not that I would turn a blow job down.” He said. “In fact, the day that I refuse a blow job, is the day you need to call the paramedics because I would be dying, or I might already be dead.” You laughed. “Truly, I’m still thinking about touching you, feeling you and finding out how you’re feeling, how all of this has been affecting you.”

You allowed him a few more kisses before pulling back a little. “That’s not what I’m thinking. Because, do you see these bed posts?” He glanced at the bed frame. “They’re giving me ideas…” You started to unbuckle your leather belt. “The last time we had a proper play session, you were only allowed to use your hands…” You pulled the belt free from the loops of your ripped jeans. “How do you feel about doing the opposite?”

There was a sparkle in his eyes as he looked back at you. “Do you want to tie my hands to this bed?”

“I would love to do that, if it’s okay with you. Obviously it wouldn’t be as fancy as what I could do with the supplies we’ve got at home. But I still think we could have a lot of fun.” You said.

He grinned, sitting up on his knees, clearly ready to move as you dictated. “Alright, let’s have some fun, babe.”

“Wrists.”

But he hesitated, stopping himself before extending his arms to you. “Did you want me to take my clothes off first?”

“Nope.” You said simply. You held your belt in one hand, reaching around him with the other. You gently took the tail in your hand and his body visibly quivered when you set the vibrations to the next level of intensity. “With these pants, that’s not necessary. And I wouldn’t want to get you out of this outfit, not yet. ‘Cause I love you like this.”

You ran your hand up from the nape of his neck, to the back of his head, able to bring him in closer like this. You heard him take in a quick, excited breath when you kissed him, before he melted into it. You could feel the hunger in how he kissed you back, his tongue moving forward to meet yours. He started to lean his body weight into yours, placing a hand tenderly to your cheek.

But you resumed your position of power by putting both hands on his shoulders. You used this to guide him, moving him back, until he was laid out on the bed.

He started to stretch his arms up, above his head. On your knees, you moved over, closer to the corner post you had chosen for him to get tethered to. He put his wrists together and you checked that there weren’t any twists in the belt.

“The way that you look tonight, I am absolutely obsessed.” You said, lining the middle of the belt up under his wrists. “You’re the best, sexiest, most gorgeous puppy in this place.”

He looked up at you as you wrapped the leather strap around his wrists. “I don’t know if I’d say the best.”

“That’s fine, I wasn’t asking your opinion.”

“I just think there are people here who look far more impressive. Like, they are turning actual looks. They put a lot of money into their fetish gear. And the dedication to put on a full bodysuit of latex, or wearing a mask that covers your whole head for the whole night? I doubt I could ever do that…”

You started to manipulate the end of the belt into a knot against the bed’s post. “And you don’t need to. It doesn’t matter what other accessories any of those pups’ have, there is literally nothing that I would add to your outfit, ‘cause nothing needs to be added.” You sat back once he was attached to the bedframe. As you looked at him, you stroked your hand across his forehead. “Looking at you right now, I’m seeing the perfect bottom bitch.”

This brought a small smile to his face. “Your bottom bitch.”

“That’s right. Now, are your hands and arms comfortable like this?” You asked.

His response was immediate. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me a colour?” You asked.

He met your eyes and he looked so determined, putting his full confidence into the word as he said it. “Green.”

You smiled and swooped down to give him a quick kiss, standing up before things could escalate. “Good. ‘Cause I’m about to make you feel like the best pup.”

His eyes remained on you, watching as you went over to the shelves. Amongst what was on offer, you spotted the brand of condoms that you regularly bought. You plucked one out of the box, placing it on the bed before beginning to take your boots off. You weren’t concerned with getting fully naked, but you knew that skinny-fit jeans wouldn’t be conducive to the things you were planning to do.

Once your pants and underwear were gone, you returned to the bed, mounting your boyfriend, sitting on the top of his thighs. He looked at you, his eyes bigger than before, his excitement clear. The vinyl material of his pants was hot, sticking to the insides of your legs.

You undid the button, then grabbed the zipper tab, pulling it down until you could see his black underwear. You moved the waistband down, making room for you to reach your hand inside. He bit into his bottom lip as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, pulling his boner free.

You picked up the single condom and his breath started to come in quicker as you covered his erection with latex. Once it was on, your eyes flashed up to his face and you saw him watching, his lips parted now. He was waiting, concentrating with such intensity that you could tell he was no longer thinking of anyone else in this building - not to compare outfits, not to picture certain acts.

You rocked yourself forward and tightened your legs around him. You lined your crotch up with his, using your hand to guide his cock between your labia majora, pointing directly to the ceiling for the moment. You felt warmth bloom throughout your body at this pressure now resting against your clit, beginning to invite in sensitivities as you felt your body differently to how you had been inhabiting it all night.

The smile on your face grew when you leaned forward, indulging in more pressure on your clit as you reached down. Your thumb went back to the control button on his tail, this time you increased the vibrations by two levels. You felt his body grow more rigid beneath you in response. And with an arch of his back, his shaft was pressed more firmly against your clit. Your eyes fluttered shut as you listened to him give a little whimper.

You straightened up and lifted yourself a bit, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. You moved forward again, until you were in the right spot to push his tip inside. You lowered yourself, more of his shaft disappearing into you. You gasped as he writhed between your clenched thighs.

That triumph of pleasure was blossoming in you, your excitements no longer contained. You jerked your hips forward, feeling a greater stretch around him.

“Best puppy ever.” You purred.

He pushed back against your thrusts, as you grinded down with all of your body weight, increasing the impact of every collision. You grabbed for his leash, wrapping it around your fist as you sought for the perfect pacing.

“Me first.” You said, making sure the authority in your voice was clear. “Are you gonna wait for your turn to come, puppy?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I will.” He whined.

You stroked your pussy up-and-down his cock, your walls beginning to clench as you aimed to conclude each thrust with your hips pressed to his. He kept his eyes shut, concentrating on the movements as he allowed you to work his body over as you desired.

Your sensitivities grew and you started to gain speed as more of your body responded to these heavenly sensations. Looking down at him in his current state made you go even faster as he inspired a greater need within you. You tightened your grip on the leash, eliminating any unnecessary slack in the length of chain.

Everything was feeding into your arousal as your walls uncontrollably clenched around him. He was struggling for breath and there was a sheen of sweat on his face as he kept rutting up into you.

You were both recklessly pursuing that climax, with him wearing the effects of your lust already, his pale skin had been dirtied with smears of your dark lipstick. You leaned a little further forward, getting closer to watch his reactions to your energetic rocking. In this moment he was (in every possible sense) yours and that knowledge made your heart swell in your chest. It also made you want to take everything you could from him, using his body to fulfil the needs that wouldn’t exist without him.

You had shifted into a frenzied pace, your body growing tenser as the time for recovery between thrusts rapidly shrank. The chain rattled, a musical tinkling as all of your power went into your hips jolting.

“Yes, slut.” You hissed, beginning to lose yourself in the perfect tempo your bodies were sharing. “Give it to me, juh-just like that.”

You kept your hips in motion as you sought his tail out with your shaking hand. You turned the vibrations up another notch, rewarded by hearing a choked sob from him.

You watched him, leaning in close to him as you started to feel the climax dawning upon you. You were filled with awe at the sight of your entirely perfect puppy.

The orgasm arrived, immediately making all of the muscles in your body melt. You were overwhelmed by the glory of this pleasure, moaning loudly as you experienced only bliss.

His voice broke as he murmured words of encouragement, keeping you as his main focus. He didn’t seem to be able to keep himself still in this moment, writhing and giving little bucks from under you. All of which prevented you from fully coming down from your orgasm, he was making you feel as if your nerves were charged with electrical currents.

You threw your head back with a gasp, seeing that slightly-dazed look in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t help yourself, turning the vibrations up, to the sounds of his wordless whines. Then you were looking at the whites of his eyes, until his eyelids fluttered shut.

You hadn’t been keeping track of how many times you had pressed the button on his tail, meaning that he might be struggling to maintain his composure through the most intense vibrations.

You sat up, watching how rapidly his chest was rising-and-falling. You could tell that he was right on the edge of falling apart. You slowed how you were rocking your hips into him, but you weren’t very interested in going easy on him yet - not while you were too excited to come down from your peak.

You secured even more thrilling heights of pleasure by slapping your fingers against your pussy, colliding with your clitoris. You were both left reeling from this and it would have been impossible to judge who had shouted louder. You saw fireworks popping in front of your eyes as your cunt squeezed harder on him.

You were stunned, hardly recovered from the first full-body quake before striking your clit again. The stinging was immediately over-ridden by satisfaction and you were inspired to keep going, leaving your boyfriend to wail. His legs spasmed as he was rocked to his core, the limbs flailing restlessly.

“Fuck, fuck.” He burst out.

You watched him squirming and you counted this orgasm as just for you. It was intensely personal, with a complete disregard of how many other bodies had been fucked on this bed.

You slapped your cunt a few more times, until the squeeze on his dick was too much and he became ruined by the climax. He arched his back into you, his face scrunched up in the effort. He shouted through another crack in his voice, then groaned, going limp.

You moved off of him immediately - to finally get your chance to start coming down. You could feel the adrenaline starting to leave your body as you removed the belt from around his wrists. You grabbed his knee and tugged on it until he rolled onto his side, allowing you to grab the tail. You turned the vibrations off before taking the plug out, listening to his laboured breaths.

You collapsed onto the bed next to him, shutting your eyes at once. You lifted your arm when you felt him moving in closer and he laid his head on your flattened chest.

“I love you, amore.” He said in a husky voice.

You smiled, still enjoying the after effects of so much pleasure. “I love you too.”

… … …

You didn’t hang around the club for much longer, not after achieving more than you had hoped to accomplish in the very first visit. Thomas wanted to take a shower and you were ready to fall asleep, so an Uber was ordered.

You sat in the backseat of the car, one hand outstretched towards him, your fingers intertwined with his. You held your phone in your other hand, scrolling through the updates you had missed on Instagram without much interest.

“I think that when we go back…” He started to say.

At once you looked over at him, a smile developing on your lips. Your heart fluttered a little as you admired him in the dim lighting cast from the streets beyond. You were enthused by his sense of adventure.

You thought that he looked sexier now than he had at the beginning of the night. His hair was no longer purposefully styled, it was simply a bird's nest-level of chaos. The thick black liner applied under his eyes had streaks, tracks of darkness spilling down his cheeks. Not to mention your lipstick prints still decorating his skin. He was a masterpiece created by the collision of your desires.

His appearance gave you tingles, keeping you warmed by the flames of passion because you were instantaneously being reminded of what the two of you had just done. What he had allowed you to do and what he wanted to repeat.

“Obviously we’ll go back for Pup Night, but I-”

You jumped in to take a stab at finishing his thought. “You wanna wear a rubber thong?”

“Actually, I was thinking that would be more your style.” He said, making you chuckle. “No. I would like to socialise a bit more. We were very much sticking to just us tonight, which was pretty natural for our first time, I’d say. But we could get to talking and maybe meet some cool people and get some more, uhm, kink resources. Like, maybe there’s a bunch of really cool shops right under our noses that they could tell us about.”

“Oh, so you wanna ask where they bought their rubber thongs from?”

“Exactly.” He said with a smile, giving your fingers a little squeeze.

He was already lusting for more and you couldn’t wait to see what came next for the two of you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #459

“i wanted you to know that i love the way you laugh / i wanna hold you high and steal your pain away”

Does the person you like have any flaws? He's never seemed very expressive of what he feels. Has anyone ever given you a ring? Why? Yes. Because it was our anniversary and he wanted to, ig. If you ruled your own country, what type of government would it have? I'm not educated enough to answer this. Creation theory, Evolution or the Big Bang theory? I really don't know what I believe about the origins of the universe, but I do believe in evolution. Describe one of your most emotional farewells. The last time I saw Jason and we talked for a long time, and I finally got my closure. It was all so heavy. It started so stiffly, but it ended with us just chatting and smiling and, to my absolute shock, a hug from him. I'm getting emotional so NEXT QUESTION. What was your last serious conversation about? I was reassuring and comforting Sara about some stuff. Is there a city that you have a particular fondness for? If so, what city is it and why? No. Are there any gnomes in your yard? No. When was the last time you were stung by a bee? What kind was it? Years ago. A bumblebee. Are you gonna buy lottery tickets when you’re old enough? I am old enough, and no. The odds are way, way too small, and I don't really dabble in addictive behavior. Have you ever been into a real cave? No. :( That's a life goal, though. Have you ever posted mean comments on YouTube? I know I did once as a kid. It was regarding Meerkat Manor and I thought it was really disrespectful to Flower just because of the music chosen lmao. The drama. What color is your digital camera, if you have one? Black. If you had to spend one day in any movie storyline, which one would it be? Alice in Wonderland, I suppose? Name the strangest game you’ve ever played (video game or real game): Oh man, I've played waaaaay too many video games. I suppose Silent Hill with how confused it left me at first. Its concept is definitely wild. Parasite Eve is high on the list, too. In your opinion, what is the saddest movie you’ve ever seen? Boy in the Striped Pajamas destroys me. What is the best song to make out to? I could answer this but I'm not gonna lmfao Is there anyone right now that you are simply/overly infatuated with? story of my life ayyyyeeeee Who was the last person to play with your hair? Are they cute? Not a clue. Who was the last person close to you that died? Did you cry? Jason's mom. I sobbed on-and-off for days. Do you consider yourself a healthy person? Physically and mentally? No, in either way. Do you know anyone who owns a boat? My dad does. I'm sure others, too, with how popular fishing out on a boat is here. Do you know anyone who uses medical marijuana? I don't know. Even for medicinal purposes, it's not legal here. Do you know anyone who’s died in childbirth? No. What did you do for your 21st birthday? I was in the psych hospital, so... lmao. Therapy, reading, and coloring. Lots of reading and coloring. Because they did NOT fill your schedule enough there. We only had two group therapy sessions a day, and the rest was just... blankness. If dinosaurs could be tamed, would you want one as a pet? I know I'd be one of the dumb ones that absolutely wanted a tiny raptor, lol. Do you own more than one copy or edition of a book? No. If you could see any musical on Broadway right now, what would it be? Not interested. Do you eat soup when you’re sick? I don't like soup. If you read, which book or series did you enjoy most as a child? My first real series that I read religiously was Hank the Cowdog. Then it was Warriors. Do you buy Halloween candy when it’s on sale after the holiday? No. I really don't need candy available to me. Do you agree with the “they’re just being kids” excuse? It depends on what they're doing. In a lot of cases, no. Do you ever watch talk shows? No. Do you have a/any hero(s)? Mark Fischbach, Steve Irwin, my mom... Have you told your parents all of your secrets from when you were a teen? No. Though Mom has playfully once told me that she knows a lot of things I don't think she does, and that's terrifying lmao. You’re getting married. Who’s your maid of honor and best man? M.o.H.: Mom or Sara. Best man isn't my choice. Would you rather get highlights or dye your whole head? DYE IT ALLLLLLL. Are you wearing anything of any sentimental value? Describe? My friendship ring w/ Sara. It has a heart carved on the outside and "bitch" engraved inside so no one can see when you have it on, lol. She has one that says "jerk." It's a Supernatural reference. Who challenges you the most? In what way? My therapist and psychiatrist. They just help ensure I pursue my goals and give me little nudges forward to reassure me. Who seems to hold you back? In what way? PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT ME. I listen to my anxiety WAY too much. What was the last opportunity that you passed up, and why? Going up to Lake Gaston w/ Mom to visit Ash and her fam. They go there all the time, and it's a real nice place. I just didn't want to go because of the heat. Should there be an application process for having children? Hunny, that would not stop people from fuckin lmfao Name one thing that you think defines you as a person? m e e r k a t s What is a fear you have about living on your own? That depression would get the better of me and I'd neglect taking good care of my house. One of the many reasons I'll never live alone. Not at all saying I'd leave the responsibilities to my partner, but they'd be motivation for me to get stuff done. What’s the worst name your mom has ever called you? I don't know. Nothing that bad. What’s your stance on spooning? It helps me feel safe and loved and alsdkfjalwe I just love cuddling in all sorts lmao What’s your most recent obsession? Violet Orlandi & Melodicka Bros' cover of "Somebody That I Used to Know." Have you ever been scammed? Ha ha, yes. I once wanted to get Jason a Joker and Harley Quinn pillow from deviantART; talked to the artist, paid 'em, never got it. :^) Have you ever fostered an animal? No. I would get WAY too attached to foster. I wouldn't be able to give them up without breaking down, probs. Do you know anyone who acts way younger than what they are? I'm sure I do, but no one is coming to mind atm. Would you say you’re a pretty independent person? God no. Does the last song you listened to, remind you of someone? JASON. Do you currently want a new computer? Yes, actually. I want a desktop PC for better gaming quality, honestly. Also, the "escape" key doesn't work on this laptop, one key is missing so I have to hit the sensor JUST right, and it restarts randomly sometimes. I want a PC mainly because I want to get out of the habit of being on my laptop in bed all damn day. How would your parents react if you got a tattoo? I already have like six or seven, so they wouldn't be surprised. Is there anyone you can picture yourself being with forever right now? Maybe. Who is your truest friend? Sara. What is the strangest thing you’ve ever seen outside of your house? THIS house? Idk. Nothing that I'd consider odd. What bug frightens you most? STAG BEETLES lkadjslkfja;lwekjawl;kejrlawer Who is your oldest friend? That would be Sam, and he's in his mid-30s. How long have you known them? Many years. We met via WoW, which I've been playing since '14. I don't really remember how far into it we met, though. Where are they right now? lol I wouldn't know, he's all the way in Jersey. Plus we haven't talked in a while. Have you ever dated a friend of one of your siblings? God no, that would be so weird. What is the best gift someone can give you? An ear to listen without it feeling like a chore to them. Have you ever dated someone who had a child? No. I don't think I could do it. What is the last movie that made you cry? The The Lion King remake made me tear up. Have you ever played in a waterfall? No. Ugh, that sounds like a blast. In your life who has meant the most to you? Let's not get into this. What has been your biggest failure in life? Letting depression and my other conditions take away my identity, becoming my new identity. Do you trust yourself? No. I second-guess EVERYTHING and never know what I should listen to: my heart, my head, my gut... or which voice is what. Would you ever consider getting an abortion, under any circumstances? Yes. What was the last bug you killed? Some kind in the bathroom. Idk what it was. Just a little thing that sort of resembled an earwig, but not completely. Do you prefer profile pictures by yourself of with someone else? By myself, since it's my page. Do you know anyone who has written a book? I don't think so? Do you drink milk/juice from the carton if no one is around? Ew, no. I live with another person, and even if I didn't, what if I had guests? Has anyone ever told you they liked you in a realllly sweet way? Maybe? Has a member of the opposite sex ever given you jewlery? Jason has. Do you find sleeping in cars easy? NOOOOOOOOOO. I'm too scared to let my eyes close and not see what's going on on the road. Has a boyfriend’s/girlfriend’s parents ever gotten mad at you? Why? I don't believe so, no. What is the funniest thing a child has ever said to you. Definitely something my niece has said, but idr what it was. What’s been on your mind lately? Y'all know, lol. Do you feel like you need to get something off your chest? No. Sara was recently there for that. ♥ How would you react if someone told you they had feelings for you? Be very very excited if it was from a certain person.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''broken'' by seether (ft. amy lee)

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techbranding · 3 years

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Does My Startup Need A Tech Branding Agency?

We recommend having bi-weekly check-ins to discuss the process, open questions, etc. However, we prefer to present results and updates asynchronously − it saves a lot of time for both sides. SketchesAt this stage, we explore concepts and general directions on how the logo could look. We follow Visual positioning and Brand expression findings and recommendations. This stage helps to examine a lot of concepts and shapes fast. These Terms of Participation permit you to join the Discussion only https://craftandroot.com/industries/tech-startups/.

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Tonal launches 300% ahead of target by bringing the digital into the physical. Launching the most important insurance brand since the birth of the internet. A $4.5B HR Tech startup and the biggest brand comeback of 2017. Everything you need to know about rebranding your business - and avoiding costly mistakes. Everything you need to know about rebranding your business-and avoiding costly mistakes.

proven tools and processes that we’ve created and which we tailor to each client. brand agent you need as a partner to take your business to the next level. brand consultant as an affordable, ideal resource for their needs. In fact, even a short consultation and advice session with a brand specialist can prove quite lucrative. For this reason, many proprietors will rely on DIY campaigns for marketing that may remain inadequate, misdirected, or that doesn’t offer the return on investment. Stand out from the crowd with professional production, aerial drone shots, and even 360 films. Download our free VR/AR 101 Guide to begin your journey in understanding how Virtual Reality and Augmented Reality may be the answer to your marketing needs.

The tone adapts to communicate with them while upholding the overall voice’s focus. (Namer is pretty close — after all, a name is a very, very short poem that captures a brand’s eidos.) When not creating kickass names, she may be found kayaking with her son or making music with her husband.

We are not condoning or admiring this approach but it’s almost certainly part of a bigger strategy. Intel uses video to spark emotion and create a connection with their audience. Health care workers, ventilator makers, teachers, drivers and key workers. It’s a play on their key messaging “what’s inside” but it’s on trend and very smart.

Watch our event replay from Tuesday, January 19, where we continue to discuss and answer questions on the new coronavirus relief bill and how it pertains to small businesses. CO— aims to bring you inspiration from leading respected experts. However, before making any business decision, you should consult a professional who can advise you based on your individual situation.

Gift card fraud can be a gateway to stolen payment credentials, drained bank accounts and even stolen identity. Certain projects, images, and products are trademarks of and/or copyrighted by their respective owners. Develop a Personality.Your business has a personality – a tone that it uses to communicate to the audience. Many businesses don’t sufficiently develop a personality, or don’t keep it consistent. Yes, send me the BizBuySell SellerNewsletter, which contains advice on selling a business and email only promotions. We are sorry, we were not able to submit your issue for this listing at this time. The information in this listing has been provided by the business seller or representative stated above.

Brand Name Creation

Taco Del Mar gets a brand refresh and a fresh new point of view. Their expertice created additional revenue we would have received from traditional advertising alone. Two entrepreneurs came to us with a new app that puts power back in the hands of patients. The brand we developed helps consumers get on the right path when navigating their healthcare. We are data-backed creatives who get the most out of every click. All TOP agencies combine deep subject expertise with world-class execution. Applying consistency in your brand’s voice and tone helps build your reputation, trust, and ultimately stronger brand recognition.

