â Her eyes were the shade of a jungle at noon, when the light can't quite get through and everything glows from within instead.
â His irises were the green of every forest in every book you read as a kid that made you believe magic was a real category of thing.
â Her gaze carried the green of something untranslatable. Not nature exactly. More like what nature dreams about when it sleeps.
â Her eyes were jaguar eyes. Not the animal--the idea of it. That green-gold stillness that the jungle has right before something moves and you realize you were never the one doing the watching.
â His eyes were the color of a vine that had been growing toward light for a hundred years and finally found it.
â Her eyes were the green of a hummingbird caught mid-flight. Iridescent. Gone before you processed it. Haunting you specifically because of how briefly it was yours to see.
People often choose familiar pain over unfamiliar peace. That sounds dramatic, but it is basically pattern learning. If chaos is what your character knows, calm may feel like a setup. If neglect is familiar, attention may feel like surveillance. If love always meant losing power, being loved may feel like being trapped. This is why âjust choose happinessâ is not an arc. Happiness can be the scariest room in the house.
Something neuroscience-y that helps with prose: attention is selective. A character will not notice everything in a room. They will notice what matters to their goal, fear, desire, training, wound, or obsession. A jealous character notices hands. a hungry character notices food. A soldier notices exits. A lonely character notices pairs. Description becomes character when attention has a bias.
I notice alot of my followers on here skipping these posts just to mess with my lgbt ones, suspiciously the white popular ones.
Heres a not so friendly reminder, as an lgbt metis person, i dont give a single fuck what your blog is themed or if this is too painful for you to look at. Reblog this post. Reblog this post with the sources of the 751 children who were found.
Your compliance and silence as well as the compliance and silence of your ancestors is what allowed these schools to open and kill first nations children. The children of MY people.
Dont follow me if you cant reblog this post or the one with sources to your political blog or your most popular blog. Add trigger warnings if you must but if your political blog is only focused on the harms you personally face like being lgbt then you need to see some bigger pictures and stop being afraid of angering your racist mutural or actually saying some shit about racism. If you can reblog some antifa graphics or add blm to your bio to be a surface level ally, you can reblog some sources on the genocide first nations people faced and still face today.
Iâd like to add this photo I took last night in Victoria of the statue of Captain Cook. Though I myself am not indigenous, I 100% agree that these murderers, kidnappers and rapists shouldnât have huge statues and plaques that decorate them and say how âgreatâ they were.
Hereâs another photo of the legislative assembly from yesterday. Later on there were more items, candles and signs at the memorial, as well as a big poster with 1505 painted on it but I didnât get a picture
People need to see this. Not just quickly glance at the photos and keep on scrolling. They need to see this.
I had seen the first picture of the church, but not the second.
I went to a âCancel Canada Dayâ event and burst into tears - not because I was surprised to learn of the unmarked graves (survivors told us they were there. Our government pushed it aside, and we let them), but because seeing all the people gathered in mourning drove it home: They. Were. Children.
This is my countryâs legacy - and itâs not history. The last schools closed during my lifetime. My Father went to school with students who lived at the local residential school, after it was changed to a boarding house (read: holding centre) for indigenous youth who went to local schools.
They were all children, injured, abused, and killed in my countryâs attempt to erase them. I want the world to see this and hold the state accountable to *active* reconciliation> I mean we could at least truly adopt UNDRIP in action instead of words for godâs sake.
here you can read an article about a survivor of the church and some of the things he experienced to help put into perspective how awful and just how recent it was
It looks terrible on you and you've always thought that. When you were really young, you thought that's just what everyone thought about their hair colour. When you were a teenager, people chalked it up to hormones and wanting to be unique and follow the trends of dying your hair. It wasn't.
You've seen people with brown hair. It looks so good. You start imagining yourself with beautiful brunette hair. What if you could be that? And then you hear someone talk about you, call you 'that blonde over there' or someone telling you, 'your blonde hair looks so good!' and you're reminded all over again.
Your parents talk about something. Something you've never heard of before. "All those young kids, dying hair everywhere," they say. You ask them what it means. "Oh, that's when someone with one hair colour thinks they're better off with another hair colour." Your heart lights up. There's more people like you. You're not insane. And then- "Fucking insane. They just want to feel special. All this ridiculousness over trends." It hits you in the heart. You say nothing, just mumble an 'okay' and turn your attention back to your food.
That night, you're scrolling on your phone, and one video pops out. It's talking about dyed hair. You see people not just with natural-coloured dyed hair, but blues and greens and so many other colours. It looks beautiful. You remember your blonde hair. Could it finally be brown? These people are like you. They might be able to help.
