Any moment in time I can sit there and do nothing, I think deeply. I gaze off into the distance and bring my mind to my worries. my wonders my curiosities my insecurities and my giggles. Here are my conundrums and fun times and everything hanging over the sides.
I see this a lot, no one has actual names, or any reference for names, that are legit Native American, varying among the tribes, for their characters.
Babynames.com and shit like that will give you names made up by white people.
However, I’ve got your solution.
Native-Languages is a good website to turn to for knowledge on a lot of native things, including native names. If you’re unsure about the names you’ve picked, they even have a list of made up names here!
Please don’t trust names like babynames.com for native names, they’re made up and often quite offensive to the cultures themselves.
misread a prompt about being the last human on earth. still wrote a short story. enjoy.
My name is Sophie Smith. I am the last human on earth, and this is my report for June 28, 2070, day 456 of monitoring. General population: one. Changes since the last report: none. Maintenance work completed.
I save the file for today's report on my memory implant and shift my focus back to the monitor in front of me. A familiar black screen with a familiar white outline of the world map. One small red dot keeps blinking on it, in the middle of a region described as "European Union."
If you were to zoom in, you would see that it is located in the middle of a town called Berlin, marked as the capital of a state called Germany.
Not that those things still mean anything anymore.
Zooming out again and seeing the empty map, it seems strange they ever did.
At the beginning back in 2069, there used to be 8.9 Billion red dots. One for every beating heart, monitored from above by space-link satellites. Now only mine remains.
I had singed up to monitor them quite early after the omega variant broke. After wasting years of my life on a - in face of the apocalypse utterly worthless - degree and an even more worthless PhD thesis, it felt like doing something real, and the task was simple: Monitor the development, stay in touch with the other stations all around the world and file a report for each shift.
At first, there were many of us, all in some way believing that we would help save humanity by observing trends and giving out warnings. Instead, we just became the chroniclers of it's decay.
Many didn't even fully witness the first month. The virus was cruel, but at least it took you fast.
You could leave your house feeling great in the morning, only to collapse coughing on the sidewalk before arriving at your bus stop. Or you could get up to make tea in the isolation of your own home, all doors closed and windows shut, and grasp for air on the kitchen floor minutes later. There was no cure, no vaccine, no distancing measure that helped.
The virus cut through us like a scythe through a field of weeds, and it soon was more than clear that no amount monitoring would change that.
Some volunteers quit. More died. But through a weird twist of fate, I stayed alive.
And I kept going to work, day after day after day, even after the government that had hired me stopped existing, the subway train I used to take became a fighting ground for rats and my shadow was the only one left to walk beside me in the once busy city streets.
And so did the others, who, when I called in "here Berlin, please respond" answered me with "here Warsaw" "here Seoul" "here Mexico-City" "here Tel Aviv".
And the less we were, the more we talked.
About our lives before. About the people we had loved and lost, about the places we had called home and the dreams we had dreamed, about our favourite books and movies and dishes, about god and fate and about which birds who saw outside their window.
Mostly, I think, it wasn't about what was spoken. It was about hearing another human voice, and the reassurance that you weren't alone that came with it.
And so, we were there to witness as one by one, more of the blinking red dots disappeared.
Just like one by one, someone else among us started to cough. It was an unwritten, unspoken and yet unbreakable rule that none of the rest commented when it happened. Some decided to ignore it until their last moments. Most said goodbye.
One of us, Alexey, fircely insisted the air in his office was simply too dry when he got the cough. Of course, we all wanted to believe that it was.
But only minutes later, the transmission from his channel ended, and one of the at this point 5 remaining red dots in Kyiv vanished.
Like all of theirs did, eventually.
And yet.
"Here Berlin, please respond", I whisper. For the protocol. For the false, poisonous hope that there has been some kind of bug in the system and that someone might still answer.
Of course, no one does.
And even though I expected it, the following silence crushes me once again. A lonely tear rolls down my cheek as I rip the headphones off. Just like the voices in them used to be the undeniable proof that I wasn't alone, the static in the channel now is the undeniable proof that I am.
To distract myself, I get up and open the window.
It would be easy to jump onto the empty street and make a final exit like that.
All things considered, it's a miracle I am still sane enough to not consider this opinion.
Even though… probably at this point death would be the sane choice.
But something in me still wants to keep going, wants to hold out for as long as I can.
It might be irrational, but I feel like this is what I am owe them. All 8.9 Billion.