Our referral partners enjoy a sweet finder’s fee and peace of mind knowing their client is in good hands. Cambridge Technology partnered with Mower to modernize their brand and update all platforms the brand touches. The GIF of the XPS 12showed the face of the tablet flipping to morph into the laptop. The screen was filled with Windows software to illustrate that the convertible was a Windows 8 product as well as a touch screen. Dell uses videos, gifs and live behind the scenes to grab attention and explain and introduce their products. And the cool kid theme continues on Twitter where Apple actually don’t follow anyone or tweet anything and yet has 4.3 million followers.

If your startup can bend light, slow time, or stretch infinitely, we should talk. Established in 1996, the website is an international marketplace of businesses for sale.

A play on okey-dokey, Mochidoki makes use of the product descriptor in a fun and playful way, all while recalling the product’s Asian roots and sounding bite-sized and delicious. Designed for business owners, CO— is a site that connects like minds and delivers actionable insights for next-level growth.

Cast a wide tech branding agency net at first and bring the top three back to go through the process with you. Be incredibly clear about the goals and objectives of the project. Tap your network, do your research, check the rankings to see what firms measure up. Omni-channel marketing campaign showcasing the “connecting” benefits of being able to access Tower Health’s growing health system. Thank you for Trajectory’s splendid healthcare rebranding work. You’ve done an outstanding job blending respect for the past with gentle nudging of inherently sensible and winning ideas. Our health system brand is an emotional lightning rod for many, and you navigate it extraordinarily well.

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See how they perform while juggling multiple responsibilities. It can be either a small internal project or an external one. Moreover, they offer a free audit in case you would like to refresh your brand rather than building it from scratch. You will enjoy collaborating with them for your small business or startup. Their process starts with an expansive review of your brand’s current status. Afterwards, they run a collaborative workshop with you and your stakeholders to define the organization’s goals. Then, target audience research and competitive analysis follow.

Also, they consist of strategic analysts, information architects and UX interface designers. After getting to know your startup, they can help build it and take care of it along the way. Because you can lose a lot of audiences if you just use one word wrong in your messaging for your small business or if you come up with the wrong color. Video marketing is highly effective in capturing B2B leads; also, 80% of video marketers say video has directly helped increase their sales. To convince prospects that they, and not their competitors, are the right choice, iOFFICE uses ebooks, webinars, slides and graphics, videos, demos and podcasts created with expert input. Screenshots, sliding menus and striking calls-to-action to watch the demo of the product in action serve to educate the prospective buyer.

Thanks for sending that over, one of our team will be in touch real soon. Go from over 15,844 agencies to a shortlist with Agency Spotter. Firebrand has given my team the bandwidth to focus on what's really important. Webgamma produced effective deliverables that contributed to significant growth of our brand.

Having an expanded offering will give you an access to the opportunities you would not approach otherwise. We are an independent partner who knows Marketing & Advertising agencies’ competitive landscape. Tell us your needs and we’ll tell you the agencies you must meet. At Insane Lab, we know what we are exceptional at what we do. We are great at designing and developing applications for modern platforms – web, mobile and mixed reality.

With a BA in English Literature from Dartmouth College and an MFA from the University of Massachusetts’ English MFA for Poets & Writers, Stevie is also no stranger to the power of words. As head of Catchword’s East Coast operations, he’s typically the project lead on all right coast accounts, and recently managed projects for Volkswagen, McDonald’s, Kellogg, and First Alert. He graduated from Brandeis University with a BA in History, and earned his JD from the State University of New York at Buffalo. is a collection of ultra-premium brandable dot-com domains—merging the best in messaging, memorability, length, and flow. Our linguistic and cultural evaluation is backed by an international network of native speakers in more than 100 languages. And, when Catchword first sampled Gordon Dessert’s new line of mochi , we knew we were naming a truly category re-defining confectionary.

Let us guide you on how to use the appropriate tools to reach your marketing goals. Abundant growth opportunities; little to no marketing up to this point. We apologize, but the feature you are trying to access is currently unavailable.

Payment schedule should be adjusted to the project you are running together — so the initial investment on your side is reduced. What I would like to show you is that with a right partner you can focus on your strengths and outsource other tasks without losing business. More than that, you can expand your service line and utilize your talents on new platforms that you did not have an access to.

BizBuySell has no stake in the sale of this business, has not independently verified any of the information about the business, and assumes no responsibility for its accuracy or completeness. We partnered with Oculus to pioneer VR’s mobile and social future.

Their posts aren’t strictly oriented to the product but are tied to events and occasions that people everywhere find significant and interesting. You have an innovative, ground breaking idea – now it’s time to share it with the world. A full-spectrum agency leading the legal profession into a future of equal justice. Class action firms benefit from the speed with which we can launch your initial marketing campaign. We have been working together for several years now, helped them revamp their brand, built a new website and campaign sites, and most recently a transit campaign that can be seen all over the Bay Area.

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They keep their brand voice highly practical and focused on solving prospects’ pain points. They use demo videos to educate and inspire confidence in their products. This is an example that companies do not need to invest their energy into all available channels, but rather pick one or two to focus on. Partner testimonials, PRs on closed deals, fundraisers and case studies by the likes of Yahoo Finance and Harvard Business Review communicate the reputation and importance of this brand. Communicating diverse topics across different channels whilst maintaining voice consistency and brand integrity. The Facebook page features a cover video with main takeaways of what the company stands for and a striking summary of their offers. They connect their user base with immersive food and beverage tours, skip-the-line tickets for attractions, craft classes, niche offerings and other immersive experiences.

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rcmclachlan · 5 years

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I have no idea where this was going, but I’m posting it completely unfinished anyway. ::vague gesturing:: So, here’s 2,000 words of nothing. My gift to you.

"How long have you been married, then?"

"My dear girl, we're not."

"498 years, this September," Crowley says. He doesn't even bother lifting his head.

In the beginning, when Heaven's implementation team was given the List of Important Earthly Things To Come At Some Point In No Particular Order, evolution sat at number two. It was nearly as foreign a concept as what stood at number one—The World Wide Web. While most of the team debated whether or not this meant a behemoth of a spider would weave a great and sticky doily around the globe, Aziraphale had been arrested by the very implication of number two.

It is not in an angel's nature to change, and the very thought of it made him feel a bit ill at the time—peculiar feeling, that, as illness was at number six and hadn't yet been invented—but there was something undeniably thrilling about it. Surely the ability to shift one's whole self from one type of existence to another wasn't meant to be like that dreadful business with Those Who Were Once Angels But Now Were Not, and so Aziraphale trusted in The Great Plan and waited to see just how the Mortal Plane was meant to evolve.

Humanity and the world it inhabits have undergone many evolutions since, what with moving out of the seas to the land; the weather going from boiling to freezing to a bit of all right and heading right back to boiling; and shifting from trousers to bell-bottoms to skinny jeans. But Aziraphale's favorite by far is how garden parties have gone from buttoned-up affairs in palace arboretums to children getting dirty in back gardens while adults listen to the radio and complain they have no idea when music got so terrible.

Adam's twelfth birthday is such a gathering. Aziraphale had been touched to be invited, but also a bit worried about what a "tween" birthday for the Antichrist might entail.

Crowley had waved off any misgivings by reminding him, "Angel, these are the parents who raised the literal Antichrist to be the kind of kid who could deny his parentage to Lucifer's face. If anything, there's gonna be a dress code and we have to wear beige jumpers and bring potato salad with raisins."

"What's wrong with that? I happen to like raisins," Aziraphale had protested, to which Crowley simply sighed and said, "Of course you do."

To the Youngs' credit, the party has no dress code but is what the kids these days call "low key." Their garden is delightfully green and the air is filled with smoke from Mr. Young's grill, which probably should have been cleaned a couple of years ago and is no doubt infusing the burgers with an extra bite of carbon. Adam, proudly wearing a tiara that Pepper's grandmother had given her for her own birthday, claimed to be the Archduke Ferdinand four minutes ago and is currently leading The Them (temporarily renamed The Gavrilo Gang until they inevitably grow bored of being assassins) on a merry chase, with Dog bringing up the rear.

Seated at a little bistro table that smells of the old shed near the hedgeline, Aziraphale beams his thanks as Crowley refills his glass a second time with too-sweet tea.

"Anyone else and your teeth would've rotted out of your head by now," Crowley says, genuinely amused, and Aziraphale gives him a cheeky toast before taking a sip. It really is more sugar than tea, but oh, how sweet it is to drink it in such wonderful company on such a lovely day.

Anyway, it's hardly as if anyone notices him miracling away the acid that wants to eat away at his enamel. He rather likes his teeth and has spent quite a lot of energy keeping them pristine over the course of his time on Earth. The discovery of fluoride and its practical applications had been, well, a miracle. He wishes he could take credit for it.

Except someone has noticed, of course, and Crowley purrs, "you cheater," all smoke over gravel and spindle-legged indolence. He's sprawled out as though his tiny chair is a chaise in disguise.

Aziraphale swallows hard and looks away, cheeks warm. Honestly. "It's not cheating if I'm allowed. Sugar was one of mine."

"And cavities were mine. Don't give me that look, angel. Had to be some kind of repercussion for all that overindulgence—too much of a good thing, et cetera, et cetera." Crowley grins, looking for all the world as if he wants to flick his tongue out for a taste of Aziraphale's disapproval. "Cavities got me a commendation, I'll have you know."

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and lets them come to a rest on the little grill where Mr. Young still has yet to flip the burgers. They passed well done a while back and are making a go at being indigenous rock. Well, at least there's pasta salad. "It's a shame Anathema and her young man couldn't make it, although I'm sure they're having a nice time with her family. Last we spoke, he was quite nervous to meet her grandmother."

"'Young man,'" Crowley simpers, amused. "She's got fire in her, that one. She deserves far better than that walking pile of sand."

"That boy is perfectly lovely."

"That boy is the answer to 'what if bread yeast came to life'."

There's something in Aziraphale's throat that feels a bit like a laugh but couldn't possibly be. He drowns it with tea. "He makes Anathema happy, which is all that matters."

"I don't care what you've heard, angel, but an enormous knob is not a substitute for a personality."

Aziraphale lowers his glass with a pointed thunk. "There are children about."

"Is it better if you knew that one told me so?" Crowley jerks his head toward the one in question, who takes that moment to defect from the Black Hand and pull up the last bistro chair to the table with a bored sigh. Her feet don't quite reach the ground, but she sits up straight, unselfconscious the way all children are. They are the greatest of the Lord's inventions: tiny human-shaped bottles filled with sunlight and thunder, stronger and more steadfast in their convictions than any angel and capable of terrors far more terrible than any demon could hope to conjure.

They're also loud and very sticky and you can't reason with them for anything. He quite adores them from far away, much like a Calder painting. But every so often he’ll come across one who’s just a bit more.

Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, in another time, would have sparked revolution wherever she went. She would have dogged the steps of Amanirenas and Hypatia and Zenobia, then pushed past them all to take her rightful place in the annals of history, loved and feared by all who were touched by the wars she would wage and the society she would shape. She probably would have made sarcasm the national currency. And brought back public executions.

"Adam says you're his godfathers. Because of The Awful Thing That Didn't Happen After All." It's not a question. She looks at Aziraphale, then Crowley, then helps herself to the rest of the tea.

Well, dash it all. Perhaps he could nip over to Louisiana and buy some more from that lovely little cantina in the French Quarter. He'd back before Adam realizes he'd gone.

"Something like that," Crowley agrees. At that moment, the sun decides to break free of the clouds after all, and he tilts his head back until his neck is practically draped over the back of the chair, basking. Once a serpent…

"How long have you two been together?"

A smile teases at Crowley's lips but he says nothing. Aziraphale offers her the plate of slightly stale crackers and cheese. She goes immediately for the cheese, wise girl. "Oh, well, we've been knocking around together for ages, really. Since the very beginning."

Pepper nods thoughtfully and pops a square of muenster into her mouth, chewing as though she'll be tested on it. Then, swallowing decidedly, she pins Aziraphale with a sharp look.

"How long have you been married, then?"

Aziraphale wishes she'd asked when he hadn't a mouth full of tea. He wants to laugh, but he broke out his second-favorite pair of trousers for the occasion and ruining them would be a terrible sin. Crowley got the jam out of his fourth-favorite bowtie just last week and asking for his help with a tea stain would simply be pushing his luck.

He swallows his tea and coughs a bit when it finally clears the hurdle of his epiglottis. Coughing isn't quite as good as laughing.

"My dear girl, we're not."

"498 years, this September," Crowley says. He doesn't even bother lifting his head.

Upon hearing this, Aziraphale's hands—which had been in the process of bringing his glass to his mouth so that he might enjoy the dregs of his tea—decide that emptying the glass into his lap would be a much better idea. And then proceed to do exactly that.

Pepper blinks at him, glances down at his soaked trousers, and then a smile breaks over her face like a particularly sly sunrise. She turns in her chair and shouts, "I told you, Brian!"

A thwarted groan comes from somewhere near the food table.

Crowley, on the other hand, pays neither Pepper, Aziraphale, nor Aziraphale's ruined trousers any mind and instead tips further back in his chair until it's balancing precariously on two rod iron legs to yell, "Oi, if that mutt so much as thinks about lifting a leg anywhere near my car, I'm gonna punt him into the sun!"

"Dog was just having a sniff!" Adam lies, patting his thigh and hissing for Dog to come away from the Bentley. Dog casts a longing look at the polished chrome of the hubcaps before he obeys with visible reluctance.

"I don't trust that fire-forged fleabag for a second." The chair drops back to the grass with a muffled thud and Crowley adjusts his sunglasses with a grumble. After a moment, he seems to realize the table's gone completely silent.

Well, completely silent but for the whine of radio interference that screeches in Aziraphale's head. He can't hear his heart beating, but he can feel it, and he doesn't want to alarm anyone but it appears his body may be suffering a minor cardiac event.

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, inscrutable behind his shades, and then turns to Pepper. "What?"

She shrugs, but there's a glint in her eye that suggests she knows very well what. "Haven't the foggiest."

It's convincing enough that Crowley drops it and instead looks over to where Mr. Young is doing his level best to turn the burgers to ash.

"Bugger. You wanted one of those, didn't you, angel?" He's already on his feet and sauntering over, offering his services with a wide smile. Crowley looks two seconds away from unhinging his jaw and swallowing Mr. Young whole. His hand, hidden behind his back, twists slightly, and the flames shooting out of the grill temper down with a positively feline purr. Aziraphale stares after him, stunned.

"Did you forget?"

His heart beats a punishing pace right up his throat and there's something big and nameless right behind it that must be stopped at all costs. He whips around to deny there's anything for him to have forgotten but is terrified to open his mouth. He doesn't know what might come spilling out.

She nods in a vaguely downward direction. "Tea's for drinking, not for pouring all over your lap. Did you forget?"

He sucks a shaky breath through his nose, swallows down anything that might try to make a break for it, and manages, “For just a moment, yes.”

“That’s all it takes,” Pepper says with a sage nod.

#good omens #crowley/aziraphale #rc's unfinished works #i think this was going to be a '5x crowley told people they were married and the 1 time he proved it' or something

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szopenhauer · 4 years

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If someone has bad breath, do you tell him or her? doubtful, I don’t wanna hurt anyone, it’s awkward and a lot of ppl can’t change how they smell

Do you have an item that comforts you when you are sad/scared? used to have one special object, I still hold it sometimes, I suppose I might again at night from Friday to Saturday

When are you likely to hide your emotions? when I’m face to face with an authority figure like boss, teacher or doctor, policeman too but I never been in a situation like this with them, I also hide my emotions from abusers at times to not show I’m afraid of them and to not provoke them more as well

Which is scarier: Dying of thirst or of starvation? I guess starvation as it takes longer

Have you ever tried to help someone quit smoking? it’s their decision to smoke, I don’t approve but I won’t get involved, I can only avoid them

Have you ever had to talk anyone out of suicide? self harm more likely, I mean... I was talking with suicidal people about them wanting to kill themselves but never at the moment when they were doing it so I don’t know if that counts

When you think of tomorrow, what feelings come to mind? packing, last day with my parents before I go to the hospital

What is the last thing you complained about? probably health related issues

What was the last curse-word you said? kurwa

When you fake sick to get out of school, what do you say or do to convince your parents that you are sick? I don’t fake sick, I might exaggerate but I won’t lie, I don’t want to worry my parents and because I’m chronicall ill I often was going to school even though I didn’t felt like it

Do you still talk to your very first best friend? no

When was the last time something went terribly wrong? basically everything goes wrong

How do you console someone when he or she is upset? depends

Choose one: Trip to outerspace, or trip underneath the oceans? no thx

How often do you feel overwhelmed? all the damn time

How do you deal with everyday life? poorly

Who in your family do you act like the most? my dad

What is the most romantically sweet thing someone has done for you? my gf is doing many sweet things

Have you ever been confronted by a mall cop for your behavior? I’ve never been confronted by the store guard - elseway I would never go back there out of anxiety

Is there someone that makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells? my mom

Were you ever afraid of one of your past teachers? sorta XD

Have you ever been in a physical fight on school grounds? I was attacked but I didn’t fight back so...

A homeless man asks you for 50 cents; how do you respond? dunno

When was the last time you visited a thrift store? recently

Can you handle constructive criticism? I can’t handle any criticism :(

Who is the most sensitive person that you know? me?...

When was the last time you wrote someone a note? few days ago

Do you tell your parents before you go somewhere, or just leave? I always tell

What was the last thing you tried to get out of doing? not sure what was last hmm...

Which season do you dread the most? winter

Is there a foreign culture you’d like to learn more about? maybe

Have you ever seen a famous painting and thought “I could have done that?” abstract art

What is the scariest thing about attending your school? which one?

Are you a good judge of other people’s intentions? I got better with time

Shopping: best with friends, parents, bf/gf, or alone? depends

When was the last time someone told you to turn your music down? my mother sometimes asks me to because she has migraines

When you don’t know how to spell a word, do you look it up? not always *ashamed*

Are you one to spend a lot of time in the bathroom? nope but I’m the one that often goes to the bathroom

Do you ever consider the challenges other races go through? sure

When was the last time you doubted your abilities? I have... abilities? :o

What was the last thing you wished for? health... not gonna happen tho :(

How many times a day, on average, do you look at the time? several, when I wake up then when I eat and between meals and then when I go to sleep and in the middle of the night if I go to pee

Where do you first remember living? I never moved

First fandom? woah I don’t remember

First otp/ship? neither

How old were you when you first when on a plane? -

What was your first tattoo? -

Do you remember the last movie you saw while on a date? show - She-ra, movie - A lot like love

Did you lose your virginity before you were sixteen? nooo

How many purses do you own? too many lol Are you bi? am not Who was your prom date? I never had one, I didn’t go to prom

Who was the last person to see you cry? parent[s]

Have you ever been used? yep

Do you like when girl takes you by surprise and kisses you? I like consent but... those were the best kisses ^^’’

Have you ever gone for someone despite knowing they were bad for you? I didn’t think about the future nor that I deserve love What kind of gift can win you over? what do you mean by WIN ME OVER? Are diamonds really a girls best friend? not mine, I don’t care for diamonds

Have you ever dated someone with a child? no way Have you ever dated someone shorter than you? Sarah was shorter

Who has made the biggest sacrifice for you? my parents and my current partner

What sound is annoying you right now? it’s quiet :3

What gives you a peaceful feeling? sleep?

Would you rather live in the city, suburbs or the country? country

Are you more of a maker and giver, or a taker and user? taker and user I suppose

Do you buy holiday gifts early or at the last minute? early

If someone else were to describe you what would you hope they would say? the truth

Do you think it is harder for a parent to outlive their child or for the child to outlive their parent? parent to outlive the child because it’s not common

When do you do your best thinking? evening/night

What was a choice that you didn’t want to make but you had to? majority of decisions are smth I’d prefer not to make

What age do you think it is most difficult to be? to each their own

Do you think you could handle a day in jail? who knows

Have you ever been on a trampoline? I have not

Do you pretend to be something you’re not to make friends? I’m being myself and that’s why I’m friendless :P

Are you more of a shy or outgoing person? I’m introverted antisocial and a loner but I’m not shy, I can be loud and talkative

Are you more of an athlete or artist? artist Are you the type to procrastinate? I put PRO in procrastination Do you believe that you’ll always be a kid at heart? ;) What is something you want to improve on this year? health, I’m trying How many times a day do you get angry? uh oh... If you could eat any food you want right now, what would it be? personal Can you sleep with your eyes open? I’m no Gandalf

Do you still have any living grandparents? If so, how old are they? I don’t wanna talk about that

What’s your favorite computer game genre? simulations Do you have any exes your parents never liked? pfft Do you ever keep things just because they might be useful someday? we are hoarders

Are you frequently in a bad mood? sorry... Do you ever fill out surveys while in a bad mood? I go through soooo many moods before I finish one survey Are you a fast or a slow eater? slowest among my friends, fastest in my house How old were you when you had your first relationship? no idea what I should call a relationship and what not Do you get dental checkups at least once a year? yup Is there anyone in your family/household whom you frequently argue with? mom, sister before she moved out Have you ever used chewing tobacco? tha hell? that’s disgusting!

Do you play Pokemon Go? If so, what level are you and who’s your buddy? not applicable Do you ever sit indoors and wear sunglasses or a hat? hat Are you putting off doing something right now? If so, what is it? drying my hair, drinking water and going to sleep mostly

Are you like me and hoard notebooks and pens? pens now, I stopped buying notebooks... oh wait... no... I just got one because I wanted to save bees, nvm... Are you sitting in front of or by a window? What can you see out there? by, it’s dark but there’s my neighbor’s house Are there any coasters on your table? If so, do they have text or pictures? flowers Do you have a song playing in your head right now, too? not really Don’t you hate it when people answer to surveys with one word answers? lame *I realized I did that myself *facepalm* Ever watched a cat or a dog sleep and run/twitch in their sleep? adorable <3 What’s something we do every day but they don’t depict in movies? it bothers me that in fantasy/sci-fi movies there are no toilets and meals are rare

Is your style feminine, masculine or somewhere in the middle? in the middle, childish yet of an old person haha Do you usually carry a backpack, a shoulder bag or something else? shoulder bag or tote Do you wear glasses? If so, have you ever tried to fix them when they’ve broken? helped my dad fix his glasses couple of times Are there a lot of dragonflies around your house? they don’t show up frequently

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fearlesslyable · 4 years

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living for the hope of it all

Sitting at the table this morning: A cup of coffee in my hands in an attempt to wake me from the constant slumber that is the fog in my brain these days. Munchkins from Dunkin that a sweet friend brought me for breakfast. She brought me 25. WHY 25?! So sweet, so dangerous. I’ve had 7. *Casually removes the box from my sight*

I love mornings... After 5 AM usually. So like, 8 AM. When I awake with the world around me. The sun peering through my window, the birds begin singing their song. It’s so peaceful and inviting. For a moment I accept everything as it should be... Until the noise in my brain chimes in and interrupts all of my efforts to achieve stillness. And just like that, I slump into sadness. A feeling so familiar now, I don’t know what it’s like to exist without it creeping in the background, dulling my sparkle. I can’t recall the last time I was just “Happy” and not a prisoner of my mind... Stealing me away from making golden memories. I think I have always fought an internal battle, the difference now is I have more years on me and I’m a single young adult who lives alone. The darkness has won me over now that I am backed into a corner. I count my breaths.