You do research. You reach out to people online. And finally, you have your hands on a box dye from a store. it's not the highest quality, but you have it. At midnight the next weekend, you do it. You dye it brown. It's messy and tricky, but your heart is swelling with joy the entire time.
You expect people at school to be happy. Your hair is beautiful. You're beautiful. You finally feel comfort in your hair, confident in the way you look. Instead, you get side-eyes. People whisper and glare. One of your friends pulls you aside. "What happened to your hair?" You tell her you dyed it. Asks her if it looks nice. She grimaces. "Yeah... it looks fine.... but your blonde hair was your natural hair colour and it looked fine as well." You tell her the truth. How you've always hated it on you. Found brown to be so, so much prettier. Looked so much more amazing on you, and felt it too. "Yeah... but blonde is still your natural hair colour, right? No amount of dye is going to change that." Your confidence starts to sink. Will everyone think this?
Turns out, they will. You hear people still refer to you as "that blonde there". New people express confusion. "But her hair's brown? It's very clearly brown." "Well, yeah, but she dyed it. Her natural hair colour is blonde." "Oh... okay."
Your parents don't like it. "Your blonde hair was so beautiful," your mother sobs through her tears. "Why did you have to ruin it? My beautiful blonde child is gone! Gone forever! Why did you do it?" And you tell her that her child is not gone, her child is right here, just with different hair. She doesn't listen to a single word. Your father is mad. He yells at you to get out of his house, that you're a fucking disgrace, that you're mentally ill and brainwashed by trends and so many other hurtful things. You can only leave.
You try to go to another friend's place. She answers the door with a scowl. "Why are you here?" she seethes. She's angry. Why? You tell her about your situation. "Serves you right," she spits. "You're incredibly offensive to everyone with blonde hair." You ask her why, puzzled. "You clearly hate blonde hair. Why else would you dye it? Do you find blonde people disgusting?" No, no, that's not it. Blonde people are fine, you try saying. It just didn't suit me. I wish it did, but it didn't, so I changed it. "Stop twisting everything," she says. "I don't want to see your face." The door closes and you're left there on the steps.
You don't know what else to do. Were you truly lying? No, blonde hair has never suited you. Brown looks better. Brown makes you feel secure. You feel it's what makes you feel like yourself. But why can no one grasp that?
You search up more on your phone, and you find a community for similar people. People thrown out, disowned, abused for dying their hair or expressing wants to. When you get there, you find that they accept you with the warmest smiles and the coziest hugs. You find people that bleached their brown hair to blonde and dyed their blonde hair to brown, just like you, and they look so amazing. You find people with all sorts of coloured hair too, red, blue, yellow, purple, multicoloured and hair that gets redyed differently depending on the day. They all have similar stories. You've finally found a place you belong.
Outside, people are still outraged. They scream at the community that they're brainwashing their kids, that they're grooming every kid to dye their hair until there's no natural hair kids left. You don't feel hurt anymore. You know now they make no sense. They push out their own children, and this is the result. They don't want people with dyed hair banding up together.
Brown hair has always suited you. You're rather tired of people trying to pretend it doesn't.
â once a hayseed boy from a village with no name, now the lapdog to the wealthy, foreign ospirin family. but not even they know how far aleksander will go once the gold dries up and the beast behind his smile grows hungry.
isme de lĂšde as the swan prince ;
â the eldest son of the mad queen of cendrier and the subject of a great many love poems. countless more would desire to use the prince as a political pawn, especially now that isme is without his enchanted feather cloak.
â a fearsome justiciar, renowned far and wide for his skill with the blade, his ruthlessness in meting out divine justice. salicaire's path has led him to the heart of the helemere faith, where threats lurk around every corner.
â intergalacticinterludes. a writeblr reintroduction.
ABOUT â§.*
hi, my name is shania (they/she), i'm 21 years old, and i'm a writer of all things black, queer, and magical. i've been active on writeblr on and off since 2020, and i'm attempting to make it stick this time around.
when i'm not writing, i'm probably sleeping, playing games on my switch (i'm obsessed with hello kitty island adventure and stardew valley), or binge watching a new tv show.