Unaffected by my dark thoughts and humanities decay, a small sparrow lands on the window stil. It must have flown over from the tree across the street, where a family of them has build their nest.
Diah would have loved to hear that their little ones are now learning to fly.
Diah. She was last one to leave, and the pain of loosing her still feels like a fresh wound. It had only been us for quite some time, and we had stopped logging out or even taking off our headphones. We even, of course disguised as jokes, had started planning how we could meet. We could find a still functional high-speed train and somehow make it work. We could both steal cars. We would just start walking towards each other and meet in the middle between New Delhi and Berlin.
But of course, we wouldn't. And when her time came, the virus didn't even give a warning.
One moment, I was listening to her beautiful voice. The next, there was silence. And only one blinking dot left on the monitor.
Maybe she didn't even notice that she died.
Only I did. Like I noticed so many deaths before. Maybe that is the only advantage of my situation now. The only death I still will have to witness is my own.
Before I can sink deeper into my thoughts, suddenly, I see them. Or to be precise, actually, I hear them first. Voices. Human voices.
"I still can't believe it's only been two years since we left," one of them says, "Just look at this mess. Good thing we got out of here early."
"Right?!" the other one responds laughing. "And I thought the time on board was stressful, especially towards the end. But it's nothing against whatever the hell happened here."
Humans. Walking, talking, joking humans.
This can't be real. I rush to look at the monitor. Still only one lonely dot. I must have finally gone insane, not being able to stand the thought that I was last anymore. But when I lurk outside again, they are still there, and now close enough for me to recognize more details. Black uniforms with a silver star, black face masks and both carrying a PreciseWeapon. Space-link personal.
Days ago, Diah and I both saw what we had believed to be a small meteor. Instead, it must have been their shuttle entering the atmosphere. I am not insane. This makes sense. This is real.
I know that probably should feel relief. Or happiness. Or pride. It surely would make sense to feel that way. After all, I just learned that humanity might still prevail despite everything.
This should be a triumph, or least salvation. And yet, all it feels like is betrayal. "Two years since we left" the man had said. Two years ago, the omega variant hadn't even been discovered. Or at least so I had thought.
'Thank God we got out of here early.'
They knew all along, soon and well enough to "get out early".
If the earth had been a house on fire during the last years - as often depicted in political cartoons back when there were still people who drew such things and other who looked at it- they had always known the fire would come. But instead of warning the rest of us, they had snuk out of the house at night, watching it go up in flames from a safe distance. And now, where the dust had settled, they had come back to inspect the ruins and dig through the remains.
Only that I was still here. A living dead, covered in ashes with burns on my skin. Still breathing, but surely not nice to look at. So why would they come to pick me up now?
Suddenly, the dominos cascade in line and I sink back into my chair as the realization hits me. They are space-link. The satellites are space-link. They don't show up on the monitor because they are not supposed to. And the PreciseWeapon is meant for me. I shiver.
That's why Diah died so sudden and silent.
The virus didn't get her. They did, with one precise shot in the back.
For a moment, I consider running. But just a moment. They could easily track me, and I don't want to spent my last moments being dragged out of a hiding place, nor do I want a bullet in the back.
No.
I want them to look me in the eye. And I want them to know that I know.
I get up from my desk and turn away from the black monitor with the lonely red dot.
The door swings open, and the black uniforms enter.
They look just like you would think they'd look. Painfully ordinary, with faces reddened by excitement.
For just a moment, I see a hint of surprise in their eyes. Then, the uniform on the right nods at the uniform on the left, who reaches for his weapon. If he feels any doubt, he is good at hiding it.
"Go ahead."
I say. My voice is calm and firm. I can't say much, not in the short time it takes him to charge, aim and fire. But what I say, I mean.
"I already died 8.9 billion times. One more won't matter."
I feel a numb pain as the projectile hits my chest, and then the edge of my table as I stumble backwards against it.
And then, just before I hit the ground and my senses fade, I hear it. A cough. A familiar, dry cough. A cough I heard more times than I could count. And that is now coming from the direction of my shooter.
My name is Sophie Smith. I am the last human on earth. And this concludes my final report.
So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.) Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.
If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results:
What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)
What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)
What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)
Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory)
What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.)
Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)
Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)
Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)
What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.)
What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)
Teachers have tried this and are amazed when their classes don’t go feral like in the book. It’s almost as if the book was supposed to be satire and not a treaty on the nature of humanity.
after losing control of the signal fire there’s a FUCKING TIMESKIP and when the next chapter starts everyone’s hair is several inches longer and their clothes have rotted to shreds and they’re still just kind of chilling!!!!