I just want 2020 to be over (I know I’m not the only one...), this year has taken something special from all of us-innocent lives of loved ones and friends, it has put the hopes and dreams and goals of a “good year” on hold in the form of social distancing and isolation. We were made to crave connectivity with others, to hug, to shake hands, to simply show love. I never imagined I would experience a global pandemic in my lifetime. I never imagined that the entire world as we knew it would just stop, leaving us frozen in time-hanging on the line of FaceTime calls, having to hide our smiles and frowns behind masks. Our own immortality and fragility exposed.

Not that that Corona Virus hasn’t been enough for me, trust me... I didn’t ask for this or anything more. My Grandma Shirley was also taken from me. She was my favorite person, my best friend. Our conversations were endless and she always knew what to say to make it better. We had our own little language I guess. Though I felt alone, I knew I wasn’t because she was ALWAYS there. I ran to her for everything. She was safe, warm, and lovely. I would tell her after our nightly FaceTime sessions that I couldn’t imagine ever losing her, and she would choke about her age, adding that she was, “older than dirt”. I’d just laugh and ignore it. Last year, we found out that she had a pretty progressive form of Colon Cancer when she went in for her first colonoscopy IN 15 YEARS (get your colon checked people!) I was devastated. I prayed and prayed to God to not take my best friend and my grandmother. I filled up an entire journal PLEADING to him. The same night Lover was released, my grandma was rushed to the ER for a stroke. I got to the hospital as soon as I could. That was the worst I had seen her. Her skin yellow, her eyes lifeless. That night I went home and listened to the album and when it got to Soon You’ll Get Better, I broke down. It was all too real and relatable, but I was thankful for music.

Flash forward, my grandma chose to turn down chemo after the first round. She wanted to live with whatever time she had with quality, rather than being stricken with the unbearable side effects of the treatment. I understood and respected her wishes, vowing to make every moment with her count from then on. I didn’t think she’d make it to my birthday in the fall... She did. I didn’t think she would make it to Christmas... Thank God, she did. Then 2020 hit. My world came crashing down in April. My grandmother was getting worse and showing more symptoms of the cancer colonizing in her body. She was overtaken.

Being the sensitive-overly emotional-worrier that I am, my grandmother was very careful not to burden me with her struggles--But I knew her. I knew her like the back of my hand. I could see the pain in her eyes... She was tired, labored, carrying far too many stones up the hill for 75 years. Something was definitely wrong. The sand in the hourglass was running out. {{Honestly, there are just too many vivid memories involving my grandmother’s passing, and while I want to get them all down, it’s just too much right now... *Gonna transition*}} My grandmother ended up passing away at my parent’s home in my childhood bedroom, which in away is a great honor to me. I miss her with an ache in my bones.

Desperate to move forward to find some newfound purpose and meaning, I finally pushed myself to apply for the Masters in Counseling Program through Doane University. I have so much love for the mental health field and dream to have profession in it one day. I found out yesterday that I had put the wrong email address down on my application, so I was never notified for an interview. Though, I am thankful I have another opportunity to interview in November, I am still crushed. I have this overwhelming fear that I will just be stuck in one place forever and I won’t amount to anything. As if all I will ever know is this empty apartment. As if my only accomplishment is moving out of my parent’s house and that should be enough for me... Because I’m physically disabled. But that isn’t enough for me. I want more out of my life. I’m just worried that more won’t become of my life now that I lost my favorite person--My grandmother and best friend.

I do have a saving grace, however. A gift from above. That is Taylor Swift and her current album folklore. While I could choose self-harm or alcohol, this album has been my therapy, my medicine, a warm blanket for my heart and soul. I have really been struggling to be alone with my thoughts and feelings because they are just too loud. Since the release I have been listening to folklore on a continuous loop to help me calm down and escape my mind. Taylor’s voice just encapsulates me in a hug with every listen on this album. It’s like she is shining light on all of my broken pieces and holding them in her hands, saying: “I see you and I love you. I promise you aren’t alone.” I just sob while she sings to me. I have been an OG fan since 2007/2008 and have supported and purchased each of her albums and merch, but it has been quite some time that an album has really struck me like folklore. I feel every melody and lyric, I can identify myself in each song. It is as if someone ripped me open and read my mind, this collection of songs would be what they hear. Only Taylor Swift can do that. I am in love with folklore with my whole being, with every single inch of my heart. No one will know just how much I needed this work of art in my life, and quite frankly it is saving me from myself and keeping me above the waves.

And with that, I am living for the hope of it all on this cloudy day.

#july 2020 #covid19 #mental health #taylor swift blog #blog #writer #taylorswift #personal #grandma #folklore #depression #anxiety #griefrecovery #griefawareness #music #musicislife #music saves lives #I

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alternislatronemhq · 4 years

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Congrats, Kay, you have been accepted to AL for the role of Andromeda Tonks (FC: Keira Knightley). Fantastic job, Kay! I loved your application. It was equal parts sweet and serious, and you can really feel the inner conflict in poor Andromeda when it comes to loyalty to the family she was born to and loyalty to the family she ultimately chose. I think you have a great grasp of the plot and I’m excited to see the way you navigate through some of the familial plots that you mentioned in your application. Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist.Welcome home, we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — kay age — 30 pronouns — she/her timezone — mst/gmt-7 activity level — currently it would be about a seven out of ten; i’m a teacher, and it’s summer break! I have a lot more free time now but i’m also trying to keep myself busy with more meaningful things as well, so my activity is not as steady as it might have been in years past lol

IC Overview

name — Andromeda Ismene Tonks, née Black age — 30; her birthday is March 1, 1955 gender — cis female sexuality — bisexual but that’s a very closely guarded secret; she had a very brief, very secretive relationship with a girl during her time at Hogwarts, but she knew what her family would think of that and nothing came of it; Ted came along not long after that, and she’s never looked back.

patronus — a cat, hers specifically takes the form of an Egyptian Mau; she summons the Patronus with the memory of when she and Ted took Dora shopping for her first year school supplies

boggart — Dora, dead by Bellatrix’s hand - as much as it would kill Andie if something happened to Ted, it’s nowhere near the pain that would come if something happened to Dora. Her greatest fear has always been that her family would find and hurt Dora somehow, and now that she and Cissa have reunited, Bellatrix is Andie’s greatest worry

IC In Depth

personality traits — +loyal, compassionate, thoughtful: As a Black, she was raised to prize loyalty; Andie took it to mean loyalty to her family above all (and as she grew older, the definition of family changed) and it’s a trait that she still prizes. To those who have proved themselves trustworthy, Andie extends all the loyalty in her. Despite her upbringing, Andie has always been compassionate - it was why she first wanted to be a Healer, to help those in need. Her bedside manner is well-known at St. Mungo’s because of this. If someone comes to Andie for advice or help, she takes her time to consider what she’s saying; this is true in everything she does. Andie was impulsive when she was younger but has since learned the importance of stopping to think about her actions.

-withdrawn, smothering, hesitant: Although her loyalty extends to the people she cares about, Andie finds it difficult to open up to those she doesn’t know well. Her list of friends is small - she excuses this by referring to her family difficulty and how she was never sure who she could trust when she was younger. Those who haven’t earned her loyalty aren’t people she trusts or wishes to spend much time with. She wants to help others but often can try and do too much for them, whether it’s a patient at St. Mungo’s or her friends. She would do anything for them, and needs to be told to do less when she oversteps. Her thoughtfulness sometimes leads her to hesitancy; she doesn’t want to do the wrong thing, so she does nothing. It’s a trait she’s trying to work on - to be sure she acts when she ought to, while still giving everything the consideration it needs.

character biography —

Andromeda Ismene Black came into the world early in the morning on March 1, 1955. Her earliest memories are of her sisters: Bella racing over after Andie fell; Cissa’s tiny fingers curling around Andie’s own, much larger finger; the three of them hiding in their playroom after a burst of accidental magic sent everything toppling from the walls; Andie and Cissa crying when Bella went to Hogwarts, then Bella and Andie feeling equally heartbroken to leave Cissa behind. Her whole world revolved around the two of them, and Andie couldn’t imagine anything better.

Her Hogwarts years are memories of friends. At first, the other pureblood girls in Slytherin, and occasionally the other houses: these are the girls she knew from childhood, the ones her parents approved. Then, slowly but surely, other people began to inch their way in. Andie first began to question the pureblood ideals she’d been taught when she was a third year, partnered with a halfblood in Herbology, and realized that the other girl was just as good as Andie herself was - maybe even better. From there, more fractures appeared as Andie observed her Muggleborn and halfbood peers and realized that blood purity did not equal better magic, and certainly didn’t equal better people.

Then there was Ted. They became friends during her fourth year, when Andie was able to show that she was not her sister, she was kinder than Bella. They were friends, and quickly became the best of friends, without the hint of anything romantic on Andie’s part. She had not yet reconciled to the idea that she might have to leave her family someday, and still planned to follow through with the expected pureblood marriage at some distant point in the future. Then there was a very pretty halfblood girl in Andie’s fifth year, though nothing came of that. And then near the end of Andie’s sixth year, she realized Ted was … handsome. Kind. Good. Things she wanted from a husband. They started dating in her seventh year, and Andie never regretted that choice.

Her memories after Hogwarts are a blur of Ted and St. Mungo’s. She talked her parents into letting her go into Healer training; it allowed her to sneak time with Ted and still pursue the thing she loved, and bought time before she had to make a decision about her family. She knew it would come to a head, that this situation could not last forever. She knew that she didn’t share her family’s beliefs anymore. She knew that leaving them would be the hardest thing she ever did - maybe even impossible. And so she put the decision off, as she trained and met up with Ted and fell more and more in love with him until everything broke. She tried to plead her case, and her parents issued their ultimatum: the family or Ted. And with that choice before her, she could only do one thing. She left her family in November, 1974.

Since that time, her memories have been full of Ted and Dora. Dora was born in August, 1975 and Andie’s world shifted irrevocably. Her priority is to keep her daughter safe - her laughing, rambunctious, miraculous gift, who can change her appearance at will (a fact that brought her parents immense anxiety when Dora was little). Their home is a place full of laughter, cozy and homey in a way that Andie never experienced when she was younger. They stayed out of the war, after long discussions over many nights about their responsibility to society and their responsibility to their daughter. Andie goes to work and does her duty, and comes home and dotes on Dora and keeps the house tidy and loves Ted. And since the war’s end, she cautiously lets Cissa in as well, gets to know her little blonde nephew and tries to mend fences with her youngest sister and hopes that the future is as bright as it seems.

plot ideas —

1) I love family plots, so I definitely want to plot with Narcissa and Sirius! I feel like there’s a lot of possibility for angst and drama with Cissa and Andie, just given how their reunion can be seen as manipulative on Cissa’s end. And since Sirius was Andie’s favorite cousin, and she probably always saw him as very immature, I like the idea of her getting to know this different side of him.

2) Since Andie is a Healer, I think it would be really interesting to explore her working to help people aligned with the Death Eaters, either currently or in the past. Andie takes her vow to help others very seriously, and she would give an injured Death Eater the same consideration she gave someone from the Order.

3) This is a more personal one, but I think if there was a Ted writer, it would be interesting to see Ted and Andie thinking about having more kids since things seem so peaceful.

4) Andie doesn’t have many friends, and I would love to see her making some new ones! She’s an introvert by nature, but immensely loyal to those she deems worthy so it would be interesting to explore that, and see her deciding what proves someone’s loyalty.

5) As things start to heat up again, I think it would be interesting for the Order to approach Andie about being a sort of Healer on call for them. She doesn’t want to fight and doesn’t necessarily want her family involved, but she would find it difficult to turn down that sort of request - she believes that the Order is right, and now that Dora isn’t a baby anymore and is safely at Hogwarts, Andie might be more inclined to aid the Order.

extra —

Just as a note: I was hoping to change Dora’s canon birth year from 1973 to 1975, just to give Andie and Ted some breathing room in their relationship, rather than them having a baby when they were 17/18. I can adjust that back if you don’t approve, but it felt like a better call for this group. I also wrote the app as Andie and Ted being together for 13 as in they’ve been dating that long, and said the marriage took place in the year after they finished Hogwarts, again just to give Andie a little more time to mature as a person before she immediately left her family and married Ted. (Also this is all a little moot since the age change; I think I changed the dates appropriately but if not, that’s absolutely something I can edit in the future!)

Character tag on my personal blog

Andromeda pinterest board

Amortentia: coffee, chocolate, mint - these are scents she associates with her home now. Coffee in the morning when she and Ted are waking up; chocolate for stolen moments with Dora when they’re sneaking a treat; the minty smell of their toothpaste for goodnight kisses.

#al:accepted #andromeda tonks

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theevangelion · 5 years

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THE NEED: SUPERCORP HALF-CHAPTER

Alpha Lena/Omega Kara — Kara has just had a baby and their first heat postpartum is coming fast and hot. Creative problems require creative solutions for the couple, and Lena is anything but gentle with her woman of steel. (Anal, lactation, knotting, biting.)

The sun was high in the sky and dazzling the road, and the highway was inundated with people. The traffic pulled slowly, chugging for a bit, then stalling to a halt. It would be like this for at least seven miles if the woman on the radio announcing the collision ahead was to be trusted. The passengers in the rear cab of the sleek town car had plenty to do to fill the time. There were phone screens in hand, computers on laps, communications and official statements underway. The boss just sighed and stared out of the window, flustered and only growing all the more flustered by the state of things.

“Cancelled your four o’clock,” Jeanie peered over her seat and handed a tablet with something on the screen that needed a digital signature. “The press team is asking if you want to make a personal statement to reporters this evening or if they should quietly release the news on the website?”

“You know, my brother once said there was no such thing as bad press.” Lena forced a small smile as she signed the screen and passed it back. “But now that L-Corp stock is plummeting, I’m inclined to disagree.”

“It will blow over,” the analyst sat in the front seat spoke up, she took the tablet from Jeanie and sighed. “I’m running the numbers and the share price is already starting to plateau. Most of the damage was the Russians short-selling the majority of their stock. Luckily, an investor just bought a billion dollars worth of L-Corp shares. The market price is stabilising.”

“Who was it?” Lena furrowed her brow.

“You.” The analyst smiled and turned the tablet back around. “Thanks for your signature.”

The headache intensified with immediacy. Lena reached up and rubbed where her temples and prestinely tied back hair met, inhaling deeply. This broke at least three financial trading regulations that she could think of off the top of her head, and to compound the stress, her brother and mother had managed to release a joint-manifesto from their separate top security prisons outlining their political ambitions upon release. On top of all of that Lena was coming into rut, which meant Kara was coming into heat, alone, in pain, and with a newborn to take care of for good measure.

The inability to make any of it instantaneously better was infuriating.

“Lena, urgent call for you.” Jeanie reached over the headrest again to pass the phone to the grumbler.

Lena dismissively waved her hand and peered out the window in thought. “Tell them I’m too busy.” Today was not a good day to be the CEO, although there were rarely good days if truth be told. Manageable was at the top end of the mean average.

Jeanie pulled a face. “Far be it from me to tell you what to do… but I really think you’re going to want to take this call…”

Lena rolled her eyes and snatched the phone, bristling and immediately suspicious that one of her immediate relatives had obtained a satellite phone purely to gloat. She brought the phone to her ear and her voice became tight.

“This better be damn important—”

“Your daughter is smiling.” Kara interrupted the bad mood with abundant chirpiness. “Are you smiling, little girl? Are you smiling for Momma?” She singsonged at their tiny one.

“Oh goodness!” Lena relaxed instantaneously and juggled the phone between her ear and shoulder, lifting the lid of her laptop so the inevitable pictures in their iMessage conversation could be cooed over. “Is it a big smile or a little smile?” She grinned in anticipation, clicking and scrolling.

“A big one, she’s in a good mood. I saw the news bulletin and I thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

“Yeah, about that.” Lena closed her eyes and sighed. “Apparently there’s at least one mole in the lab. How Lilian received copies of the research I’m still not sure but she knows L-Corp has the power to chemically suspend non-human abilities and it’s splashed all over every screen I’m looking at. Just in case you haven’t unmuted the news, there’s your recap of my day.”

“The news was unmuted,” Kara assured.

“It wasn’t the way I wanted the public to find out, to say the least.”

“Well, you’re a genius and people were bound to find that out sooner rather than later.” Kara remained a force of calm. “The technology has the potential to do lots of good. Just look at us, at little Ellis. You’re going to save and change lives with it.”

“The Alien Rights Coalition doesn’t see it that way.” Lena worried to the only person she felt capable of talking her worries through with. “They’re saying it’s the first step towards a genetic holocaust and I don’t think my last name helps matters...” The headache intensified.

“The technology could be dubious in the wrong hands, but—luckily for all of us—it’s in yours. And your application of the technology will help alien moms have full-term pregnancies, Lena!” Kara trailed with the sheer amazement of it. “Sunlight makes my body invulnerable to change, Ellis never would have been able to grow to full-term if you didn’t figure out a way to suspend my powers, just for a little while.” She heard Kara smile. “Thank you for that by the way, our little girl is the best gift you’ve ever given me and that’s taking into account the signed Spice Girls world tour poster you got me for my birthday.”

“Well thank you for giving her to me, too.” Lena smiled.

“So, in other news.” There was a small, thoughtful pause. “I’m getting moody which means I might need the chickento come home to roostsooner rather than later… I know you’re having a terrible day but maybe that’s all the more reason for you to sneak home early?” It was said with an air of optimism.

“Is that codeword for what I think it’s codeword for?”

“Leen, I don’t want to talk about what we do in the bedroom in front of our sweet, innocent, adorable, tiny little—”

“Understood.” Lena cleared her throat and shifted her eyes toward the staffers who were pretending not to eavesdrop. The Alpha rubbed her temple and looked up with pursed crimson lips, sighing and a little foggy from the current warfare of her own hormones. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet. You remember what the doctors said, Baby…” If the doctors weren’t direct enough about the whole thing, the stitches that were still holding things together down there were pretty clear on the matter. “I can take a suppressant?” Lena offered as an afterthought.

“I don’t want you to take a suppressant.”

“The nausea only lasts for an hour, I don’t mind.” Lena reasoned, tucking the phone deeper between her chin and shoulder as the forward motion of the car picked up with a bit more consistency.

“I don’twant you to take a suppressant.” Kara emphasised it, her voice low and stern, her intention to make the big boss shut up and listen successful in execution. “It’s our first cycle since my body has been mine again and I want us to enjoy it. Can this be our good thing that we look forward to today? Please?”

The big boss did need a good thing to look forward to.

“Let me think about it?” Lena waned slightly.

“Love you, honey.” Kara’s voice scaled upwards again back into the happy range, crisis averted. “You love Momma too, little girl? You wanna say bye to Momma?” Lena smiled at the way Kara sounded when she cooed.

“Give her a kiss from me, I love you too.” Lena smiled and ended the call.

Confused and slightly horny, Lena followed through on her word. The journey back to the National City, the brief jaunt from the car up the steps of the L-Corp building, dodging photographers and thrusted out microphones the entire short distance, all the way up to the top floor executive suite where a roundtable of important stakeholders was already underway, the only thing Lena found time to muse on was what making love to her wife sans pregnancy would look like. From a logistical standpoint, difficult and bumpy with newness considering Kara was still healing and rendered chemically human. From a personal standpoint, exciting and all the more delicious because of it.

“Lena?” The chief economist, Charles, cleared his throat midway through the presentation. “Are you following?” His eyes darted back to the forecast charts on the board.

The boss realised, despite her best efforts, that she was not presently a boss at all. She was a lovesick teenager, chewing the lid of her pen, tapping her Louboutin heel incessantly against the floor, thinking more about the newness of her wife’s changed body than the pressing matter of the PR shitstorm that could unseat her executive position before sundown. Lena swallowed and inhaled sharply, glancing at the forecast points, her quick mind for numbers doing the rest.

“I’m following, I’m just not trusting the current predictions.”

“You don’t?” Charles scoffed a bit. “Lena you headhunted me straight out of Washington because I’m very good at what I do.”

Lena smiled slightly and lifted her brow. “I remember,” she agreed.

“Then I would love to know where your concern stems from?” His hand found his hip.

“The data is still so new that we won’t be able to tell between the qualitative and anomalous points for a while yet.” Lena shrugged and pulled it out of her ass. “It feels reductive basing an economic forecast for the next two years mostly on twelve hours worth of events.”

“The numbers don’t lie,” Charles insisted.

“You’re right and they don’t, but people do. The Russians dumped their stock to destabilise our market position, every news outlet from here to Al Jazeera is running with nothing but rumour-fuel about our corporate direction, and I know it feels safer to sit in this room and worry over numbers from last year, over what numbers might look like next year, but there is a blazing inferno outside and we’re the firefighters who need to put it out.” The chief reclaimed her air of authority. “I think we should move the product launch up to Monday and get out ahead of this thing. Thoughts?”

Charles sighed and nodded a bit. “Getting out ahead might work… with a delicate hand.”

“You don’t think I should take up too much spotlight?” Lena became hopeful that it might give her some spare time to get other things done.

The Head of PR chipped in, a decisive expression only growing all the more fervent as she considered things. “I think getting an alien face out there to talk on the moral and ethical points of the technology presents a better opportunity to turn this around.”

“I agree.” Lena nodded and tried not to seem too pleased. “There’s at least a hundred reporters outside hoping to catch a glimpse of me. It might be best if I go home for the weekend and stay out of the way. I don’t think footage of me declining comment for the next few days is going to score any points.”

“It’s your call, nobody wants to force you out of the picture.” Jeanie reassured.

“I can work from home. The world is tired of Luthors, let’s give them a few days respite.” Lena nodded decisively.

If the world anticipated one thing it was that the ever-manicured, coiffed, pristinely dressed, most powerful woman in National City, would not be making a quick get away from the underground garage in a dinged Honda Accord. The baseball cap and sunglasses helped matters, Lena was certain of it as she pulled onto the freeway without the slightest hint of a pursuit.

The office had been left in a strange sense of coordinated mayhem, the staffers aware of what needed doing, the interns darting out on a coffee run for what was about to be the latest all-nighter in L-Corp history, the executives all bustling in and out of meeting rooms ready to demonstrate their weight in salt. It was a sight that didn’t leave Lena with much concern at all, frankly, the opposite was true. And the intern who bore the most resemblance to her, new and fresh out of engineering school with the tuition loans to show for it, was more than happy to switch clothes to aid the escape plan and get a new dress and a pair of Louboutins out of the deal.

Lena couldn’t remember the last time she wore jeans and a plain cotton t-shirt, but the lack of Spanx was doing wonders for her personal comfort. She shifted in her seat and cranked down the window, another first for a long time, and the cool breeze helped soothe the slick sheen of sweat that formed over her skin. Lena turned up the radio and drove like a bat out of Hell down the freeway.

The phone rang.

“Well hello, love of my life.” Lena tucked it between her shoulder and jaw, a slackened grin forming in the corners of her mouth. “You need me to pick something up?”

“You see the seatbelt next to you?” Kara’s tone was stern.

“I do?” The grin tapered.

“That. Use it please.”

“I am?” It was a white lie, her body was starting to sting a bit.

“I’m watching you on Fox 61. No, you’re not.”

“What do you—” Lena stopped and looked out the window. She sighed and cursed beneath her breath. “Ah, the news helicopter. Well… that’s certainly an unanticipated development.” She winced.

“If I could fly more than six feet I would come and pick you up,” Kara almost apologised for it. “Your driving leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Mhm,” Lena couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “I guess it’s been a while. Who knew Shayla drove stick?” Her eyebrows wiggled in amusement.

“I’m glad you’re coming home early.” She could almost hear Kara biting her lip. “I was worried you might leave me here all alone… finding creative ways to fill the time…”

“Ellis?” Lena swallowed, hard.

“She just went down. I’d say we’ve got a few hours, maybe three if you’re lucky… she didn’t nap this afternoon.”

“I’ll be home soon.” Lena instinctively put her foot on the accelerator.

“The seatbelt, use it.”

…

She did well to hide how ravenous she felt, did well to hide the frustration that came with not having the vocabulary to describe those feelings. There was something delicious about bruises, the way they ached but not in an entirely unpleasant way, the way they ached but slightly tingled too, as if to remind her how precious and fragile this body was for the time being.

There was one earned from bumping her elbow against the cabinet a few short days ago, and Kara couldn’t help but press it with more frequency as her heat drew in thicker. That, plus the scratch on the back of her hand. She rubbed her thumb against the change in texture, over the thin jaggedness of it, over the state that had never existed prior to nine months ago. According to the Lena she had another few more months of this before things returned to normal. Kara was determined to make the most of each lovely moment it.

The tiny one was asleep upstairs, producing nothing but breathy snores and the occasional deep, sleepy furrow of her brow on the baby monitor as if she were dreaming of only the most important things. She got it from the other mother, Kara was full of nothing but fondness over the thought.

The interim between watching Lena drive home on the news network and Lena making her arrival was spent busying herself with a need for distraction, preening and checking for any baby spit she might have missed since showering, lighting candles, blowing the candles out incase it was too much, double-checking on their baby no less than once every ten minutes. A helicopter parent she would become yet, no doubt in anyone’s mind.

When the two succinct beeps signalled the gates at the bottom of the property were opening, Kara darted inside the powder room and checked herself over one last time. The slight sallow beneath her eyes made her look tired, but it wasn’t a sight that made her feel less any beautiful. There was something worth cherishing about these fleeting days of fragility, something worth enjoying because it gave contrast to her life. She tucked her curled blonde hair behind her ears and wiped away the tiny gleam of sweat from the apples of her cheeks. An anticipatory smile turned into a beaming grin as car wheels crunched over the white pebbled drive outside, announcing the clever one’s arrival.

It wasn't that the sex was terrible during the second and third trimester, it was just different, it was just soft, half-hearted, careful, thrumming with fear on Lena’s part that she would do something to hurt one of them. To compound the difficultness of it, as Kara’s body changed with pregnancy, becoming something that was both powerful and fragile, her desires shifted too; she yearned for bruises and bitemarks and other tiny precious wounds that Lena would have shrivelled into dust over had she merely heard a whispering of it. Kara inhaled deeply as she walked back into the living room, hopeful that today would be different, hopeful that today would be full of wonderful discoveries.

It was a sunny day outside. The bay windows were almost blinding to look at from the refraction of light. Kara looked out to the front drive with narrowed eyes and didn’t recognise her for a moment. She watched Lena clamber out of the rusty Accord, utterly gobsmacked once she realised the big boss was dressed down. And she was. She was completely dressed down. And not in the Lena Luthor definition of the phrase either; which roughly meant swapping a tailored suit and Prada heels for tailored slacks and leather loafers — an outfit choice that she insisted for the entire fourteen hour duration of the home water birth was homely, dressed down attire. This, the woman outside in a baseball cap, pushing sunglasses up her nose, pushing up the sleeve of her loose t-shirt up her bicep as she grabbed things out of the trunk, was a fantasy that Kara never knew she had and was only now stumbling across on a moment to moment basis.

Unsure and deeply out of her element, aroused and embarrassed about it, the soft one sat down and rubbed her mouth. The blurred glass of the front door was darkened with movement and shadow, the wood bumped open with a hip as things were juggled between both arms and a water flask hung off the pinky for good measure.

“Hello to you too,” Lena puffed and smiled as the door was kicked closed. “Busy day?”

“Mhm. Oh! but not as busy as yours!” Kara caught herself.

“Well, nobody said being the boss was without its stresses.” Lena wiggled her brows and dumped things on the side table. “I’m one McQueen dress and a pair of Christian Louboutins light but I’ll live to fight another day. The disguise probably needed a bit more work.” She took a swig of water.

“Well it��s doing wonders for me.” Kara craned her neck and rubbed the side of it, astounded that a flannel shirt tied around the waist could be such an immense turn on. “You, er, you look good.” Kara smiled and nodded, embarrassed by the sudden wetness.

“I look good, huh?” Lena piqued a manicured brow and took a few gaited steps closer, showing off the new attire as if she were the butchest thing this side of province. “Does my girl have a thing for big tough Alpha types?” Lena narrowed her eyes slightly and pushed the short sleeves of her t-shirt up her arms, grinning and loving the attention.

“Hmm,” Kara pouted in thought. “I did marry the toughest one I could find. So sure, you might be onto something.” It earned an impressed smirk.

“Is that so?” Lena bit her bottom lip.

“Nobody said you were a wallflower.”

“You’re quite the catch yourself, Supergirl.”

“Ah ah,” Kara lifted her finger. “Maternity leave. I’m not Super if I can’t crash through walls or swoop down from the sky, or, you know, breastfeed and make a smoothie simultaneously.” The last part was said with slightly more exasperation.

“Well you’re Super to me,” Lena beamed and plonked herself down in the armchair a little less poised than usual. “A few months and you will be breastfeeding, making smoothies, and halting bank robberies for good measure.” She nodded reassuringly.

“Simultaneously? That sounds like it could get messy,” Kara chuckled.

“I told you I would support you going back to work when you’re ready, I meant it.”

“Strong, tough, and also very sweet.” Kara closed her eyes and sighed happily. “They were right, you are a catch.”

“How are you feeling? Have your hormones been wreaking havoc?”

“Do you want the truth or something a bit easier on your…” Kara glanced down to the large bulge in her wife’s jeans, cheeks pushed out, eyes darting back up to something other than the erection. “I can do either?”

“The truth. Unabridged, please.” Lena fluttered her long eyelashes.

“Well, my breasts are leaking, there’s stretch marks in places I didn’t even know possible, there are eight stitches holding my labia together, my womb is currently screaming at me to make another baby, my brain is screaming at my womb that it’s a trap.” Kara sighed and watched Lena’s expression fidget with confliction. “And on top of all of that, I masturbated three times today between mom-duties and it feels like I’m trying to put out an inferno with a watering can that has a hole in the bottom. I have never been more turned on than I am right now and my body is still a construction site. I could be better, I could be worse.”

“Okay, baby, first thing, your body is not a construction site. It’s a place of worship. It’s the Vatican.” Lena reminded with a deep, serious look. “Second, I knew this would be too much too soon. I’ll drive to the clinic and get a suppressant shot, it’s no problem—”

“You’re already in rut, plus, I reallydon’t want you to do that.” Kara became antsy and overwhelmed. “I’m just trying to warn you about what’s underneath all of this. That’s all...” The light grey cardigan was fiddled with.

“You remember that I was down the business-end when you gave birth, right?” Lena lifted an amused brow. “We shower together in the morning, sometimes you even let me kiss you on places other than your mouth when I’ve been extra well-behaved. I’m very aware of what’s under that cardigan, and the thought of it alone is doing a lot for me right now.” It was said with dopiest, softest, most loving, tender-eyed expression.

Kara chewed her lip guiltily for a moment. “I shower before you wake up. I put concealer under my eyes and make sure everything is neat and tidy before you see me naked.” It was a guilt that Kara wanted removing from her conscious, that she needed to be absolved of before Lena got a rude awakening of the present state of things. “It’s not that I think you won’t think I’m beautiful, it’s not that. I love this body, I love that it made a perfect little baby. I love that it aches, that it gets sore, that I finally understand what people mean when they say their muscles feel tired. I love knowing what it feels like to be human. But… this is our first cycle since Ellis and I just… want you to be in the picture.” She closed her eyes, aware that none of it sound as erotic as she hoped to be in the moments preceding intimacy.

“Baby, c’mere,” Lena became soft and empathetic, a small pout working into her mouth as she opened her arms wider.

The soft one stood up, frustrated and only growing more frustrated with the inability to express what she meant. There was still so much of it underneath the surface, so much of it steeped between the things she felt capable of saying. Half of her frustrations were because of her heat, because of the undulating, pulsating, hungry feeling in her belly that wanted for nothing but tired muscles and her wife’s knot. The other half was maybe the fear that Lena wouldn’t reciprocate the desire for something a bit more passionate than the usual order of things.

She clambered into Lena’s lap and took some small comfort in the closeness of it.

The bare arms around her spine were warm and smooth. Shoulders rising, forearms tight, chest exhaling weighted sighs, Lena became the safe thing to make it all go away. The soft one burrowed her nose and found a spot on Lena’s neck that smelled of relief. She stayed there, quiet, smiling a bit when she felt the taut jaw tuck itself over her head.

“Your body is so beautiful and powerful.” She felt the wisps of baby hair above her forehead move with the tender admittance. “I’m in the picture, my head is in the game, and it’s you a thousand times, Kara Danvers,” Lena crooned.

Kara smirked as her forehead was pecked with kisses. “Using my maiden surname now?” She craned her brow.

“Only so you remember I replaced it with mine.”

“Your boner is pushing in my butt.”

“Sorry, I get reallyexcited when I remember you have my last name.” They both giggled, and Lena shuffled the piled Superhero on top of her lap to make a bit more room. “Kara Danvers, I am going to take you upstairs and we’re going to sixty-nine until the sun hides behind the clouds in embarrassment. Anything else you want to talk to me about before I do just that?”

“Baby,” Kara pulled back and lightly pressed her thumbs into the hollows of Lena’s cheekbones. “I didn’t say I didn’t like your boner pushing in my butt…” It was exhaled with a bite of the bottom lip, with a tinge of naughtiness to her voice.

“Baby!” Lena blurted and blushed, as if she were avoiding a clear trap. “That is… no… we’re… just no.” She shook her head.

“Excuse me?”

“That is. That is barelyscooting around the medical advice we were given, Kara.” Lena closed her eyes, pink cheeked, flustered, aroused beyond words and trying to dampen her growing interest. “I want to do that more than anything but without your powers I could hurt you…”

“So if I was human you would never fuck me like you do when I’m Super? You wouldn’t want to experiment and try new things?” Kara lifted a slightly accusing brow. “This is the only time in my life when I will ever be physically weaker than you and I want to enjoy it, baby.” She rubbed Lena’s shoulders and felt her start to wane. “Don’t you want to enjoy me?” She knew there could only be one answer, the correct one.

“I do, believe me… if only you knew how many times I’ve fantasized about having you sore and whimpering underneath me…” Lena closed her eyes and let the sentence hang. “It’s just your life experience is that of an indestructible woman, Kara. And that doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest. It just worries me that if I get too rough with you while you’re without powers… it could be overwhelming? I guess?” Her green eyes appeared again from behind her fluttering lids.

“I want it to be overwhelming.” Kara pressed forward and kissed her lips. “I want it to hurt, to ache, to make me sore, to make me so tired I can barely crawl. I want you to bite me and mean it. I want you to tell me you love me and mean it more. I want to get primal. I wantto be overwhelmed.” She emphasised with warm palms growing tight around the tautness of her wife’s jaw. “You’re the kind of woman who makes the thought of being overwhelmed by you very, very appealing.”

“It’s the flannel, isn’t it?” Lena chewed a weak grin. “Is that why my pretty girl is on me like a bruise today?” Her eyebrow piqued.

“Well, I was kinda hoping you might find the time to put some bruises on me…” Kara kissed the corner of her mouth, the cupid’s bow of her top lip, pecked her way around the outskirts of town until the big boss weakly growled because of it.

“Fuck,” Lena hissed.

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hvndcvffed · 5 years

Text

“ let me just –– can you –– uh. ” grizz clears his throat and raises a finger. because this? oh, boy. stomaching this shit without laughing mandates a breather. “ hold that thought for a moment while i collect myself. s’been quite the day and i want to give you my undivided attention. ”

or, alternatively : yo yo yo, party people ! guess who finally made it ? i’m lev / linc ( she/her/hers ) , comin’ atchu from the ever so lovely est timezone with ya boy, the tru ledge, grizz visser! click on that read more to read some headcanons i’ve got goin’ for west ham’s resident handcuff-owning, intellectual beb !

[ g r i z z v i s s e r –– B O Y O N F I R E .

✔ ┊❝ ( nick robinson. 18. he/him &. cismale ) rumor around town is that gareth “grizz” visser was on one of the buses that left for the field trip. they’re the eighteen year old that resides in new ham. over the summer news spread that he purposely botched his chances to win a football scholarship to a local uni because he applied to several ivies behind his parents’ backs, but who knows if that’s true or not? what we do know is that their friends describe them as well-read & piquant, but who knows when they’re known to be elusive & misanthropé from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: gareth visser

nickname(s) or alias: grizz

preferred name: grizz –– call him gareth and he will... not be happy.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: leo

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: homosexual ( but closeted )

romantic preference: demiromantic

home environment: a quaint three-bed / two-bath house with his parents. a positive, almost sickeningly sweet home: family portraits all over the place, cheesy “ home is where the heart is ” décor all around from his mother’s many trips to pier 1 imports.

current occupation: student, student athlete.

language(s) spoken: english, french, a tad of latin. wants to learn more hebrew, but that shit is complicated as heck.

native language: english.

current relationship status: single.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: y’know, he’s asked his parents this countless times. why gareth? why. gareth. and each time he’s just gotten the same vague response: they liked it. it sounded respectable. ack.

birth order: only child.

ethnicity: american. west ham born & raised, baby!

nationality: american.

religion: agnostic. goes to church with his mother as a way to keep the peace, but... the idea of a god out there saying homosexuality’s a sin gives him a bad taste in his mouth. he’d rather discount his whole existence and uphold morality than accept that there’s a bigoted big guy in the sky. sees the bible more as a literary exercise to instill human value. did jesus really walk on water? heck no. but it makes a good fable.

political views: very, very liberal. doesn’t subscribe to labels, but as close to democratic socialist as you can get in this country without causing riots. anti-brexit. anti-trump. anti-bullshit, basically. maybe socialism or communism done right wouldn’t be a terrible idea.

financial status: very, very comfortable. his parents earn well and know how to save / spend frugally. the vissers are modest in living so they can pour more into experience. for grizz’s twelfth birthday, his parents took him hiking through the adirondacks. they’ve gone on some awesome trips together, and most of their vacations include some aspect of super cool nature. unbeknownst to grizz, his parents’ planned grad gift for him was a month-long backpacking tour through new zealand.

hometown: west ham, connecticut. cool beans.

level of education: high school senior. but he’s one of the learned folk: ap literature on lock. he took some college courses at the local community college last summer, because his job as a summer camp counselor wasn’t exactly intellectually stimulating. leading kids on hikes is fun ‘n all, but... not as engaging as college-level philosophy.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): nick robinson. with longer hair. reference [ here ] .

height: 6′0 ( jack’s shorter, but nick’s my main fc i’m workin’ with so i decide to bump it up. plus, height? football? makes sense. )

weight: 158 lbs

shoe size: 10.5

figure/build: athletic build. muscular. broad shoulders, lean waist.

hair colour: deep, deep brown. almost black. natural.

hair length: about jaw-length. curly. ( REFERENCE. )

eye colour: brown with an overlay of hazel-y jade-green. his campers over the summer compared his eyes to moss a lot. it kinda felt badass. “moss boss” had a ring to it.

glasses?: nope. 20/20 vision. but he’s been known to steal friends’ glasses sometimes, just for funsies.

skin tone: light, but not necessarily pale – spends a lot of time outdoors. no freckles.

tattoos: none, yet. would love to get a quote from walden. or a pine tree, if it wasn’t so cliche.

piercings: none. but getting an ear pierced has always intrigued him.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: some miscellaneous scars on his hands from whittling incidents growing up. a faint line across his arm from stitches, when he broke it in the peewee football league in fifth grade.

dominant hand: left-handed, but very recently learned he’s marginally ambidextrous for important tasks.

if painted, what color are their nails?: never painted. he keeps them short.

usual style of clothing: letterman jacket. jeans. tall socks, boots. pants tucked into socks, because why the hell not? flannels, hoodies, utility jackets layered over plain white tees. pendant necklaces, leather bracelets. occasionally he’ll wear a statement button-downs that looks like your grandmother’s upholstery, but somehow it’ll work really well. varsity t-shirts. hats of all varieties. if he could, he’d showcase some edgier styles. but he’s paranoid. he’s got a stanford hoodie buried in his closet. and a yale one, too.

frequently worn jewelry: leather bracelets. a silver ring strung on a chain, engraved with “ for sylvie, with love ”. he found it on a hike, and... figured he’d be sylvie for a day, or something.

describe their voice, what accent?: he has a light, gentle voice. a soft autumn breeze. laced with some gravel. strong, resolute. kind.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?: often speaks slowly, surely. not always keen to fill silences. but words are some of his favorite devices of deflection. if he’s unsure, he’ll cut himself off, leading to some choppy and hard to follow sentences. he very rarely mumbles. not afraid to speak eloquently, but will certainly match his speaking style to those he’s around, to an extent. rarely seems bothered. he masks it well.

describe their scent: amber, sandalwood, musk. vague hints of cinnamon.

describe their posture: grizz holds himself proudly. shoulders broad, chin up, chest open. it makes his vulnerable moments very easy to spot.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?: nope. this kid drives by the book. probably because he very much prefers to walk or bike around town, when he can help it.

have they ever been arrested?: never. he’s only been to the police station once, to drop off some promotional donuts for the homecoming football game.

do they have a criminal record?: nah.

have they committed any violent crimes?: no sir.

property crimes?: no.

traffic crimes?: nope! unless you count accidentally cutting cars off with his bike, because that’s happened a handful of times, when he’s been deep in thought.

other crimes?: just breaking hearts.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: july 26, 1997. 3:23am. during a rainstorm.

place of birth: west ham hospital.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?: no / yes / marijuana.

addictions: does good lit count?

allergies: sulfur-based antibiotics. bullshit.

ever broken a bone?: his left arm in fifth grade. right foot at the seventh grade dance –– the girl he asked to slow dance tripped and grizz, wanting to show off his cool socks, wound up with a stiletto heel to the talus. ouch. collar bone, freshman year of high school: he climbed a tree to save his neighbor’s cat and slipped.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nope.

any medication regularly taken: allergy meds. sometimes he gets the sniffles.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them: UNO. DOS. TRES. QUATRO.

positive traits: charismatic, cunning, introspective, virtuosic.

negative traits: cataclysmic, self-destructive, reckless, careless.

likes: classic literature, trail mix, synth vibes, 60s/70s/80s rock, the beatles, radiohead, faith by george michael. old vinyls. bob ross. vanilla-cinnamon candles and jasmine tea. wind-rustled leaves. fresh fallen rain.

dislikes: bitter coffee. the disappointment just after sunrise. katy perry. cleaning, laundry. the warmer side of the pillow. waking up without a hand to hold. gareth. secrets, but he harbors a few big ones. pretending. hiding. transitively, himself.

strengths: can be quite resolute but sometimes about the wrong things. his ability to analyze and respond to complex literature is… uncanny. intelligence. deduction. survival facts. he’s a postmodern bear grylls trapped in suburbia.

weaknesses: impatience. do-it-yourself attitude. fear of rejection. fear of acceptance. fear of others. fear of himself.

insecurities: what if people in west ham discover who he really is? how’s he supposed to postpone that?

fears/phobias: irrelevancy. book-burning. ignorance. time.

habits: playing with his fingers. biting his bottom lip and twisting it between his teeth. humming when he thinks no one is listening. going for late-night walks through the emptiest parts of town. staying up ‘til 4am to read and re-read and read again.

quirks: rarely settles his gaze on anything for more than a few seconds, except for other peoples’ eyes. eye contact is probably one of grizz’s biggest conversational strengths. probably why he makes such a good liar, when he needs to. he’ll finish a pint of ice cream and just sit there for over an hour sucking on the spoon, lost in thought. licks his lips when he’s nervous. plays with his hair a lot. you know he’s nervous when he keeps tucking his hair behind his right ear. chuckles to himself, even when things are the pure opposite of funny.

hobbies: jotting notes in book margins. he dabbles in poetry but feels like his shit is too beat-generation to be that cool. wandering through the woods and attempting to generate his own maps, then checking them for accuracy. lighting matches in the cold, mid-evening air just to watch them burn.

guilty pleasure: peanut m&ms. twizzlers. burned marshmallows. apartment tour videos on youtube.

desires: to prove he’s… sometime more than this. something more than a footballer destined to pretend.

wishes: he could come clean about college. wishes he could come clean about himself. wishes he could work up the courage to ask a guy to prom.

secrets: he purposefully botched an interview he had with central connecticut state university’s football recruiter because he doesn’t want to play in college. he wants to go to yale, or stanford, or brown. to study literature. classics. philosophy. his sexuality. but it’s getting harder and harder to keep that locked down.

turn ons: intelligence. genuine, pure intelligence. sharp-witted humor. dimples. dorky laughs. gentle touch. someone who doesn’t bother with worries ‘bout tomorrow.

turn offs: idiocy. khakis. people with too much pride. line cutters. naggers. people who don’t think the proper way to eat bugles is by fashioning crisp-claws first and pretending to be edward scissorhands. people who overlook adrienne rich’s poetry, or claim dante shouldn’t be taught in school.

lucky number: 0.

pet peeves: hearing people scratch their scalps. sniffly public transit users. people who don’t use earbuds. cold fries. nail-clickers. knuckle-crackers. people who slurp from straws like they’ve never had a drink before in their lives.

their motto: “ i’m surrounded by idiots. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: curly fries with cajun seasoning.

drink: half-oreo half-chocolate milkshake. extra whipped cream. two cherries. please.

fast food restaurant: he’s not huge on fast food, but he can fuck with five guys.

flavour: anything chocolate and peanut.

word: fuck !!! or zephyr: a soft, gentle breeze.

colour: a nice, deep forest green.

clothing: his letterman jacket. his deep green flannel’s a close second.

accessory: “ for sylvie, with love” . silver ring. he likes pretending he’s sylvie and that someone cared enough to get his name etched into a precious metal forever.

candle scent: the connecticut homesick candle. it smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla and fireside bliss. and pine trees. yum.

game: monopoly. but only if he wins.

animal: fish. they’re so graceful.

holiday: halloween. boo.

weather: sunset, just after rain. golden rays peering through deep gray clouds. it makes the greens of trees practically scream against the sky. it’s glorious. it’s heartbreaking. grizz loves it.

season: late fall.

book: le petit prince by antoine de saint-exupéry. it was the last book his grandmother ever read to him, on his fifth christmas eve.

artist: edvard munch. or van gogh, simply because he chopped his ear off and mailed it to his lover. now that’s modern romance.

band/group: the divine comedy, radiohead, pink floyd, the beatles, the rolling stones, the kooks. the avett brothers. belle & sebastian.

song: high and dry, radiohead. elephant, tame impala. anything by the beatles.

movie/film: mr. nobody. eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. the first time little grizz saw alice in wonderland, he wouldn’t shut up about it for two weeks.

tv show: he grew up watching wallace and gromit. he’s still got a soft spot for it.

sport: football.

possession: his dad’s collection of beatles original release vinyls.

number: 0.

person: henry david thoreau.