IT TAKES THE TERRIBLE IMPERIALISM MIND-POISONED EXCESSIVELY BRITISH BOYS IN THE ACTUAL BOOK SEVERAL MONTHS TO COMMIT A SINGLE ACT OF INTENTIONAL VIOLENCE, EVEN THE ONE (1) CHILD WRITTEN AS AN ACTUAL SOCIOPATH
AND then when they DO turn on each other it is because
THERE’S AN UNSPECIFIED WORLD WAR HAPPENING
AND A PILOT’S CORPSE CRASH LANDS ON THE ISLAND POST-DOGFIGHT AND THE CHILDREN MISTAKE THE PARACHUTE FOR A MONSTER AND SPIRAL INTO PARANOIA
BECAUSE CHILDREN INHERIT THE LEGACY AND TRAUMA OF VIOLENCE FROM THE ADULTS WAGING WAR AROUND THEM
HURR DURR IN THE REAL WORLD IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN LIKE IN LORD OF THE FLIES -
IT DIDN’T HAPPEN THAT WAY IN LORD OF THE FLIES EITHER YOU JUST HAVEN’T READ IT SINCE HIGH SCHOOL IF EVER AND DON’T REMEMBER WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN THE GODDAMN BOOK
yes. yes he did. i’m also gonna direct you to the real life ‘lord of the flies’ which occured in the 1960s, when six tongan schoolboys got stranded on a desert island for over a year before being rescued by an australian fisherman (who, it should be noted, later took on all six as crewmembers because the reason they were out in the first place was because they wanted to see the world, and named his ship the Ata after the island they were stranded on). nobody died. the only injuries that occurred were accidental, and when one of the boys broke his leg falling down a cliff, the others braced it and looked after him so well that it healed perfectly. if they argued, then they would literally go to opposite sides of the island until they’d cooled off. after leaving the island, they remained friends for the rest of their lives. here’s a photo of them as adults, with their rescuer (who is third from the left) and other members of his crew.
i read about this in rutger bregman’s human kind, a book i cannot recommend highly enough, but if you don’t want to go and read a whole book about the inherent goodness of humanity (which again, you really should) then the relevant excerpt can be found here.
read this thread. this is by far the most concise explanation of a lot of different issues that i’ve seen in fandom spaces in a while. cosigning both the linked thread and the thread about aus/uk/can law that’s linked in-thread.
If someone has never taken a class that includes copyright law, they may not know this stuff, so I don’t necessarily blame random people for not knowing what copyright is, but like… maybe just maybe it’s something that should be taught????
I am frozen in place by my fear, unmoving and potential untapped.
Risk is unbearable and I'd rather not look at it. I'd rather not face it head on. I'd rather push my face into my knees and cover my head with my arms.
I can only take brief glimpses and peaks behind my guarded sight, but I never truly catch any of the scary moments.
It's what makes me such a coward. I keep escaping the jumpscare and most likely it won't be all that scary afterward. I just haven't moved passed the part of it being so scary it shakes me to my core. How would I move on forward from something truly frightening?
I stay sitting in the same spot, unable to continue. I'm paralyzed with fear and the thought of running through it is scarier than actually making my was passed it.
Paw-Paw was my first pet, a part of the family before I was born. He was one year older than me and when I was born, he watched over me like I was his. The story starts with my father finding him in the dumpsters behind our house on Florence Avenue. My father said he was only allowed to stay one night, however I have countless memories of that boy until his death. Paw-Paw was aptly named as he would paw paw (more colloquially known as ‘making biscuits’) everything, including my mother’s head. He was a joy to be around and like any younger sibling, I did whatever my older brother did. I’d eat tuna with him whenever he got it as a treat, I’d sit with him in the spot on the kitchen floor where the sun came through the window, I’d sit with him on the windowsill of our big bay window, and I’d take cat naps with him. He was my protector and I could never do anything to rile him up enough to play fight with me. He’d let me hold him for as long as I wanted, he’d chase after the shoe string I dangled behind me as I raced around the house, and while I knew how to treat cats well (because my mother taught me well) I could still get away with being an annoying little kid to him when he would run from any other child who tried the same shenanigans.