( &&. skills )

talents: writing, but he won’t admit it. football. wood-whittling. gardening. navigation.

ability to drive a car?: yes.

can they ride a bike?: yes, and will frequently do so with no hands.

do they play any sports?: football.

anything they’re bad at?: juggling. sleeping. pretending to like gross food.

do they have any combat training? why?: grizz once yahoo answered how to punch somebody to the moon, after one of his best friends got made fun of in grade school for accidentally wearing a costume the day before halloween. he’s still waiting for an answer to that post.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: waging what was left of his fruit gummies during a game of fireside poker on the first visser camping trip.

crush: matty kerrington, pre-k. his hair smelled like strawberries and his smile reminded grizz of the hot honey that clung to his mum’s spoon after stirring tea. but to this day, he’ll say his first crush was amanda vander-voss, because her hair was pretty in braids and she reminded him of the pretty deer from bambi.

email address: [email protected]

job: camp counselor at a hiking / adventure camp based in west ham.

phone: a nifty samsung with a slide-out keyboard. made him feel like a god.

kiss: jessica winthrop, in a game of third grade truth or dare.

love: tess de luca ( @tessdl )

sexual experience: with jessica winthrop in the woods behind the middle school, three years later. jess got poison ivy in all the wrong places. grizz thought it was hysterical.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?: honestly? wearing that boa in dance class. his mom was quick to stop that.

worst childhood memory?: nearly breaking his nose on the neighbor’s front porch, while attempting to ding-dong ditch with his friends. he’s not sure what gave them away more –– his blood staining their pavement, or the fact that he blubbered the whole run home.

what were they like as a child?: grizz tended to poke his nose into all the wrong matters, landing him in oodles of trouble. he’d steal from the snack cabinet, sketch constellations across the walls… even stole his dad’s old walkman so he could listen to music under his covers past his bedtime. tried to sneak into the library after hours to get his hands on another thoreau novel. but it was all harmless. the vissers weren’t very firm disciplinarians: they just loved that their son was engaged and passionate about knowledge.

any crushes growing up?: oh, loads. more than he’d like to admit.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?: inexpensive, but lasting.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygenic.

open-minded or close-minded?: open.

introvert or extrovert?: ambivert. thrives in social settings but the mood has to be right.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic with a weak optimistic veil. pragmatism, is how he’d put it.

daredevil or cautious?: cautious daredevil.

logical or emotional?: a blend of both, but emotions often influence his actions more than he’d like to say.

generous or stingy?: generous.

polite or rude?: polite when it’s socially mandated. but if there’s no threat of repercussions? a bit rude, if he has to be.

book smart or street smart?: both.

popular or loner?: popular, by proxy. but grizz vibes with some solid solitude, especially to recharge.

leader or follower?: leader. follower, though, in the high school structure of things. it’s a way to ensure his place and avoid potential fallout. he’ll call his friends out if they’re up to no good, though.

day or night person?: night. definitely night.

cat or dog person?: both! prefers cats just a smidge more.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?: open. maybe his demons wanna cuddle or some shit.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to instagram and (begrudgingly) snapchat.

if so; name on facebook: none.

instagram user: grizzvisser

snapchat user: grizzybear

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: kimochi warui ( when? when? when? ), car seat headrest. god... get him OUT of this town.

makes them sad: blackbird, the beatles. his grandparents used to sing this when he’d sleep over/ they’d be in the kitchen early in the morning trying to convince him to eat his cereal. they’d change the lyrics and snap slightly off-tempo, all smiles and coaxing gestures. ave maria. he’s not sure why. it inspires melancholia.

makes them dance: hazy miss daisy, kid bloom. anything with a sick beat and erratic synth. take on me, a-ha. good times bad times, led zeppelin.

loves the most: fool of myself, the band camino. it’s a song he can throw his head back to, close his eyes, and sway in the breeze.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?: yep, used to, but now that’s not necessary!

are they a virgin?: nope siree!

describe their signature: it’s unapologetic on the page. takes up more room than it should with lateral squiggles and grandiose swirls. G and V are decipherable, but everything else is convoluted by its own physics. a muddled mess. beautiful in its self-collapsing structure.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?: he’d outlive everyone. survivalist visser, right here.

do they travel?: yes, but he wants to do more, see more. the grand canyon would be cool. or maybe the alps. he’s always had a dream of hiking yosemite.

one place they would like to live: anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit: new zealand. australia. hawaii.

celebrity crush: young johnny depp. emma watson.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: tic tacs, but never the mint ones. only the odd flavors.

place(s) your character can always be found: anywhere with trees. rooftops. alleyways. the football field. coffee shops. the local diner. roadside sunflower fields. his parents’ garden.

when does your character like to wake up?: with the sun.

what’s your character’s morning routine?: blink at the ceiling for about 20 minutes. wash his face, brush his teeth. annotate a few lines of whatever book he’s reading. push-ups, pull-ups, crunches. run a mile or two. rush into the shower. grab his lunch from the fridge and bike to school (and barely make it).

what does your character eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner?: grizz’s mom loves to cook, so they’re always trying some new paleo trend. some of it’s awful. but he’ll try to eat it and if he can’t, he’ll sneak a granola bar later. if the school’s serving smiley face fries, he’ll have those. he really likes green apples and those little clementines.

how does your character spend their free days?: hiking. reading. writing. lying in the sun and just... thinking. lately, he’s been daydreaming a lot about an ivy league education. something more engaging than west ham’s high school snoozefest.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?: some kind of pre-bed stretching routine. wash his face, brush his teeth, curl up in bed with a book. fall asleep with it still open on his chest.

what does your character wear to bed?: boxers and a t-shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?: the past. mistakes. time ticking away.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?: he’s still workin’ on that bit.

on what occasions do they lie?: very rarely, if he can help it.

most marked characteristic: his hair. it’s all russet waves. untamed. some days, his hair truly has a mind of its own. it screams free spirit. it doesn’t let on that, inside, his soul is burning.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?: honestly? it’s not so much what he’d want to change about himself as it is about this town.

how would they like to die?: well-read.

do they snore? not unless he’s got a head cold. then there may be a few soft snores here and there.

can they curl their tongue?: yes!

can they whistle?: yes indeed!

do they believe in the supernatural?: not really. but it’s fun to indulge on halloween. did he move your cup, or did the ghouls?! s p o o k y .

has anyone ever broken their heart?: no. haven’t had the opportunity to.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?: yes. little marsha lapone’s, at summer camp. she was 8, he’s 18. he told her there was no chance, and she cried into her pb&j. tough.

are they squeamish?: no.

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?: just in films.

are they a lightweight?: heck no.

that was a very lengthy thing but... yeah! hit me up for plots! i’m gonna get to crafting and replying to starters v shortly!

#newhamhq:intro #ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ɪ ᴀᴍ ! ɪꜱᴍꜱ.

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barnesatsea · 5 years

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HEADCANONS.

Sea salt in his blood.

The barnes family has been known to come from a long line of men who’d at some point in life stare into the ocean’s eyes and find it staring straight back at them. Fishermen. Sailors. Pirates. – Alright, maybe the pirate thing isn’t exactly written down in the family tree but Eric has a good feeling at least some crazy great great great uncle found himself wandering off the family path and seeking a little adventure in exploring the ocean, finding treasures… who knows? They might’ve even encountered a mermaid at some point, hence the no one ever seeing or mentioning them ever again.

A bloodline tied with the blue ocean, salt water running in their veins. It’s not really a surprise the youngest of the Barnes family spends at least 70% of his day doing something related to the water. His second home, the place where he feels safe despite being well aware of its many mysteries and dangers. When people feel scared and desperate they seek for shelter in church. Eric, on the other hand runs off to the harbor and spends the day feeling the waves rock his boat at a steady pace. There’s nothing more familiar than the feeling of sea salt covering his arms and the ocean’s breeze tangling his hair.

Amphitrite.

One thing that does come as a surprise though, is that Eric Barnes does not actually live in his beautiful boat, Amphitrite.

– Interrupting the current narrative, I believe it’s important to do a small comment on how and why Eric came to the naming of his precious boat, Amphitrite. The story is actually linked to a bit of background of his likes and his whole inner dilemma. However, for the sake of the comment, I’ll make it short.

It was a rainy afternoon in which an eight year old sat in front of a massive window, staring at the people running through the beach, at the grey clouds gathering up around the shore, at the giant waves crashing into rocks. His grandfather sat there too, a white beard and a distinctive ooze of tuna joining him on the couch. He presented his grandchild with a book, a book filled with wonderful creatures and gods and heroes all going on fantastic adventures… and most involving the sea and its challenges as a main character. “That’s Poseidon’s work” The old man said, pointing at the big blue waves behind their window, hearing their roar as they rose.

That day, Eric wasn’t allowed outside, he wasn’t allowed to spend one glorious adventure with his father’s sailing boat and the ocean’s wrath, but he did get to read about it as you can now often spot him whenever it’s a rainy day. Greek Mythology became and fantastic friend through which he lived wonderful adventures whenever he couldn’t actually walk up to the harbor and sail his own boat. And that’s how he came to name his very first boat, his dear old friend that would join him in his travels; Named after Poseidon’s very own wife, Amphitrite would tame the wild ocean through which they sailed and would keep him safe.

– Or at least that was the idea. I don’t want to make it sound like he actually believed in any of the myths, but his mind was allowed to hope and dream and entertain himself with the though of what if. But carrying on with the current narrative:

Even more so of a surprise was the fact that his living situation wasn’t actually something his parents requested or anything. Though, yes they would be sure to argue against the idea of their son living in his boat like some other less popular habitants of Carthay, they didn’t have to. Eric simply walked out of their home and chose a nice apartment for himself, keeping his boat as some kind of refuge; his not so secret place he could run off to whenever he felt like it. Maybe it was the fact that if he kept his home and his second home separated, then he’d have some place to run off to.

A mystery left unsolved by myself and his own sub-conscious too. A deeper connection and a deeper meaning. The thought of it not being merely a place he sleeps in, but a place through which he lives a breathes as he never does anywhere else.

Three peculiar sounds

I’m surely making it look like everything young Eric Barnes has going on in life is somewhat if nor entirely related to the ocean right outside his door– and sure, most people might see it that way, some other people might even want it that way. But really, there’s much more than meets the eye.

One curious fact is that there’s three specific sounds that are rather particular and quite strange to hear around Carthay, and when heard one’s sure to bet it’s about to be followed by no one else but Eric himself

Sound number one: A sweet melody produced by a silver flute. A gift from his parents that truly felt more like a task rather than a gift, for the young boy immediately felt pressured to learn and master the instrument in order to participate in school functions and diverse competitions. He struggled for years and his friends had a blast making fun of him all throughout elementary school up until Eric actually started using the silver instrument to his advantage– bringing it to parties and making quite an impression on curious girl’s eyes. In the end, the instrument looked quite nice in college applications for some reason and eventually, he did learn to care for it in a very special way.

A most unusual addition into somebody’s life, however Eric often carries it along as if it was an acoustic guitar or even a harmonica, and makes it look as natural as such too. An extension to his right arm he’ll only play whenever it’s a good day and he finds himself in a glorious mood.

Sound number two: Often linked to the first sound, in fact– Sea Shanties. It’s almost as if he’d somehow traveled back in time and spent years of his life working on a merchant’s sailing vessel because he’s acquired quite an impressive library of sea shanties only an old and very drunk sailor would know and sing too. Songs he managed to pick up from several relatives from a young age and of course, from his many travels across the sea.

He doesn’t sing them as often now a days, not on land anyways. He saves the lyrics for the travels he makes from one coast to the other, and of course for the afternoons he spends with his relatives on deck. Most days he’ll limit himself to playing the melodies as he lays on Amphitrite and watches the sun go down.

Sound number three: A carefully assembled playlist of songs ranging from the year 1975 to the year of 1995. Some older, and a very very limited selection of more actualized music. He’s a soul from the past, trapped in the year of 2019, that’s something most would not be able to deny.

An old soul that smiles at cheesy lyrics, experimental sounds and a heavy use of synthesizers. There’s something gleeful about that whole era that’s somewhat injected into the music produced in it. He finds in today’s music that pop is lacking originality, rock is losing its soul and sometimes becoming all to much and only the alternative genre is somewhat tolerable. Of course, you wouldn’t find Eric complaining out loud and asking for a change of tune, but his smile is definitely brighter once Culture Club is on.

God knows he wants to break free.

Walking down the harbor whistling his favorite Queen tune, a gigantic white and gray mass of hair he calls Max following his trail, the sunshine in his hair. Such a put together boy, one would thing he’s got life all figured out– some actually even stick around to see if he’ll share the secret they’ve all been looking for their entire lives.

Perhaps not the top of his class graduating from high school, but certainly among the top five, with the title of student body president on his pocket. Accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the entire country, and studying there along with two of the best friends life could’ve ever given him. No girlfriend, but quite a line of beating hearts just waiting for him to give them a chance, and quite a line of other hearts who’d been welcomed in once upon a time and politely invited out with no hard feelings left on either side. He’d studied what his parents wanted him to– Economics and some Business Administration courses on the side. He’d come home triumphantly and accepted the challenge of learning everything about his father’s business and had been even given the opportunity to run some of the smaller departments.

The sun shone in his childhood; going on wonderful adventures with his two best friends, learning from his grandfather’s fantastic tales, being the light and day of his mother and father. When growing up, he glistened, becoming just the man his father dreamed as a successor, just the one his mother hoped she’d once married. His future was bright, brighter than most would be lucky to fantasize over; and yet for some reason, there was something rather bleak about it, something Eric often times simply chose to ignore.

Something that could’ve been spotted from a mile away if you paid close enough attention. Unfortunately, that was not the case on most of his relations.

I suppose it all started where all stories started in the Barnes family. With a man staring into the ocean’s eyes and the ocean staring right back at him. This man, was much younger at the time, but his heart was in the right place for in the ocean’s eyes he was able to find that powerful and old and wise soul. And in that moment, he decided it needed to be protected, it needed to be loved and befriended.

Now the story doesn’t go like some magical tales in which the ocean would reach for the man and hold on tight to his hand– but it didn’t need to, really. It was more than enough that it’d happened in the man’s heart.

Now unlike his father who’d stared at the ocean and found opportunity in it, Eric dedicated his life to finding that very soul he’d once been lucky to see. He followed the family’s traditions and became a master sailor and navigator of the oceans but rarely ever indulged in conquering anywhere and much less fishing anything. Instead he tagged along to see the world and meet the culture and learn from the people and their traditions. He studied hard and became a top student, but also enjoyed his time with his friends and found a mistress called literature who would from then on join him in his various travels through life. He got himself into an Ivy League School, the one their parents had chose long before they were even born and had happily agreed on once the three boys had been united by chances in life. In there he studied economics and excelled in his tests and projects, but he also became truly fascinated by the social aspects of it all. He then chose to go to law school, to the most prestigious school of all, leaving behind his friendships for a moment and telling himself it’d been all to follow the plan his father had wanted him to follow: But perhaps there was something else there, something deeper that somehow connected him to that old soul he once had met so many years before. He’d assisted the family functions and participated in charities and eventually found himself joining tradition and hosting those charities on his own– it only seemed natural after all, but maybe there something else other than money and status, maybe it was him reaching out to hold on tight to his connection with that old soul.

And that’s really what sets him apart from all of those high class people he’s constantly surrounded by. He’s followed a road to perfection but focused on the most curious things his father couldn’t have foreseen. He once found life, raw and alive and he’s been on the lookout ever since. Living from the sea salt in his hair and the sunshine in his face and good heartfelt music to dance along to and beautiful people to have them join in on this wonderful thing he calls life.

The bleak spot.

Now all is not good and shiny in everybody’s life, but it sure can seem to be if we hide our eyes and cover our ears before the storm growing above. And Eric does a fantastic job at hiding himself from whatever drama life throws his way– or at least he’s been able to do so for the 28 years of his life. Always content, yet never quite satisfied.

Bu there is something. Something that settled itself far before he was even born and something that’s only grown and grown, preparing for the day he looks up and stares right back.

From the moment he was born, there was little in his family’s business that was kept a secret form the young boy. If anything it seemed quite the opposite as he was constantly ushered into meeting and pushed into making acquaintances with the fancy names and big wallets that ever found themselves walking into his family home. Little did he know, it was far from the case.

It’s truly amazing, if you think about it, how a group of men can manage to keep a whole section secret from the boy who’s been preparing to run the whole show for his entire life. How it’s remained remained a secret even when the young man has been running an entire department in the company for some time now.

Kept behind whispers, behind notes, behind closed doors with a misleading labels. That the family business is hardly what it looks like– fishermen alright, but my did pirates behave better when it came to the places they touched and the ocean they travelled through. A company of fishermen that’s been slowly killing the very source of their income for the longest time. It started out as an honest endeavor, a simple rearrangement of strategies and priorities that would take an already successful business to the moon and back. A strategy that managed to put the name of the Barnes family in every kitchen from all around the world. But that wasn’t enough– nothing ever is. With money, a thirst for power was fed and so the lion was taken out of his cage.

I don’t really mean to antagonize Eric Barnes father, but it’s not my intention to make him a saint either. Unlike his son, he wasn’t oblivious to the things that happened to the company but instead held tight to the reigns and directed it even forward into a path of absolute avarice. However, he’s nothing more than a man, a man mislead and blinded, but a man nonetheless.

They’ve kept this from the youngest Barnes. And with good reason too. They’ve kept from him the company’s involvement in the destruction of vital areas on the marine ecosystem, their involvement in the illegal hunting of species, their involvement in the increase in waste released– affecting both animal and human communities. They’ve kept from him the slow death they’ve been organizing for one of his dearest and oldest friend, the ocean.

Perhaps it’s best if he continues distracted in his search for The One and remains an ignorant to his family’s true business until his father finds the right way and the right time to break the news.

#❝ dancing under the moonlight: muse ❞#i needed to put them somewhere before i lost them #( headcanon )

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feywildrp · 6 years

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THE HALCYON // Camellia. Water Archfey: Angelfish. Unseelie Court. Born in 1969. Living at Avalon Bowery, Apt. 08B.

Wild Hand: Concord. Left hand. When Camellia puts this hand on someone, she is able to feel the emotions, in that moment, of whomever she is currently touching.

Personal Power: Toxicity; Camellia’s tears are toxic in liquid form, so they are effectively a poison that leads to nausea, pain, vomiting, and disorientation.

KNOWN TRAITS // Sweet, amiable, kind, guileless, duplicitous.

Holly trees signal festivities as their bright berries bare danger. A present that was just what you wanted from someone you’d forgotten. The gift of a calm, sunny day before the storms roll through. Flowers that survive hoarfrost. The slide of silk, the crush of velvet. A broken mirror. A family heirloom everyone knows better than to wear. A fool’s gold errand. Suede diaries with combination locks on them. China dolls that stare one second too long.

History

⇢ Trigger warnings: death mentions.

Camellia never knew her father, not even his name, but she grew up learning the importance of secrets. That knowledge was power and that knowing more than the next person was the best weapon. Born in winter, she grew up never too far from her Queen mother’s skirts—at first, out of attachment, and then, out of perception. Born after the feyry wars and disenchanted by human war, Camellia had a natural softness to her. Rather than letting it be sharpened out of her, she cultivated it like a bloom through winter, attentive and purposeful. She knew her elder sister, Caora, had been killed in the name of peace and she also knew she didn’t want to follow in her footsteps. It was a natural fear for a feyry Princess, but one that came to define Camellia. She wasn’t going to die, would never let her mother utter that ruling. History worked in Camellia’s favour: the frivolous killing of the Seelie King’s second daughter cast a long shadow, making Queen Lacha even more loathe to repeat the experience. So Camellia was the perfect Princess, studious in her responsibilities and her efforts, ever loyal to her mother. However, that didn’t stop her from cultivating her own secrets and her own fallback plans. While her mother would gain respect through fear, Camellia aimed to make the Unseelie Court love her—a near-impossible task.

There was an undercurrent in the current Court populace that felt that while Queen Lacha was a strong ruler, she was also overbearing and stubborn. Shepherding so many individualists was no easy task, Camellia knew from direct observation, but she also knew she could take advantage of the situation. On the one hand, she used her soft temperament to smooth over situations in favour of her mother; on the other, she gained information and did little favours to endear her to some of the other fey. It had a polarizing effect: some of the Court did love her for it and imagined a future in which Camellia was Queen, when they would be less restrained—some wanting to feel more considered, others wanting to take advantage of a softer rule. Rumours started that should Camellia come into her ruling hand, there was no way Queen Lacha would ever step down and allow for the succession. Other members of the Court hated Camellia, were waiting for her death to come, calling her an outsider, far too Seelie of a personality to ever truly rule the Steel Court. It is this latter half that seeks to pressure the Queen into having another heir, therefore making Camellia expendable. Camellia’s secret is that no matter the outcome of the brewing rebellion, as long as Camellia is alive, she is very much her mother’s duplicitous daughter.

Occupation

Princess & Hostess.

Her tasks as Princess and Hostess at the Rookery almost neatly overlap. In both, Camellia is attentive, considerate, and listening. She gets a lot of her knowledge of what’s going on with the fey—which she directly reports back to her mother, mostly—from just getting people to open up. After all, most people love talking about themselves, and Camellia can be quite disarming in her innocent persona; no one suspects her ulterior motives.

Connections

Queen Lacha: Her mother is the only person who truly knows all of Camellia’s facets and sees her for the strategic ruler she can be. Lacha knows everything except Camellia’s ties to the rebellion—and Camellia intends to keep it that way. Camellia will only use the movement against Lacha if her mother tries to Sacrifice her.

Jasper: Camellia’s best friend and the head of the Camellia-for-Queen rebellion movement. Though Camellia is very close with Jasper, he never sees her cunning side. Jasper sees only the good in her, the persona she projects as a caring, virtuous Princess who wants the Court to be a better place. His idealism is touching to her.

Peridot: A member of Jasper’s covert rebellion, Camellia doesn’t mind hanging out with Peridot from time to time; while Camellia certainly could never really loosen up around her, it helps her own image to have such a mischievous foil around, and besides, the girl is fun. Their outings are almost a respite from her complicated life.

PLAYLIST 1. La Naissance // 2. Revolution // 3. Earnestly Yours

Camellia is portrayed by Elle Fanning. The faceclaim is SEMI-NEGOTIABLE. Camellia is currently TAKEN by Emily and not available for application.

#lsrpg #original rp #bio rp #elle fanning #elle fanning fc #bio #unseelie #water #royal #camelliabio #taken

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

Text

Countless Roads - Chapter 6

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 6 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: The timing of this is completely coincidental, this whole fic having been written over the last year or so, but this chapter happens to be Halloween-themed. So happy Halloween, everyone!

———————————————————————————-

All things considered, Len's amazed that it takes Lisa until her junior year to think of it.

Perhaps the real reason is that that's the first year Len and Mick start going to the university area to visit her. It's noticeably more high class an area than the ones they usually frequent, and Len only gives the okay because the statutes of limitation have run out on all of their currently outstanding warrants, which means that even if the cops do finger them, they can't do anything about it.

The area's also got a lot more people with a lot more leisure time than the areas Len prefers.

That's probably why Lisa had her no-good, awful, terrible idea.

"No," Len tells her, but he already knows he's going to give in. He's never been able to deny Lisa anything she really wanted. Well, nothing but the ability to ruin her life by taking up crime the way he has. Her record is clean and it's staying that way as long as Len can manage it - probably not forever, he's acknowledging it now, but he's going to hold off until there's no way to avoid it.

This, though, this isn't crime.

This is just dumb.

"C'mon, Lenny! It'll be great!"

"No."

Len glances over at Mick in hopes of some back-up, but no, Mick's grinning his head off like the goddamn troll that he is.

"No!"

"He's giving in," Mick tells Lisa wisely. "You can hear it in the growing desperation in his voice."

"You sure can," she agrees.

"This is stupid," Len argues. "Too stupid for words!"

"It'll be fun."

"No, it won't."

"Give me one good reason why it won't be fun."

"Because I see actual ghosts!" Len exclaims. "I have no reason to go to a haunted house!"

"Lenny," Lisa says with a giant grin. "That's why it's gonna be so much fun. You've never been, have you?"

"Never saw the point," Len says grumpily.

"I can't believe you've been denying Mick the pleasure all these years," Lisa says. "He wants to go, doesn't he?"

"You bet I do," Mick agrees enthusiastically.

"He only wants to go so he can laugh at me," Len argues.

"You bet I do," Mick says, sweet as he can manage with a shit-eating grin on his face. "What's your point?"

Len groans.

Looks like they're going to a haunted house.

Which apparently has all sorts of bizarre preconditions Len would never have guessed.

"What do you mean I can't bring my gun?" he asks Lisa, scowling. "I paid money for this concealed carry license."

"Money that wasn't yours," Mick points out, which, yes, but it doesn't matter; Len actually spent it. It's damn hard to find a judge corrupt enough to sign off on a gun license for a felon.

Luckily, this is Central City, and damn hard doesn't mean impossible.

"You still can't bring it into a haunted house," Lisa says firmly, hands on hips. "You might shoot one of the performers."

Len scowls at her. Sure, he's been forced to up his game recently, thanks to the mob war between the Santinis and Darbyninans that just got started, and upping his game at this stage means higher end heists, higher end heists means more risk, more danger, and more ruthlessness – and yes, sometimes killing people, especially people that threatened to back out of major jobs in the middle, people that Len couldn't trust wouldn't go running to the cops to squeal in exchange for a cut-down sentence on something else. But just because he's gotten to the 'killing people' point in his career doesn't mean that he's going to shoot innocent performers. He doesn't shoot innocents, and he would've thought Lisa would've known that.

"Out of fright," Lisa clarifies.

That just makes Len scowl even more.

"Relax, will you? It'll be fine, boss," Mick says, laughing. Officially, that's just something he uses for jobs in public, but he's started calling Len that, off and on; says it helps him remember.

He also says he likes the way Len's cheeks flush sometimes when he calls him that, but whatever. Len does not blush. He's cool and cold, damnit.

...he's working on it, anyway.

Len's newly imposed rule – you're in, you're in; you're out, you're dead – has at least and at last started getting him some respect in criminal circles, which always appreciate seeing ruthlessness when it's accompanied by success.

And Len has been successful. Other than those first early convictions for burglary, he's gotten better and better at getting away clear. The most the cops have had on him recently are a few jobs they can't pin on him and one or two misdemeanor trespassing charges.

They're starting to remember his name.

Not as much as they remember Mick's, mind you. Mick's pyromania remains as strong as ever, and during the lean times when the criminal underworld has gone underground to avoid renewed police focus – usually during election years – and there's no easy targets that haven't already been hit by others, there's more call for arsonists than there is for thieves, even highly skilled thieves.

Not that the police could pin those on so-called 'notorious arsonist' Mick Rory.

It helps that, as a ghost, he doesn't leave any DNA evidence.

But either way, all this led to one conclusion: Len and Mick are mad, bad and dangerous to know. They're the sort of people who carry weapons and know how, and when, to use them.

They do not get scared at haunted houses.

"You're gonna scream like a little girl," Daniela cackles.

"I hate you all," Len says.

"Have fun!" she sings out.

"Just for that, you're coming with us," Len tells her.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Daniela says. "Or, well, anything other than another lead on that asshole who murdered me – " Len is still looking, damnit! Serial killers don't walk around with a goddamn sign on! "—but hell yes, I'm there with bells on."

"Where are we going?" Nora asks, emerging from the kitchen.

"Len's never been to a haunted house before," Daniela says gleefully. "Ever."

"I have my own actual dead people! I ain't gonna be scared of some assholes in sheets!"

"Oh, my, you're going to be in for a surprise," Nora laughs. "I'm definitely coming."

Len rolls his eyes.

"How's your baby boy?" Mick asks Nora politely.

"College applications," she says, mingled joy and sadness at it: joy, for her son's growth; sadness, that she's not there to help him through it. She consistently declines Len's offers to give her some life to go say goodbye, though; she says that just saying something to him wouldn't be enough for her to pass on and anyway she's afraid that seeing her would only make him relapse into the anxiety attacks he'd been having for years after her death. It's a tough situation she's stuck with, and Len feel pretty bad for her, but he can't bring himself to be too upset; she's great to have around, very level-headed but with a wicked sense of humor and, at times, a temper as fiery as Mick's. "He's starting to send them out."

"Graduating senior already?" Len asks, then shakes his head at her nod. "Wow. Your baby boy's only five years younger than Lisa."

"Closer to four," Nora says. "He's nearly nineteen; he had to repeat a year due to family trauma."

Due to her murder, that is.

"See, this is why going to a haunted house is dumb," Len says to Lisa, opting to lighten the mood back up. "We have two real life murder victims right here with us."

"I'll ask Serafina to join us," Daniela decides. "She's just a hit-and-run, but it still counts. Then we'll have three murder victims to go a-haunted housing with us!"

Serafina, a law school graduate of Korean descent and non-binary gender, turns out to be more than happy to join them.

Lisa can't stop cackling with glee, and that makes everyone smile.

"I'm outnumbered," Len grumbles, and picks up the brochure Lisa obtained to figure out where he'll be driving the lot of them. "Wait, hold it! This says it's at an abandoned cemetery! I ain't going to no abandoned cemetery! Do you know how many dead will be there?!"

"It's an exaggeration," Lisa says, rolling her eyes.

"If there are any unquiet dead there, we'll protect you," Mick reminds Len.

"Nice try," Nora says.

Damnit.

The drive there is relatively uneventful – Mick watches Len like a hawk, which is thoroughly unhelpful and kind of insulting, given that Len's the one who taught Mick how to drive in the first place – and then even once they arrive, it turns out there's a line.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Len grumbles. "Not only do we have to pay for the privilege, they make us wait for it, too?"

"Grow up, babykins," Daniela says, skipping away to go gawk. "Go stand in the line."

Len goes.

He wishes he had his gun.

He wishes he had his gun even more when one of the fake tombstones (rather amusing little poems on them) shoots open and someone – or something – leaps out at them from a trapdoor hidden underneath.

The only reason Len is certain that the apparition is part of the haunted house is because everyone else in the crowd shrieks and jumps as well.

"Lenny," Lisa says patiently. "Lenny. You're very nice, very brave, jumping in front of me and all that, but you're blocking my view."

Len sighs and returns to his place in line, watching as what is now obviously a (surprisingly detailed) zombie limps around the line, groaning at people.

Mick prods at Len's arm. Len looks at him.

"I leap in front of you," Mick says. "Not you in front of me."

"It was instinct."

"It was shitty instinct. You soccer-mom-armed me! And I'm the invulnerable one!"

No kidding. Len remembers very well how Mick's invulnerability had been the only thing that'd saved their hides when they'd been dumb enough to get involved in the stupid mob war with a job that wasn't as well-thought-out as Len had thought it was. It isn't just Len getting his stupid ass kidnapped because of payments anymore, oh no, now it's the Santinis and the Darbyinians, each with a grudge and a hell of a lot of firepower. Len and Mick had gotten the hell out of the war for now, making it clear they were purely freelancers, but the war was becoming more and more all-encompassing and they'd end up having to either side with a Family or making themselves respected and feared enough to be able to scare both sides off when the inevitable came calling.

Since neither Mick nor Len has any interest in working on Family lines, that meant that these days they're focusing on establishing their own reputations.

And part of that, yes, meant using things like Mick's invulnerability to its best advantage.

"I'll let you take the real threats," Len offers.

Mick rolls his eyes at him.

Len has only ever walked by the haunted houses they'd had in his neighborhood when he was younger, the ones in the poorer parts of town that even the slums looked down their noses at, and he hadn't been impressed by the quality.

Apparently, and no one had told him this, haunted houses have seriously upped their game in recent years.

"What the fuck?!" Len shouts.

Lisa is dying. "Oh man," she cackles. "Oh, man, Lenny, your face!"

"The fuck even was that?!"

"The half-spider mutated monster or the evil scientist with the rotting arm?"

"Neither! The other thing!"

"Really?" Daniela asks, eyebrows arched and shit-eating grin on her face. "Out of everything in the hallway of horrors, the cannibal is the thing that gets you?"

"He was eating someone's face off! That’s just wrong!"

Nora cackles behind him.

"I'm glad I'm amusing the lot of you," Len grumbles. He actually is glad, especially poor Nora's been sad recently about missing all of her baby boy's important milestones. But still. A man's got a reputation to uphold, and this stupid haunted house is doing nothing for it.

And then Len jumps half a foot into the air because some demonic squid shoots out its tentacles from the wall.

"Your face," Mick wheezes. "Oh God. Lisa. Lise. Tell me there will be photos."

"So many photos," Lisa says happily, leading the way into the next chamber.

Len's idly tracking the number (this is room ten – how big is this place, anyhow?) and mentally mapping the place, mostly to keep from strangling anybody – Lisa was right to take away his gun, sadly; he's reached for a weapon at least three times so far. Still, it’s fine. Not having it doesn't make him less dangerous.

Though it does make him think that assassinating someone at a haunted housed would be a great way to go about it – an audience already geared to assume that any screams or dying noises are fake, that any bloodied corpses are special effects, that any smell is clever chemicals...

The thought occupies him a bit (mostly through the cockroach room – Lord, why is there a cockroach room?!), enough that he only vaguely notices one of the haunted house attendees, face painted white and his clothing dusted with flour, coming forward to tap Lisa on the shoulder and explain that she should follow him for the next segment.

Some multipart horror involving Lisa spitted on a stake, Len can only assume, and that's what he does assume right up until Daniela turns to ask him something and sees the guy leading Lisa away.

"Len!" she shouts. "That's him!"

"What?" Len asks, bemused. No one else responds, of course; he doesn't have enough energy to make three people as strong as Mick, and at any rate being invisible means that Daniela, Nora and Serafina don't have to pay for a ticket. Mick turns with a frown.

"Him!" Daniela shrieks. "Him! The one! The one who beat in my face, Len!"

"Wait," Mick says. "The serial killer?"

"We've already seen the serial killer exhibit, guys," Lisa calls over her shoulder.

"No," Len says, eyes going wide as he puts it together. Daniela's been on his case to find the asshole who murdered her – and a number of other sex workers in the years since – since day one. "Lisa, the guy next to you is an actual serial killer!"

"What?" Lisa asks.

"Don't be crazy," the guy next to her scoffs, putting his hand on her arm. "Come this way or you won't be able to participate in the next room's haunt."

Nora dashes forward, through the wall, and shouts, "The next room's about killer robots! No audience participation!"

"You're lying," Mick growls, stepping forward.

"Get your hands off my sister," Len adds.

The guy takes one look at the two of them and turns to run.

His mistake is in trying to pull Lisa along with him.

She spins around and knees him in the balls. "Don't you ever grab me!" she shouts.

"He's the one who killed Daniela," Mick snarls.

"Get him!" Daniela shouts, lunging at him, but she's too weak; she passes straight through and all he does is shudder.

Mick and Len both step forward, but that's when the guy pulls out a gun.

"Who the fuck is Daniela?" he pants. "How'd you know?"

"Ooooh, if I could strangle you!" Daniela hisses.

"I told you to let me bring a gun," Len bitches to Lisa.

"There aren't normally actual serial killers in haunted houses, Lenny!"

"With your brother's luck, we shoulda known," Mick says, taking a half-step over until he's blocking Len.

Len scowls at him and nudges him in Lisa's direction. He can take care of himself.

Mick scowls back.

"Will you all stop talking?!" the guy shouts. "I've got a gun!"

"Yeah, and from the way you're waving it around like a kid's toy, I bet you know how to use it about as well as your undoubtedly limp dick," Lisa snaps.

Mick and Len share a glance – only Lisa – and Mick charges forward to get between the serial killer and Lisa just in time for the guy to pull the trigger.

Mick catches the bullet in his shoulder, of course. "See what you did?" he tells her, plucking it out and waving it at her. He doesn’t bother faking the bleeding. "No sense of self-preservation, you Snarts."

"How'd I get pulled in there?" Len protests. "I ain't the one that mouthed off to the serial killer with a gun!"

"Don't get me started on people you've mouthed off to, buster!"

"What the hell is wrong with you people?!" the guy shouts, but by this point the noise and the commotion and – Len would bet – the backed-up line has drawn over some actual haunted house employees. Volunteers? Len's not sure.

Their makeup's a lot better than the killer's, anyway.

"Excuse me – " a realistic skeleton starts.

"This man was trying to get me to go with him so I could be part of the haunt," Lisa announces, pointing at the killer. "He said he was an employee here, and when I refused, he aimed a gun at me!"

The guy looks down at his hand to confirm that yes, the gun's still there.

Not for long, though; Len plucks it out of his hand - way too easily because the guy barely had a grip on it by this point, too slack-jawed with disbelief - and offers it to the skeleton. "Careful with that," he says mildly. "It's got live ammo."

The skeleton looks at the gun in horror, then at the guy. "Uh, he's definitely not one of the volunteers –"

"Maybe you should call the cops," Mick suggests.

"Fuck no," the killer says, and tries to run.

None of them were really expecting it – it's a one-way haunted house starting to fill up with people on each side, where the hell does he think he's going to go? – which is probably why he gets as far into a hidden passage by the wall as he does.

Doesn't help, of course.

By that point, Daniela's run back to Len to wordlessly beg for some extra life, which he's given her, and she uses everything he gave her in a single burst of poltergeist power, snaking out the audio-visual cables that were threaded through the walls to wrap around him.

"Asshole," she says, not without some serious amount of satisfaction. "I'm gonna love watching your trial."

"What the fuck was that," the skeleton says, high pitched. "That wasn't part of the set up!"

"A ghost," Len says innocently. "Ain't this place supposedly haunted?"

Lisa elbows him in the ribs.

It's all terribly anticlimactic after that, of course. Someone calls the police and they all have to give statements, with one of the detectives (some guy named Joe West) commenting that this might very well be the only night he actually believes Leonard Snart to have an alibi.

Very funny.

They end up charging the guy on attempted kidnapping just to get him with something, but Len insists on the fact that he's a serial killer with enough emotive force that West reluctantly calls up a judge and gets a warrant for the guy's house, where they find two of the girls that have gone missing from the streets recently, one a prostitute and the other a college student with bad taste in makeup - apparently he targeted them based on that? Fucking people sometimes. It mostly resulted with Lisa getting incredibly insulted about the guy's inability to tell a classy traditional smokey eye from a trashy raccoon or something like that, anyway, since Len's honestly got no idea what the words coming out of her mouth meant after the first minute. But the two rescued girls agreed with her, so, okay.

West goes into hyper alert after that, which is all to the good, and Len even manages to get in there that the guy's responsible for killing Daniela, though he obviously can't provide proof. They find some evidence in the guy's house, though, which means he is definitely not long for this world – through the justice system's mercy, or through Len's. He's got enough friends in prison willing to shiv a particularly sick fuck if the justice system can't bring itself to do it for them.

And, of course, a few people caught blurry images of Daniela's trick with the cables, and the line to go to that particular haunted house the next year is five times as long.

Lisa insists on going again.

Len still thinks it's stupid.

Lisa says he's just scared.

Which is totally not true.

(But do they have to keep using that cannibal makeup?!)

"You got a problem, huh?" Mick growls in the other man's face, the fierceness of his glare not at all dimmed by the manic grin that shows how much he's enjoying himself.

"Mick," Len says, long-suffering. He’s reclining by the table, a position of power. “Let him go.”

"Nah, boss," Mick says, not turning away from the man he’s got pressed up against a wall. Not that Len actually intended him to – they’ve got a reputation to uphold now, after all. They have to show that they’re willing to put their hand in when someone is screwing with one of their jobs, no matter who it is. It's all according to plan; Mick's just freestyling a bit. “See, I think he's got a problem. I think he wants to say something. That right?"

"No! No, not at all, nothing to say," the man gibbers. Mick is very large and very intimidating, even to powerful mobsters' sons like Nicolas Santini, who are notably less confident when their bodyguards get beaten up and knocked out, and they're being held up three inches from the floor by their jacket lapels. Len and Mick had nabbed three targets before the Santinis could get to them, which pissed them off, and little Nicholas had been sent to “solve” the problem through the usual bull-headed Santini approach of threats and intimidation.

He hadn’t exactly gotten very far.

A blood family member of one of the most fearsome Families in Central City, technically even a Don by their standards, and yet here he is, quivering like a bowl of jello before a pair of freelance thieves.

Very good freelance thieves.

Nicholas Santini really should’ve listened to his cousin’s stories about how they’re not just thieves, they’re monsters that rise from the dead.

Len smirks.

They’ve gone a long way from the days when Len got kidnapped and Mick got shot trying to rescue him, and Len likes it this way much better.

Not that this solves the problem for good, of course. Sending a member of the actual Family against them meant that the Santinis were taking Len and Mick’s firm no-Family-affiliation freelance position a bit personally, which both wasn't a surprise but was still really annoying. Len’d have to make a point of hitting some Darbyinian targets in the next few months just to make clear that their neutrality was unaffected; that should be enough.

Personally, Len’s just happy that he was able to get Lisa to go out of town after she’d graduated. Now that’d been a fight for the ages – the way this one definitely wasn’t – because Lisa had been reluctant to leave Len even if she didn’t have the same attachment to Central City that he did.

An attachment that she referred to as “idiotic” and “unhealthy”, which it was not. A man can love the city he was raised in, even if that city was objectively a hellhole ripe with corruption, poverty and crime.

Huh, maybe that’s why Len likes it so much. He fits in so well here.

Okay, sure, there’s been the growing number of weird science laboratories getting settled here – Mercury, Star, the whole sheebang – but there’s an army base not far away to serve as clientele, cheap land with very low environmental regulations, and by this point Len’s honestly used to the idea of his slums being used as rich people’s dumping grounds.

He doesn’t like it when they do that, mind you, which is why he robs the rich assholes in charge of bringing toxic dumps to his city more often than he does anyone else, but there’s not much else he can do to express his displeasure.