Paw-Paw was a fierce and spirited cat. When my sister and I were young, our friends’ dog was playing with us but Paw-Paw didn’t see it as playing and beat up the poor unsuspecting rottweiler. And in his old age, when he heard his brother Chevy barking angrily at another dog he disliked-as the owner just stood there not taking his dog away when ours was clearly upset-he raced outside ready to go berserk on whoever was upsetting Chevy, but was quickly shooed back inside by our mother before chaos broke loose. When he wasn’t beating up dogs, he liked to sneak around outback when the garage door was open, and disappear for hours underneath the beds and in the basement ceiling.
Paw-Paw was 17 when he died July 21st, 2017. I was 16. Until then, I hadn’t lived a day without him in my life and one day I’ll have lived longer without him. I’ll carry him with me for the rest of my life, because I’ll never have another cat like him. His personality was so easygoing. He was a sweet cuddler, wrapping his arms and legs around my body when I picked him up and following behind when he was called. He was a troublemaker that escaped all too much and stole far too much food. He was a lover and a fighter. And you could always count on him to keep your seat warm when you got up and walked away from it. Growing up with a cat is a kind of relationship you can never replicate as an adult. Afterall, he wasn’t my baby, I was his baby.
Prr-Meow, Baby and, Brenda
Prr-Meow was heard crying outside by my neighbor and mother, wearing a dirty pink collar. We had a feral and stray cat problem, so presumably he was kicked out by someone around the neighborhood. I don’t remember the beginning well because when you first meet someone you don’t think they’ll be anything more than a trivial blip in your life. We started taking care of him and bought cheap kibble for him to eat. Whenever we fed him he would make all sorts of noises, so I called him Prr-Meow. Back then, I was doing high school online so I had time to spend with Prr-Meow. I remember one rainy Friday I brought a towel outside to sit with him and for a long time we watched the rain together. By then I was growing attached to him.
Prr-Meow loved to play and chased the fallen crabapples I threw for him across the yards and chased me through the tall grass. He began to follow me when I walked around the neighborhood. He would come with Chevy and I on our walks and sometimes even follow me down the hill towards traffic where the bus stop was. He was so adamant about following us so far that we’d have to distract him when someone was leaving.
One day a black cat showed up, hanging around Prr-Meow. No idea where she came from, but she was skittish unlike Prr-Meow. She liked Prr-Meow and showed up frequently so we gave her a portion of kibble as well. Now when I called for Prr-Meow, I would call for the baby black cat too. I ended up naming her Baby.
It wasn’t very long until another tiny cat appeared, watching Baby and Prr-Meow from a distance. The food probably drew her around the area and she seemed to want to befriend the other cats. She was also skittish, but there was something bolder about her than Baby. It had to have been around October when we named her Brenda because of the ‘Scary Movie’ series we were watching at the time. I had all the time in the world to be around these cats, so I spent hours sitting outside with them watching them eat, making myself small and unthreatening to them, keeping eye contact off of them and slowly inching towards them, and any general behavior to gain their trust. Add the consistent feedings into the equation and in a few months I was petting the girls, so long as the food was around.
Then we went a couple steps backwards. We were working on trying to find homes for them, so a neighbor turned us onto this cat lady who helped us trap, neuter/spay, and release quite a few of the strays in the area. Baby and Brenda underwent the trapping and releasing and while it was good news that they were spayed, they were distraught and distanced themselves from us. Brenda was slightly more agreeable, especially with Prr-Meow and food around, so she was quicker to warm back up and trust me again. Baby hadn’t been completely sold on the contact when they were taken, so she took twice as long to regain the trust of. She didn’t think twice about running away when I got close and when she would let me get close enough she would hiss. For over a year I had been working on building my relationship with the girls and it was a frustrating and grueling process. Somedays, Brenda would walk right up to me and Baby would let me get close without running, other days neither of them wanted anything to do with me. There were plenty of times I wanted to give up, but I persisted because I was already so devoted to them. After it all, I learned something valuable about cats; the key to opening up any cat’s heart is time. My grandmother’s old crotchety cat even let me pet her after enough time had passed. She would hiss and swing at me because she was hurt by children and I was young at the time. I never gave up on trying to pet her and I was ecstatic the day she finally let me. I’d say the day that Baby finally let me pet her again, I felt that same glee.