At any rate, Lisa had managed to get a job offer at one of the most prestigious engineering firms in the country, all the way out in Boston, and that’d gotten her to go when none of Len’s other arguments had worked, if only because Len had refused to let her pass up the opportunity and she’d reluctantly agreed.

Sure, she still visits regularly – Len visit her, too, but he can’t force her not to come to Central – but at least she’s out of the worst of the mob war.

“I swear!” Seriously, is the guy still whining? Honestly, Len’s ashamed of him; he’s born and raised Family, he ought to have a bit of a backbone. They’re not even torturing him! They’re not even threatening to torture him! The worst they’re threatening him with is a bit roughing up! They really don’t make them like they used to, and thank heaven for that. Len’d far rather put up with idiots like little Nicholas here than the big kahunas that his dad swam with when Len was a kid: Don Cesare, Don Giovanni, Don Tomio of the asshole-kid-smashed-up-Len’s-head fame... “I didn’t say anything! I didn’t mean anything!”

"That right?" Mick growls. "'cause I woulda sworn I heard you talking earlier, saying things about Snart here..."

"No!"

"Mick," Len says, finally managing to quash down his amusement enough to sound appropriately stern. "He's not worth wasting your energy on."

"Fine," Mick says, and releases the guy's jacket. "Looks like it's your lucky day. Now go."

The guy goes as quickly as he can manage.

Mick returns to Len's side, now grinning like a loon.

"Was that extra bit entirely necessary?" Len asks, trying not to smile. Mick does so enjoy himself when there are people to push around...

"You know it is," Mick says firmly. "We gotta make clear you’re the one in charge of me, so that your reputation’ll get even more fearsome than mine; that's the only way they'll respect you. Order of operations, boss."

Len shakes his head. It’s not that he isn’t convinced – Mick can be very convincing when he wants to be – but at the same time…

"You'll get in trouble one of these days," he warns, not really meaning it.

Mick snorts. "What's the worst that can happen?" he asks, rolling his eyes ostentatiously. "They gonna kill me?"

They end up shooting him.

Len groans in annoyance.

Not again.

You’d think they’d learn by now.

"I'm thinking of going back for my masters," Lisa says. "Maybe a PhD."

"Really?" Len asks, phone shoved between his shoulder and his ear. "I thought you said you were done with school. Straight into the workforce, you said."

"Things were said," she sniffs. “I’m not going to be held responsible for past-Lisa’s statements.”

Len chuckles and steps around the still-cooling corpse on the floor – an ex-associate who'd thought he was above such things as rules. Len squelches the feeling of guilt: the guy had thought he could get away with skimming off the top of the funds they'd collected for the job because he was buddies with Mick, even though Mick'd warned him he wouldn't get any special favors, and then to add insult to injury, when Len'd called him out on it, he'd had the arrogance to try to pull out of the job entirely.

Len's reputation makes it very clear what happens if you're out, and that reputation makes it impossible not to do what he did next.

Still, Len can't help feeling bad about it. He hates killing people – it only adds to the number of ghosts in the world, unless he's lucky, and ghosts of people he killed are always unquiet – but not killing's a luxury he can't afford if he wants to survive in the criminal underworld.

He has to be cold and heartless, just like dear old dad – may he rot in hell or a jail cell, wherever he is now – always said.

Plus, this means he needs to get someone new, and he hates mid-job recruiting.

"If it's what you want, Lise, you should go for it," Len tells her. "You know you don't need my permission."

"I know," she says. "But there's always the matter of money to think about."

"Ahhhh, I see," Len teases. "This is less of an FYI and more of a call to the big brother bank, huh?"

"Actually, I'd been hoping to earn my own way," Lisa replies. "Unfortunately, doing grunt work as a baby engineer in a big company that pays peanuts –" The market for bachelors-only engineers is a tough one, according to Lisa. "— and skating in some ice shows in my spare time only gets me so much."

Len has the sinking feeling he knows what her next comment is going to be. "Lise, I can just give you the money," he points out, trying to forestall the inevitable.

It doesn't help.

"I want in on one of your jobs," she says firmly. "Time for me to earn my own way."

"I've let you in on jobs before," Len protests.

"Sure, in baby jobs," Lisa says. "I know you're planning something big, and I want in."

"I've already collected a crew, Lise."

"Mick says you need a new ringer."

Len stops, affronted, and glares at Mick, who shrugs, clearly well aware of what's being discussed. Undoubtedly why he’s hiding behind a newspaper across the room.

That doesn't make it any less inappropriate. Len literally just shot the guy! How did Mick even find time to tell her?!

"Lise – "

"I can do the job, Lenny. Gimme a chance."

"I know you can do it – " Lisa's one of the natural grifters of this world; Len's always been impressed by her skills. That’s never been his problem. "—the question is, why would you risk a perfectly good, clean record when I can just get you the cash?"

"Oh, please," Lisa scoffs. "You haven't been caught in ages. And if you're feeling particularly paranoid about my record, you can plan me a nice getaway. Ghost-amplified, if necessary."

Len scowls. He still doesn't like it.

"I already owe you so much, Lenny," Lisa continues. "Let me actually help with this one. Please?"

"What's your real motive here?" Len asks, suddenly suspicious. "You like it when I give you gifts."

Lisa sighs.

Hah! Len knew there was another reason.

"I need it for my resume," she finally admits.

Which –

"What? How?"

"Not my work resume, you jerk," Lisa says, sounding amused. "In case I ever need to pull a job, really need to, and you're not around to vouch for me. The Snart name goes a fair way towards it, but nothing substitutes for actual experience – you've said so yourself."

Len grumbles. He has said so, damnit.

"I have the baby jobs you let me help out with," Lisa continues. "One or two big-name heists with notable takes that I can name-drop would let me skip the little leagues, go straight in with the guys that know what they're doing instead of the crappy ones that need to go back to con school –" Meaning prison. "— before they get their act together."

"But why do you need to do crime at all?" Len asks, aware that he's whining. "Lise -"

"Even with your talents, you might get caught one day," Lisa says, her voice suddenly hard. "And if that day comes, when that day comes, I want to be the person you call to help mastermind your escape. Me. I want to be second in line in your phone –"

"You're my first speed-dial, Lise; you know that."

"— second only to Mick."

Well, yes. Len's always going to go to Mick first, but he doesn't need a speed dial for him.

"You know what I meant," Lisa says warningly.

Len sighs. She's not wrong. It would be good to have another person he can rely on, someone he can really trust, especially if it comes to a question of needing to plan an exit route that relies on revealing the full extent of Mick's ghostly abilities. Going temporarily invisible and intangible is incredibly useful for a thief, but Len’s determined to make sure that no one else in the underworld ever figures out what they can do. He’s been threatened too many times to be comfortable with anyone knowing all of his tricks, and his tricks include Mick.

He’s done a good job of it so far, making sure that everyone thought the stories about Mick rising from the dead are just exaggerations, but there will undoubtedly be jobs, or at least prison breaks, where he’ll need to use Mick’s abilities and rely on a crew, and that crew had better be only made up of people he really, truly trusts.

But this is his baby sister.

“Lenny, please,” Lisa wheedles. “It’s important to me. I want you to be able to count on me the way I’ve always counted on you and Mick.”

Well, if she puts it that way, it’s hard to say no.

And, well, they do need a new ringer now that what’s-his-name is no longer going to be available on account of being dead and having passed on…

“Fine,” Len says, giving in with a sigh.

Lisa cheers.

“How long till you can get to Central City?”

“Couple of hours,” she says promptly. “I’m already on my way to the airport.”

Len rolls his eyes. Of course she is.

“Great, I’ll fill you in on the job when you get here,” he says. “You’ll need to be in tip-top grifting to do it, though; it’s going to be a tricky one.”

“A tricky one?” Lisa asks, sounding amused. “Is there something the great thief Leonard Snart, robber of ATMs and breaker of jewelry stores and museums, still considers tricky?”

Just for that, Len’s going to tell her now.

“We’re gonna rob a moving train.”

Lisa laughs.

Len doesn’t.

“…you’re joking, right?”

Len smirks.

“Lenny!”

“I was getting bored with the ATMs and the jewelry stores and the museums,” Len says innocently. “Wanted to up my game a bit. What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you insane? We don’t live in a Western!”

“Now, now, Lisa, you never know when you might need to be able to ride a horse or a fire a six-shooter,” Len says, starting to laugh, his straight face breaking at the tone in her voice.

“Just for that, we’re taking horseback riding lessons with some of the leftover money,” Lisa warns. “You, me, and Mick.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Len lies. How hard can riding a horse be, anyway?

Lisa is still mumbling curses on his name when Len hangs up the phone.

“It go well?” Mick asks, looking up from his newspaper hopefully.

“Yes, Lisa’s joining us for this one,” Len tells him, rolling his eyes again when Mick breaks out into a broad smile. “And afterwards, we’re all going horseback riding.”

The smile disappears.

“…what?” Len asks. “They can’t be that tough.” But he’s uncertain now. Mick’s expression of horror is really convincing.

“We had horses on my farm,” Mick says grimly. “You are not getting on one of those hell-beasts.”

“You know what,” Len says, “I’ll just – let you tell Lisa that when she arrives.”

And then he flees, laughing his head off, because now Mick’s shouting curses after him.

Serves him right, conspiring behind Len’s back like that.

#dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #lisa snart #my fic #deadfic

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ruleandruinrpg · 7 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMILY!

You have been accepted for the role of NEYSA RAI. Admin Bree: Stunning, every word. Emily, you wowed me from start to finish—there’s really no other way to put it. It’s not often that an applicant seems to understand a character even more intimately than the person who created that character, but this is one of those rare instances; I may have written her story, but you brought it to life. This application was absolutely beautiful from start to finish, and I feel honored to see what you do with our heartrender with a heart of gold. You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Emily

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: Twenty-one

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT. On a scale from 1-10, I’d put my activity at a fair 6/7. I will be looking for a job/working (hopefully) which will occupy quite a bit of my time, but when I’m not working I’ll probably be online since I moved back home and it’s dull as hell and there really isn’t anything to do other than replies! Also – just to let you know that I’m away from the 19th-25th so I won’t be on at all then!

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: You can find samples of my writing here, here and here.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Neysa Pollux Rai

NEYSA: The name Neysa is a Greek baby name. In Greek the meaning of the name Neysa is: Pure. Pure, like the first flurry of mountain snows. Pure, like sunlight as winter turns to spring. Pure, like the hearts and minds of her people, the Suli who had been wild in the best way possible. Pure, a meaning that time has tarnished, that she drifts from with every soul claimed by her hands, in every moment that she becomes a temporary God, given the power to snatch life away. ‘Pure’, she whispers, staring down at bodies with twisted hearts, ‘that is a cruel joke. It belongs to a girl from a lifetime ago’. It’s a strange thing, to associate your name, the one true constant in life, with a stream of memories, with a family who fade day by day, with who you could have been rather than who you are. But Neysa, for all she clings to her name and the connection with the past it provides, fears that all the purity inside of her was drained the day she was captured by slavers and that in turn, her name became little more than an empty shell. Yet, despite that, her name is incredibly important to the way she conceives herself. Neysa is a reminder of the girl without chains, the girl who ran wild and who knew what happiness meant. Neysa connects her to the parents and people lost to time, drifting in an unknown place on the continent. Neysa was something earned – something she won in conquering her own personal war. Stripped away after she was sold as a slave, crudely referred to as bloodletter instead, Neysa did not claim full ownership of her name until well out to sea, shouting it loudly into the wind. She had thought her shackles were gone then - and she was wrong - but at least the Second Army allowed her to keep her name. And yet, hope prevails. It is both her biggest fear and her biggest dream that one day her name will mean what it once did – tender, carefree, pure.

POLLUX: Roman form of Greek Πολυδευκης (Polydeukes) meaning “very sweet”, from Greek πολυς (polys) “much” and δευκης (deukes) “sweet”. In mythology he was the twin brother of Castor and a son of Zeus. The constellation Gemini, which represents the two brothers, contains a star by this name. Given their close connection with nature, the stars and the moon, it is natural among the Suli people, to bequeath a child with a name that draws from those fundamental elements. Although not a formalised or legal name, Pollux has always been a term of endearment among Neysa’s band of people, whispered in the moments before she fell asleep, or the first time she learned to trace the stars with the tip of her finger. Pollux marks Neysa as one of a pair, bestowing upon her an eternal and unbreakable connection to her brother. An unconventional choice – given its traditional use as a male name and its origins under a pair of twin brothers in the legend – the pieces fell into place the moment Neysa’s parents unexpectedly gave birth to two children, coddling both close in their arms under the summer sky, with nothing but the stars and the moon watching them. It was then that their father found Gemini, the twinned constellation and knew it was right to bless his children with two of its stars – Castor and Pollux.

Note: Obviously I don’t want to god-mod anything on behalf of the Aarvas applicant/player, but when I was considering potential middle-names, it was the idea of twin-meaning middle names that stuck out most to me and it was this pair of twins who fit Aarvas and Neysa the best. Therefore, I felt compelled to include it within my application. Hope that’s okay!

RAI: The lone remaining tie to her parents and the life they had shared – whittled down from thousands, eroded by time – her surname is the only thing that tethers her to the memory of them, of who they were, the lessons they imparted and the gifts that they gave them. It is through that name – and through the blood that runs through their children’s veins – that they remain in the present, instead of becoming a neglected ghost that only comes out to haunt. For as long as all four share that name, they continue to be bound to one and other, albeit faintly. It isn’t much. But to someone who has lived with nearly nothing at all, it is the true embodiment of hope. She can remember being four years old, learning to read on her mother’s knee, watching her trace those three letters in the dirt. ‘This is who we are. This is who we always will be’. At five, veins illuminated with traces of impossibility and magic, the term Grisha imposed upon her, she had run to her mother, afraid this meant they weren’t a Rai anymore. ‘I saw what happened in the other village – they took the children away – and their names didn’t matter. I want mine to matter’. Cupping her cheeks, her mother had smiled. ‘I will never let them have you. We will always be together. And we will always be a family’. Now, the memory feels bittersweet, darkened by irony. And whilst their parents failed to protect them forever (now, they protect one and other, Neysa clinging to her brother as the last soul who truly knows her) they do remain a family. A dreamer might wish for all four to come back together, but staring at her reflection in the mirror, Neysa wonders if her parents would even recognise their children. Perhaps it is better to be a family – but one that lives worlds apart. After all, her parent’s hearts are the only ones she refuses to break.

REBE: Although not a given name, it was once as common as Neysa, whispered by her people as she closed her eyes to sleep, tossed across the campfire as they cooked, a mark of respect as they stowed away their precious jewels, protecting them from the forces that sought to steal them away. Unique to her and her people, Neysa has nearly forgotten the name now, for it is nothing but a memory. And those, as we know, are unreliable.No one has called her Rebe for quite some time. Not in reality, anyway. But the world inside of her head that comes to life each night? That’s a different matter. In both nightmares and dreams, she hears the word repeated over and over, sometimes by teary Aunts and Uncles (among the Suli, they were all one extended family) who beg her to return to them, other times by the same people, whose faces become twisted with anger as they deny her the privilege of such a name. ‘Rebe? Saint? Blessed miracle? How were we so wrong? All you are is a monster.’ Those nights, as she wakes up covered in sweat, she believes them, disgusted with who she has become. The girl who earned the title of Rebe, who wore it as a badge of pride, would scarcely recognise the woman she has grown up to be – recoiling in fear of the deeds she doesn’t bother to protest anymore. Sometimes, she wonders, had they never been captured by slavers, had they found their way back home…would she still hold a claim to that title? Or like all good and precious things, would time have eroded it?

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?

Ah, Neysa – my sorrowful swallow, my fallen dreamer, my heartrender with a golden soul. It’s impossible not to adore her, to feel for her and to want to explore her. With roleplays, my biggest struggle is usually indecisiveness. There are hundreds of compelling characters, each with their distinct tale to tell, split across the personality spectrum. But with RAR, I found it remarkably easy to settle upon my first choice – because she just spoke to me immediately. Usually, I try and wait right up until the last biography is released, not wanting to be drawn into an application only to abandon it halfway through. But as soon as Neysa was released – somewhere near the beginning – I knew that was it, that I had found the one. I began her application immediately and never looked back.

Having engulfed the trilogy as soon as this roleplay was announced (I think I read all three books over three days, abandoning my essays to do so), I knew I definitely wanted to portray a Grisha. Nothing against humans – but I found the dynamics within the orders, the possibility of writing out abilities and the politics of their position the most compelling stories. In the books, it wasn’t the characters I loved so much as the world they operated within – and my favourite thing about RAR is the characters you’ve inserted into the environment. So, I won’t lie, when looking at teasers and biographies, I mainly focused on the Grisha. Being Grisha is so fundamental to Neysa, to her experiences, to how she experiences the world – and to how she sees the world. Her abilities have defined who she is thus far – they are the reason she was stolen away from her parents, the reason she was sold into slavery, the reason why she has become a soldier. And, more specifically, Neysa’s status as a heartrender is central to everything she is. It is her ability to manipulate tissue and flesh that spurs the world to make a weapon out of her, the reason why she is forced to murder – and why she has always been so afraid. You can’t understand Neysa without understanding that. And so, given that her abilities are so vital to Neysa, they take a place at the forefront of her story, plot progression and development. Given that’s what excited me so much about this roleplay in the first place, it’s a compelling factor as to why I was so drawn towards her.

The second – and main – factor that drew me in was her story. It’s a tale of being free and being bound, of fighting for freedom, of the difference between living and being alive. There is a definitive sadness and tragedy to Neysa that is apparent throughout her biography, echoed throughout every piece of her life. Like an angel, she has tumbled from the heavens, haunted by those she has left behind. Primary among this is herself – or at least, the girl she once was, so full of hope and happiness. That girl slips away day by day – and it becomes harder to clutch onto the mere memory of her. I really want to explore every nook and cranny of this – how she copes with past and present, how she struggles with her status in the Second Army and the nature they seek to impose upon her. They seek to make a soldier out of a pacifist, a monster out of a saint. In the grey, you will find Neysa. At the core of her is an identity crisis. There’s a gap between who she used to be and who she is becoming. It’s the difference between Grisha and human, good and evil, power and personality, girl and weapon. All of these struggles are bound up inside of her – for she is the living embodiment of them all. Currently undergoing something of an identity crisis, Neysa is torn in two polarising directions, fearful of becoming one over the other, of losing who she is in a bid to survive. Survival is certainly a key theme radiating throughout Neysa’s biography. She is Ravka’s phoenix – rising from the ashes. She may not look the way her childhood self imagined she might – but breathing is the most important thing. She can worry about appearances later, when the war is over – should she survive it without murdering herself in the process. An incredibly strong and resilient character – who has managed to resist the overpowering urge to give in. It’s this, pulsing like a heart, that makes me fall in love with her.

Overall, it’s Neysa herself – her story, her potential, her direction – rather than her dynamics or position in the roleplay that has drawn me towards her. I’ve fallen head over heels for her as a character – and I hope I’m lucky enough to develop and take her further within the roleplay.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

BREAK THE CHAINS: Essentially, everything below can be grouped under this larger heading and under what I believe is Neysa’s larger arc. Central to her story is her struggles with freedom, servitude and being bound – both literally and metaphorically. Despite escaping slavery, she continues to be chained up, hitched to the army and the King’s wishes, forced to commit atrocities in their name. This, in turn, is changing her, restricting her and denying her from the life she deserves to live, separating her from the life she envisioned for herself and the person she used to – and wants – to be. Over the course of this roleplay, I would like to see Neysa break out from that shell, to find a way to reconcile her reality with her hopes and work within the system. Essentially, I want to see this girl happy. I think it will take a long time to get there – and will involve some fundamental changes and interesting dynamics, but ultimately, that is my end goal with her.

MAN-MADE MONSTER: Fundamental to understanding Neysa is answering one question – Am I a girl or am I a weapon? Years ago, that answer would have been an easy one – a girl, who feared becoming a weapon. Now, when Neysa stares at her reflection, she sees traces of the very thing she once feared, hands that have turned into guns, fingers into knives. Each day, she loses more of who she used to – and who she wants to be – and with every fallen soul, every kill at her hands, she finds herself becoming more who she doesn’t want to be. Even now, she doesn’t want to be that person. She is strong enough not to fall off the edge completely, tough enough to keep her humanity and wits about her. She refuses to give in to what war wants her to be – and it drains her. But this question goes far beyond simply how she acts of perceives the world – it cuts across who she is. Neysa’s identity is constructed by this question, of being a girl or a monster. Currently unable to reconcile the pair, she fights to keep the two apart, believing them to be separate, polarising, identities. This plot arc essentially questions that assumption. It is possible to both be a monster and a girl – and Neysa is hurting herself by refusing to let the two reconcile, tearing herself apart to retain a semblance of the past. She doesn’t realise that it is impossible for her to be free in the same way once again – and that no matter what happens – her experiences have changed her beyond belief. But more than that, she shouldn’t look back – but forward. In helping to reconcile these two halves, I’d love to test the bounds of Neysa. I’d love her to commit an atrocity she doesn’t feel she can come back from, to see her – much like Valerian – turn towards the darkness as a coping mechanism. However, for me, this would be temporary – and in the end, I’d love for Neysa to find a way back to herself, to string together who she wants to be and who she has been forced to become. I feel that until she does, until she realises it is possible to save yourself from abandoning your heart for steel, she can’t be at peace. She needs to fall so that she can rise.

BATTLE-WEARY WOMAN: Given that the fear of becoming a weapon is such a central part to Neysa and her struggles with her identity, both as a Grisha and a person, war is bound to be a central part to her story too. For it is in war when she is forced to snatch lives, where she watches bodies fall to the ground, hatred of the evil she must look like reflected in their eyes. In order to fully explore Neysa, it is necessary to see her outside of the Little Palace, to see her march into battle, obey the orders of her commanders and pretend as if using her power doesn’t strengthen her (or cause a rush of adrenaline to throb through her body). Here, I would definitely like to explore how Neysa interacts on a battle-field, whether she secretly enjoys it, how she feels directly after a battle and explore her relationships with her fellow soldiers – all of whom will have different attitudes towards war. Neysa would like to claim to be a peacemaker, to run far far away from battle and all its crimes, but that’s impossible. War has become her constant – and in a sense, she is wrong to deny it. As long as she exists, she will be at war – for nothing and no one will release her from her servitude. She has to learn to balance the demands of war and of her ability with her conceptions of who she is, to find a way to be happy and find freedom within these constraints. Having always been a little wary of her ability (oh how she would have loved to be anything but a murderer) I would really like to see her finally come to terms with it, to embrace it as part of who she is. In this transformation, she has to address one key question – is it possible to be a murderer and someone who isn’t a monster? I would argue yes – but at the moment, Neysa would say no.