After a few years Prr-Meow disappeared. I was heartbroken and called for him for days. I didn’t know what happened to him and neither did Baby and Brenda. Once again they distanced themselves. I think they were sad, too, after all they loved him just as much as I did. They stuck together and they still came back for food, but for a few months the girls didn’t want to see me and Prr-Meow was gone. He suddenly reappeared sometime after Christmas and I was so relieved to see him again, but he was different. Now he was the distant one. He ran away from me and he was mean to Baby and Brenda. He didn’t go on walks with us anymore. He started hanging out around the back of the houses where the forest was. He didn’t go back there when I took care of him. It only took a few months to displace him from our family. The last time I saw Prr-Meow, I had left to walk down to the market and when I came back he was dying on our steps. I was in shock and in pain and I was angry because the people who had taken him away from us had changed up his routine and ended up letting him back outside anyway and because of their negligence I blame them for his unnecessary death. I called my family to help me and my father went to the house of the people who had taken him. I had to go inside because I was beginning to get angry with the man who came out to see Prr-Meow. We said to take him to a vet so he could be put down, but who knows what that man did. I don’t know what happened to my boy. I’ll never forgive those people as we speculate that they tried to steal another one of our cats, Korben, who escaped the house without our knowledge; the next door neighbor let us know he was told about “the new cat they just got.”. He was gone for a few days, but thankfully it was only a few days before he came back to us unscathed. Coincidentally that cat was originally found by Prr-Meow. It was about a week after Paw-Paw died. He joined Chevy, my mom, and I for a walk and found baby Korben hiding under a car.
Baby and Brenda are still here and have been under our care for the last 7 or so years. They’re loved by the family and they love us as well. I’ll take them for a walk to the hill and they’ll have a little adventure exploring the very top of it. They’re very expressive. Brenda will scream her little head off when she’s responding to my calls while Baby is lowkey and chirps her greetings to me. She is very, however, very intense about plopping on the ground in front of me and rolling around to get as dirty as possible. Brenda is still the bolder of the two while Baby is still timid. They both accept and expect plenty of pets and I’m working on getting them comfortable with being picked up and sitting inside for a few minutes to listen to all the normal sounds of being in the house. I don’t want them to be outside cats for their whole lives, even though the transition inside won’t be an easy one. The hope is that since they’ll have each other, it won’t be such a traumatic change. I believe that they’re bonded to each other and wherever one goes, the other must follow; although they don’t spend as much time together as they did when Prr-Meow was around, I can still catch Brenda chasing after Baby every once in a blue moon. My relationship with all three of them is vastly different from my relationship with Paw-Paw, because they were, are and will forever be my babies.
Summary: A retelling of Strahd's descent into madness.
Word Count: 1298
Over the course of the last few years, Ravenovia has her eye on a girl named Tatyana. A girl her brother, Sergei, brings into the line of sight. She tries countless times to draw her eye and after many failed attempts, it was a simple statement in her Tatyana’s final rejection of Ravenovia
“Sergei’s heart is the one that calls to me.”
Ravenovia trifles with dark magics in her fit of rage and madness and seeks a way to kill her brother and finds one that will doubly benefit her.
On the day of Tatyana and Segei’s wedding, she appears wearing a beautiful black and white dress. Her presence is met with scorn from the lovely bride and groom. She regards them with a smiling veneer.
“You both look quite dashing on this fine day. Such a lovely… couple.” she saunters closer to them, her heels muted on the blue velvet carpet. “I do apologize for not meeting the theme requirement. I’ve just always believed I looked better in blood red.” she chuckles as she lifts her white gloved hands in the air. After a moment she lets her arms fall to her side and lowers her gaze back to Sergei. The veneer fades and falters into disdain. With no warning, she lunges for her brother. A blade previously unseen is now drawn and slicing through Sergei’s fine fabrics and flesh. They struggle and fight, Sergei doing his best to avoid Ravenovia’s precise slashes. She trips him and plunges the knife in his stomach, falling on top of him. Her hands leave the handle of the blade and dive for his neck. She squeezes harder and harder, staring into his eyes so that he can see her madness and she can see his fear.
“I hope you understand now why I wore black!” she mutters to him through her teeth. She holds her grip on his neck until his eyes roll back into his head and he falls unconscious. It’s almost painful for her to release all of the tension and strain residing in her knuckles, but she does; hands shaking with the adrenaline coursing through her. She reaches for the knife in his stomach and rips it out, sheathing it bloody. “Your death will fuel my life forever,” she whispers as her hand blurs with darkness. She swirls her hand and raises her arm in the air. Like being unsheathed from an invisible scabbard, she pulls a sword of maddening shadow into existence, then plunges it down into her brother’s chest. She carves through his skin and tissues and crunches into the bones that protect his heart.