THE OTHER HALF: Neysa came into the world as half of a pair and by god – they will be leaving together too. Circumstances, whether it be their close-knit community at childhood or their forced enslavement and then recruitment into the second army, have kept them close, strengthening the bonds between them. For a long time, they have been the only one she can depend upon, the one she would die to protect, the one she would tear her own heart out to save. Now, however, with their life in the Little Palace and separate roles in the army, their lives are beginning to converge. They are no longer alone – and she’s afraid it’s going to rip them apart at the seams. Despite the love they have for each other, she’s beginning to wonder if she cannot understand Aarvas – and is deathly afraid that one day, he will be a puzzle she cannot unravel. His turn towards religion as a coping mechanism – and its imposition upon her – is something that is causing immense conflict between the pair, threatening to become a sticking point. Neysa denounces it – they embrace it – and for the life of her, she cannot understand why – which is where so much turmoil comes from. At this point, it appears their futures might be diverging – and she cannot, will not, cope with that. As well as the growing turmoil between the pair, I’d love to see Neysa’s protective instincts called upon. Her brother is the only one she will willingly kill for. Her brother is the only one she can ever truly fight for – and despite being the younger one, it is she who is most vocal about defending them. But how do you defend your brother from himself? As well as that, I think it would be really interesting for them to try and find their people/parents – and see how that changes/shifts the dynamics and where they perceive their futures.

LIGHT IN THE DARK: Given the lives she and Aarvas have led, Neysa has met relatively few Grisha compared to those taken from their families and inducted into the lifestyle at an early age. But the Grisha she has met have all been the same – a little twisted, consumed by sorrows or anger, hardly recognisable as a person at all. But Stasya forces her to question those assumptions. Stasya shows her than an alternate path is possible – that you can remain a harbinger of peace and kindness, all the while being a soldier. Stasya shows Neysa a path that she herself would like to tread – and I believe that their relationship will be fundamental to helping Neysa find a peace in herself, as well as giving her the companionship and support that she craves and needs. The moment they met was like a fresh breath of air for Neysa, or the first rays of sun after a long winter has passed. It brought her back to life. Having felt so isolated and alone after joining the second army, a new face among strangers, an oddity among those who have grown up together and a flower among thorns, Stasya was a welcome solace – someone who was brought into Neysa’s life for a purpose. And Neysa knows this. Amongst the violence and chaos, Stasya is a welcome respite, an anchor of sorts, someone she can run to when the day has been too hard or she feels too dark to be sane. They peer into each other’s souls – and don’t run from what they find. Between these two, I’d like to deepen and explore the dynamic between the pair, to watch it transform with time. I truly believe that Stasya is exactly the sort of person that Neysa needs in her life, perhaps the only one who can see her honestly and refuse to run away. They slot together perfectly, both similar and different in many complex ways. But, at the end of the day, their souls are made of the same materials – and that is what counts. I truly believe that Stasya has the potential to become someone truly special within Neysa’s life – possibly permanently – and that their connection will help bring peace to Neysa – and maybe even happiness.

EVER-CREEPING SHADOWS: He is her cautionary tale, a flashing warning, a sign that tells her to run in the opposite direction – and to run fast. He represents the darkest aspects of war, what happens when a battle goes and turns a man into a monster. Looking at him, she can see the parallels between the pair – for they have both fought and they have both lost. They began in the same place – but she will be damned if they end up side by side. It is parallel, the effect that he has on her, strengthening her resolve not to become like him, whilst tempting her to do something she doesn’t want to do exactly at the same time. He appears to want to make her like him, to go beyond redemption, to see the darkness as a single comfort, like an old friend. From the beginning, he has been cutting and cruel, exposing her weaknesses and digging in wherever he might find one. So far, she’s managed to evade his desires, to shake him off and bat him away, but he’s growing ever more persistent – and she feels herself beginning to be tempted, to just give him the destruction that he craves. There is a voice, whispering at the back of her mind, that just says – do it. For me, the dynamic between Valerian and Neysa is one of the most compelling ones – and definitely one I’m excited to explore. I just think that the connection between the pair of them is so rich – because they truly represent two sides of the same coin, two people who look more alike than Neysa would ever want them to. And yet, despite that, she isn’t his saviour – wise enough not to drown along with him. What that does is place their relationship in between kindred souls and enemies. Where Stasya is connected to one part of her (the hopeful girl with the smile like a breeze), Valerian is connected to the other part (the weapon, all molten steel). I also think it would be interesting to see what would happen if Neysa did lose control, if she squeezed her fists a little hard, if she made him bleed. I truly think an event like that would send her over the edge a little, force her to question everything – including their likeness.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: Having seen first-hand in Diverona how character deaths tie into overarching plots and play a significant role in stakes and development of the roleplay and other characters, I’d definitely say yes. However, if possible, I’d like to be given some warning about what’s going to happen and when it’ll happen to give me some time to wrap up threads/prepare and probably apply for a different character! In terms of potential circumstances around Neysa’s death, I would definitely say that Aarvas could play a large factor. Simply put, he is the only person in this world that she would lay down her life for – not necessarily a self-sacrificing person otherwise. But he is the exception – and that could be such an interesting dynamic to watch play out. Otherwise, I could definitely see war/battle playing a large potential factor in her death. There’s such a tragedy to Neysa, what she’s endured and who she has become as a consequence – and having her die would truly cement that arc.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

Memory is a fickle mistress, a cunning witch to which homage must be paid. But where she was once kind, she is now cruel, taking pleasure in torturing her host. She dangles freedom in front Neysa’s eyes, a bitter aftertaste of how sweet it once felt. Remembering pales in comparison to experiencing – but beggars can’t be choosers – and Neysa will always pick ghosts over demons. One will break your heart, the other will break your soul. Perhaps the most unfortunate must suffer through both, leaving behind only a hollow, empty, being, a shell where life once bloomed. No. Her rebellion is a piercing protest echoing throughout her skull, strong in the face of adversity and tragedy in equal halves. She did not break her chains to find herself bound by ropes, she did not sail across the true sea to find she had left her true self a million lifetimes away, long ago. They need your permission to make you a monster. There is a choice to be had. Even now, she can detect the sharp irony behind her words. For there are no decisions to be made. Not since she was a little girl, dancing barefoot in the grass, ducking behind wagon wheels anxiously folding herself into invisibility, has she been blessed with such luxuries. They tore that from her the moment she and her twin were gagged and bound. Now, she’s been playing catch up ever since.

Brown eyes open and the world begins to flood in. On her left, lies the First Army infantry, guns raised, eyes bloodthirsty. To her right, the Grisha, greedily licking their lips, anxious to begin the advance. She belongs to neither side. She forsook her humanity, the last of it, the moment bones cracked and hearts bled at the mere twitch of her hand. But she can’t truly claim to be one of her own either – with their acceptance of war and vengeance. The middle-path is the one lesser trodden – and she walks it alone. But there’s an end in sight – left or right? Inhaling heavily, she ignores the ash heavy in the air, erasing flickering fire and overwhelming destruction and the laughter of Valerian from her mind. Instead, she turns her eyes skyward. Even among the grey, there are patches of blue and a sun, as cold as it may appear. Her eyes trace the outlines of forests, trees she might have once climbed, racing Aarvas to the top. Catch me if you can! She would have shouted, the vast canopy beckoning her into its clutches. High above the world, the band across her chest would have loosened. No soldiers can find me here. There is no one to take me away. I am safe. A child’s mind will believe such things, even in the face of impending doom. But it was easy – it was all so easy when you sleep coiled with your brother, shielded by your parents, protected by your entire people, seen as someone to be revered. Once, she had been worshipped. Now, the girl who had been taught to roam and run and smile was lost. Somewhere out there lies the life she left behind – cold fresh glacial rivers, meadows with golden flowers, clear skies where the stars shine. Somewhere, there are her people, pulling wagons as their age-old tradition demands. Her father will read dreams and her mother will dance. Perhaps, by now, her people have found someone else to call Rebe. For surely, she is not deserving. Normality continues, even when she is a world away. Somewhere, there is peace to be found.

But it sure as hell isn’t here.

The battle beckons – and somehow, she finds herself among its ranks. The girl tucked up inside the wagon (who lies inside of her, somewhere, hiding) blinks in shock and horror, begging her to leave – to run. The girl who became the woman, who buried her past deep inside of her chest, knows better than that. She knows her only choice is to face up, to twist when they tell her to and try and forget the faces screaming in horror. Later, they will plague her dreams. But at least she will still be alive. Ready to live another day. The horn sounds and creatures find themselves ready to pounce. Instinct forces her to raise her hands, to narrow her focus, ready to march towards chaos. When did my body betray my mind? But even Ares himself cannot stop her heart. To her far-right, Neysa meets her brother’s eyes, familiar, home etched across them. Even in chaos, even in despair – she has always been able to find a light inside of them, a whisper that says you are not alone. Be safe. She urges, a thought that needs no verbal manifest. They have marched into war time and time before, at each other’s side – and apart. Some conflicts don’t have two distinct sides. Some are just us against the world. Once, the only wars she had ever fought were upon their behalf – a fist raised in protection, a sharp voice ready to tear a figure to shreds. ‘Leave them alone’. Anger is ugly, but for them, she would become Medusa herself. They will find each other after the battle, soothe each other’s aches. Aarvas will press their lips to a cross – and she will pretend not to wince. Fight, the way we always have – and one day, we might be free. Do not fall, death cannot claim us, not today.

After all, she is beginning to become death.

The cry goes up – and forward they march, their enemy, the Shu, in their sights. The cage her family desperately (with all their wit and cunning) tried to protect her from bursts open. But this bird cannot fly free. Instead, she is anchored towards the earth, forced to march forward. The songbird is becoming a raven – and she is powerless to stop the transformation. A soldier, an enemy marked by his colours, comes towards her, sword raised. He can see his condemnation in his eyes, the vulgar hatred in which he charges. He despises me. Perhaps he is right to. They call Grisha abominations, a demon plague upon the earth. Given what she is about to do, she can hardly deny that charge. I do not do this willingly. But would that even matter? And, more importantly, is it even true? For as much as every atom of her body screams that this is wrong, immoral and a betrayal, there is another that collides, that whispers how strong she will feel and that perhaps, in the end, this was inevitable anyway. Neysa is the figure trapped in the space in-between, tearing herself to shreds. A black cuffed kefta (appropriate, she always thought, for their sentencing) arm raises and her fist closes. He hesitates in his stride, choking. Inside, his heart begins to crumble, its circulation cut off. In a minute he will be dead, a light snuffed out in this world. We shall see each other again – in the dead of night, when you return to remind me of my sins. She does not wish this fate upon him – but swings the sword anyway. When does a survivor become traitor? She wonders, searching for answers deep within herself. (She’s afraid of what the shadows might whisper back). It is perhaps a question she does not want answered. She hesitates, wondering if she should speak, but brushes the notion aside. There would be too many words, not enough time.

He lies motionless at her feet, the life snuffed out from inside of him. But she can’t hesitate for long, nor can she force herself to remember every intimate detail as a penance for her sins. For every soldier that charges forward, there is another to take his place. The line is long – and it is a fate without ending. “Screw you bloodletter.” A voice to her right carries the hiss of an otkazat’sya, his eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and fear. You should be afraid, she thinks, hanging her head in a sort of grief. I, too, am afraid of what I might become. What I have become. But the name sparks something else inside of her – a dark sadness twisting at her own heart. That was what the masters called her, the moment they stripped her of Neysa, her identity as the spirited free child who could run as fast as the wind. They replaced it instead with a commodity, a weapon to be bought and traded, a lethal gun taken intimately into their homes. It was a name she thought she had left behind, long ago, as a ship cut through the waves and she entangled her arms with that of her twins, praying that they were finally safe. You are nothing but a possession – the slavers had whispered. She never believed them. But here and now, facing down a green-boy still wet behind the ears, she begins to. Her fists clench and she chokes the air from his lungs. He drops to his knees – and then collapses, nothing more than a memory in someone’s mind.

In his steel, discarded in mud, she catches her reflection. A face, dirtied by combat, twisted in anger and sorrow. It wears the mask of a girl, but underneath, something ugly begins to emerge. She’s afraid that one day, it will be in reverse – and that the monster will replace the girl. Looking down, she begins to wonder, am I even human anymore? Was I ever human in the first place? Or are the lines so finely cut? She can feel her bones cracking, changing, morphing into monstrosities. Where she once had wings, a falcon to roam the skies, she now has the claws of a wolf – good for only one thing. The hunted has become the hunter – and given time, even prey can become the very thing that was stalking it long into the night. “I didn’t want this.” Neysa whispers, her words heard only by the wind. But it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Destiny has a tendency to cut you to shreds, then watch as you are forced to rebuild the pieces. Nothing ever looks the same. But she never expected it to look this brutal. It’s a betrayal. And truly, is there one any stronger than stabbing oneself in the back?

There is no time to ponder. There is no time to think. There is only what you can and what you must do. Unnervingly steady, she steps across his fallen body into the heat of battle. The girl inside shrinks – and the monster flexes itself muscles. Once, she would have asked who they were. Now, she’s wiser than that. It’s me. It is I. We are one and the same, sharing this body. But there isn’t room for us both.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

THE ORDER OF THE LIVING AND THE DEAD: Corporalki, heartrender, healer – these were all foreign words to Neysa’s ears as she matured. To her, there was only the power that flowed from her fingertips, which defied definition and classification. There was only what she could achieve – stealing a man’s vitality, twisting an enemies organs, patching up a wound – and only what she was afraid to do, which, namely, was all of it. Kept hidden, made ignorant by her lack of education away from the Little Palace, Neysa never learnt the divisions within the corpoalki, or that once upon a time, she might have chosen mender over murderer – to heal instead of slay. It was her first captor who sold her as a bloodletter, for a firearmsold better (she would only learn the official name from a fellow grisha captive later, who filled in the missing blanks that word of mouth had failed to provide). It was he who sentenced Neysa to a lifetime of savage murder. From that moment on, her natural inclination towards manipulation of internal organs for purposes of conflict was amplified – and she ceased to be, or even have the potential to be, anything else. In the years that have followed, with her fingertips growing ever more stained, her heart weary at the cost of war, she’s developed an envious attitude towards the healers, those with gifts that mirror her own, but are called up to repair the atrocities of war, not create more chaos. She perceives them to be the lucky ones, those spared from darkness. Neysa longs to trace her footsteps back, to fight for the right to rebuild the human body instead of destroy it. It’s not healthy, to dwell on what could have been – but she can’t help herself all the same.

THE WAKING DEAD: It is at the height of the witching hour that Neysa pays the price for her sins. Weary limbs, savaged by war might call for the bliss of sleep, but even the furthest crevices of her mind knows that rest has its own toll to pay. For it is when she is at her most vulnerable, when her guard is down, that the demons rooted in her soul come out to torment her. Black orbs become her victims, death carved out across their faces. This is your fault – they scream, unforgiving in their terror. And then, a little softer – why did you do this to me? If she’s lucky, she will wake up then – covered in a layer of cold sweat, fingers reaching for the comfort of an individual who is two rooms away. Most of the time, she isn’t so fortunate. Most of the time, she’s swarmed, nails scratching at her skin, torn in a thousand directions, pulled apart – stitch by stitch. They gag and bind her – hands secured in chains. You deserve this, they hiss, dragging her to the man she once calledMaster. Monsters must have their cages. She screams for forgiveness, she begs for their mercy – but there is none to be had. It is only then, on the cusp of desperation, that she wakes up – heart panicked, breaking from her chest. Night by night, her torment continues, Neysa too ashamed, too proud and too scared to ask for aid. Deep down, she wonders if these nightmares are her penance for all her sins, the agony she must bear in repayment for her deeds. Perhaps they are – and perhaps she should endure them. With time have come coping mechanisms. Now, Neysa sleeps closest to the door, pads out into seclusion most nights, only to sneak in before dawn roll-call.

WATER-DANCER: You wouldn’t think it, to lay your eyes upon the girl with imposed stiffness, more mechanics than flesh, whose smile seems too heavy to fly, but once, Neysa was a dancer. She didn’t dance in the same way that human courtiers might, with stiff backs and strict choreography, with pink ruffled tutus and point slippers. No, when Neysa danced, she took nature as her partner – the elements of earth flowing through her bones. Being a member of the Suli meant induction into the life of a carnival, of entertainment instead of agriculture, a talent rather than a trade. Some turned to innocent tricks, others to tea leaves that could trace the future. Her father walked among dreams, making meaning from their chaos – and inducted his daughter in the same traditions. But even whilst under his tuition, from the moment she could walk, Neysa found herself pulled towards the example of her mother – in learning to dance. Afraid of the power that pulsed beneath the surface, she strayed away from the supernatural – towards simplistic beauty. If there was a choice to be made between conscription in the second army or light-padded footsteps for an eternity, then there was truly no choice to be made. Dancing was the only time she ever felt truly free, in tandem with her mother, in a union with the steady drum beats. After her capture, she stopped dancing. Her captors did not deserve that pleasure. And truly, how could you dance if you were not free? It would have felt false. It would have been a lie. And Neysa had been raised to be honest. Even now, although her hands are technically unchained and her footsteps are free, she cannot bring herself to embrace that part of her life, those memories that continue to haunt her, or the ghost of her mother at her side. One day, perhaps, she will dance again – but that day is not today.

TIGHTENED CHAINS: There is perhaps no greater tragedy than losing oneself. It’s an affliction that Neysa knows well – but one that predates her induction into the Second Army. She can trace its origins – all the way back to the day she and Aarvas were captured, two children quickly forced to see the world as adults do – and to adjust accordingly. To go from freedom to servitude, happiness to sorrow, hope to loss – it’s a trial that weighs heavily upon anyone’s shoulders, let alone those so young. From the very beginning, the first time Neysa felt the spark of power and knew she was different, she has been afraid of what she was – and slavery taught her that her judgement was justified. The things they made her do were unspeakable, the tales of her treatment dying on her lips each time she tries to express them, a grief that cannot be spoken. Sold to the leader of a local gang, his eyes wide with greed, she was forced to wear the mask of a demon. Under her master, her abilities were exploited to their fullest potential – becoming little more than a living gun in the name of greed. But the worst of it came the day her master’s son – her future owner - lay still on the ground – and she, in combination with a squaller in their service, was forced to resurrect him, to give back life to her oppressor. Out of all the memories – out of insults and jeers, out of spit thrown in her direction, out of years of oppression - that is the one that haunts her most, in knowing that even death wouldn’t be enough to free her. And whilst she always obeyed their orders, it was never enough to stop the crack of a whip on her back – or worse, Aarvas’s – ribbons of red streaking their skin. She had arrived in Ketterdam with her head held high, determined to embody iron, but when she left, she felt little more than porcelain. Having seen the worst of the world, how as a Grisha, home was rarely found, she did what she swore she would never do – and enrolled in the service of the Second Army, believing that it couldn’t be any worse than what she had already endured, that perhaps a small slice of freedom could be found. She was wrong. Years might have passed, but Neysa still feels like the small girl surrendered like cattle at an auction, something to be owned. Her hands might be unbound, but there is little freedom to be found – and the scars of slavery do not fade so easily. It’s a bitter pill to swallow – but this is not medicine that was designed to heal.

BLASPHEMOUS SAINT: There was once a young girl who turned her cheek towards the stars and whispered their prayers. That same girl had believed that you could find the saints in the stars and that as they twinkled, they were watching down on you. She had implored upon the saints to protect her family, to shield a pair of twins from being found and that the song she sang would never bring the downfall of another. Keep us safe, that is all I ask. Saint-like in herself, Neysa had believed reverently in her words, acutely aware of the religious society she had been born within. That girl had her devotion shattered the moment she was stolen away, when she became something to be owned. Hope, however, is a tricky bastard. In the early days of her captivity, Neysa had continued to invoke the power of the saints, to beg them for an escape, a way for freedom. The saints had abandoned that girl – and thus, in return, she abandoned religion. By the time the girl became a woman grown, Neysa had learnt that Saints were little more than folk stories – both works of fiction. She would never place her faith in them again. Thus, whilst one half turned away from religion, swore herself off it and declared it to be false, the other half turned towards it, embracing the benevolent power of the saints as an anchor. Neysa can only shake her head at Aarvas and their sheer blindness. She tried placing her faith in saints once before – and was rewarded with only one gift. That she herself had to be the pinnacle of change. That only she could save herself. And that there was no point praying – for no one was listening.

UNREFINED POTENTIAL: For many, power is a subjective thing, defying definition. And yet, the one thing that everyone can agree upon, is that it radiates and courses through Neysa’s veins. Despite a lack of formal education and instruction, despite Neysa only having the vaguest idea of what thissness and thatness was, there was something untapped inside of her – potential waiting to be drawn out. It is for that reason that the Second Army sent her straight to the small palace, instead of keeping her among the ranks, down on the frontline. They wanted her stronger, well-formed, lethal. And, despite their obvious intentions, Neysa has never been more grateful for anything in her life, seeking the temporary respite and peace that Os Atla would provide. Away from the stench and mark of death, Neysa hopes to find an understanding – happily delving into books and language classes, fingers tracing the knowledge that always escaped her within its pages. Fluent in Suli and Kerch, she’s added Shu and Fjerdan to her list, finding a temporary respite in those classes, where it’s easy to simply imagine yourself at an ordinary school. The one thing she despises about the Little Palace’s education doctrine is that it is moulding her into a soldier. Strategy is at the forefront of everything they do – and in that aspect, war is never far away. They intend to shape her beyond her mould, to tear her away from the child she once was. More than anything else, she dreads the combat classes. Her abilities already mark her as a weapon, but now they intend to force her to fight with her fists too. A peacemaker at the corner of her soul, she was not born for combat. Her heart is never in her performance – and she often finds herself as the weakest of the pack, a shadow compared to those bloodthirsty Grisha who wish for nothing more than the pounding of flesh. And yet, each day she returns, hoping that she will revile the prospect the same way she did before – praying that they will never impose permanent change upon her psyche.

EXTRAS:

Mockblog: X

Personality Analysis: X

ANYTHING ELSE? My favourite book is The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Also, I just wanted to add that Neysa is my first choice and Katya is my second!

#accepted: neysa #raraccepted

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