Ravenovia ungracefully yanks his heart from its home, still warm, firm yet fragile, bloody red. It soaks into her once pure white gloves, staining them crimson. She whips her head around to the stunned bride, Tatyana. She’s trembling in place, like everyone else in the audience. No one is brave enough to make a move, so all they do is gaze upon the horror of Ravenovia and what she’s doing.
“Tatyana. Is this the heart you spoke of that called to you?”
Silence.
“Well?! Is it?!” she screams at the top of her lungs and she raises herself to her feet. Then Tatyana runs and Ravenovia gives chase.
“Tatyana, you know damn well this all could have been prevented.” Ravenovia’s voice echoes through the halls, her heels’ previous quickened pace slowing as she caroles her quarry. “If you had just chosen ME!”
After the strenuous chase up and up and up Tatyana finds herself at the balcony with a stomach churning drop. With the only exit being blocked by a deranged and bloody Ravenovia.
“Now, you have nowhere to go.” her brother’s heart is still dripping a trail of blood behind her, growing cold. “This heart means absolutely nothing,” she sinks her fingers deep inside the muscle, the remaining blood and plasma oozing out until it caves in on itself with a sick spurt of blood, splashing across Ravenovia’s face. “My heart is the only one left… does it not call to you?” She stalks closer to Tatyana who is desperately looking every which way for a means of escape. She turns her back to Ravenvoia, squeezing her fingers around the railing of the balcony staring into the face of plunging darkness below.
“Ravenovia… you are a horrid monster and your heart only sputters out a disgusting croak. A cry no one would ever answer to, not out of pity… not even out of desperation. You will die alone and I will die with my heart belonging to another.” Tatyana swiftly climbs over the railing and dives off.
Ravenovia does not even react as she watches the love of her life willingly jump to her death just to escape her. The words she spoke pierce her deep to her core. She throws the heart down and stamps down onto it with her toe, twisting it into the stone. She does not move to the balcony, but instead back into the castle. There is a fire building up in her stomach, climbing to her chest, clawing up her throat and screaming from her mouth. She begins to hear the armored clatter of her guards. The first one she spots she shoves them into the wall, removing their helm and bashing their skull with it. She throws the helm at the next guard she spots, smacking them in the face.
“DON’T GET IN MY FUCKING WAY!” she removes their sword from their side and stabs into the gap between their armor at their shoulder, pinning them to the wall. She continues to scream as she tirades down the halls of her castle. It isn’t until she’s faced with three guards holding spears at the ready, all staring down her huffing, crazed and bloodied body.
“Did you not HEAR ME?”
“Lady Ravenovia, you must stand down at once or we will take action against you.”
She spits out a laugh and cackles maniacally, truly tickled by the threat.
“GO AHEAD!” she extends her arms out and bears her chest wide, welcoming whatever onslaught they desire to bring down upon her. They did nothing. She opens her eyes and cocks her head.
“You’ve murdered your brother Lady Ravenovia, we cannot allow you to continue freely around the castle, you must come with us.”
“Come with you? What and arrest me? No, I would rather die!” she strides towards them and lifts her swirling hand, beginning to unsheath the same shadowy blade she used to carve her brother’s chest open. And at the flick of her wrist, the head of the front guard’s spear plunges deep into her heart. She gasps in shock and pain, her spell falters and the dark mist evaporates from around her hand. She crumples to her knees, her hands latching onto the wooden pole. The life force from her body dissipates and it succumbs to the heart stopping stab. Her hands go slack and her arms fall to her side one last time.
The three guards look amongst each other as they realize they have killed the Lady.
“Quickly, you go straight to the captain and alert her of what has happened, we’ll deal with… her body.”
“Aye,” the guard runs off and the two remaining stare at Ravenovia’s still body, blood spilling from her wound.
“You grab her and I’ll pull the spear out.”
“I cannot believe the Lady went mad like that… ripping out her poor brother’s heart. I knew tales of her victories, but to extend such brutality to your own family,” the guard crouches down and takes her shoulders. “UGH!”
Ravenovia’s hand grabs the guard's beard and yanks him closer. Staring back at him are bright violet eyes and a widening mouth with rows of fangs.
UPDATE because apparently not everyone has seen this yet the new and improved version of this is a MEGA folder: https://mega.nz/folder/kQBXHKwA#-osWRLNCXAsd62ln8wKa8w
loved being like 12 years old and making an OC and saying “yeah they’re a hardened criminal. they’re deeply involved in crime. they’re in a gang” and then never elaborating on that because i didn’t know how crime worked. this is still my approach
jacobvanloon
areudirty
baratheonpilled