WIPS â§.*
the other side.
estranged twins rio and raphael are sucked into the unsettling realm from their equally estranged mother's favorite storybook. separated when they land, they must navigate a world on the verge of civil war, or risk staying permanently. adult sff.
the last interview.
after a life altering diagnosis, infamous old hollywood star celine winston calls up her old friend and reporter, joyce kennedy, to write her biography. adult contemporary/historical.
the trinity.
in the kingdom of zaris, three princesses escape from their tyrant father, the king. fifteen years later, they return to save their loved ones, only to return to a palace of millennia-old secrets. adult high fantasy.
in the name of love.
in 1950's new york city, the vampire jacqueline is running from her past when she finds the witch graciela, and her world ignites. but jaqueline's past is catching up with her, and she must confront it to face her future. adult historical fantasy/horror.
Last week: Aldith is going through it on a bunch of different fronts. This week: Haddiscoe is. not experiencing the same thing. Thank you to @flashfictionfridayofficial and @cocoamoonmalfoy for the prompt!
[Image ID: white text reading âFFF355 A Curious Connectionâ on a textured background of vibrant green.
End ID]
mirror images and when we kiss theyâre perfectly aligned
word counter: 912
Content Warnings: homophobia, internalized but far stranger homophobia, brief implicit description of sex
â
There are long stretches of these âhighways,â cracked roads of marked asphalt, and a part of Haddiscoe wants to observe, to catalogue. Watch the structure of this patchwork continent and its flat, fragmented nations for strengths and weaknesses, but thereâs Aldith to look at beside her.
An Aldith.
Sheâs not stupid, her Aldith is long dead. But this one living Aldithâs face turns in the same way, nose bunching and lips pulling back from teeth when upset.
In her mindâs eye, she can see Aldith, 20, on a reel with her long hair whipping in the wind placed over this Aldith, whoâs turning at the wheel of this combustion vehicle like her own war as another smaller one darts in front of them. Not that her Aldithâthe first Aldith, she loves this one just as muchâwould have followed it with the long string of what Haddiscoe is coming to understand as creative profanity. She doesnât think Aldith, her Aldith, used a word like that in the entire time they knew each other. Officers didnât use draft language, not even young ones.
After extensively insulting several generations of the other driverâs family, this Aldith huffs and leans back against the long seat of the vehicleâs cabin. She looks over to Haddiscoe for one perfect breath before her eyes dart away faster than the vehicles around them and sheâs beautiful. Deep brown eyes, curling black hair of a type herâthe first Aldith lost when she became an officer held back in a nonregulation bun at her neck, a dark blush across her cheeks and wrinkles starting to show around the edges of her face. Wrinkles! Haddiscoe wants to cry, Haddiscoe wants to kiss her. The lips of her face and the softening of her skin at the edges of her eyes and her mouth, along her neck and down between the flash of her breasts in the gaps of her buttoned shirt, down further to the lips framed by her thighs.
Not that this one accepts it, a single kiss anywhere. Haddiscoeâs tried.
The others theyâve met in the rest stations and delivery dockings along the highways think it, think theyâre kissing and having the sex Aldith only turns away, looking guilty for the offer. And Haddiscoe knows this Aldith who lived to a wonderful age is a civilian. She knows that in her world civilians have babies where soldiers have partners, but this world has no battles fought for extrasolar territories, no opportunities to become an officer or win a marriage alongside a valor medal. The first Aldith would have, won a marriage and married her if she lived to her 40s. They would have made her a general.
And in this odd, backwards world, when others speak of, or insinuate that, there is kissing and sex between them, their words and their faces turn cruel. Not because itâs an unearned gift, but some strange social tie Haddiscoe has yet to uncover. Itâs stupid if sheâs being more honest than tactful. Before, Aldith was the tactician between them.
Whatever is said, it still doesnât make Aldith worry about her less. If anything, itâs done more openly than her first. They were matched, a prodigy of the battlefield for a mind of the laboratory, one to make the weapons, the other to wield them. What lover would leave her soldier empty-handed? What soldier leaves her love unprotected? Before, Aldithâs care was in the outposts she captured, that she would bring safety to Haddiscoe from the stars. Now Aldith asks with sweet, sad eyes if Haddiscoeâs allergicâas if that imperfection could have lasted in her serviceâif sheâs sick, comfortable, hungry, tired, anything.
And Haddiscoe canât even kiss her about it!
Yet.
Sheâs felt Aldithâs eyes on her in flickering bursts, though not enough to take away control of the cacophonous vehicle Aldith wonât let her improve, can imagine Aldithâs steady arms around her when they rest for the night. She canât have kisses, but, oh, if sheâs cold, Aldith wouldnât refuse her for a moment. She gets cold so easily.
âWe can have beef or soup tonight,â Aldith breaks the quiet between them and Haddiscoe is careful not to look at her too closely now or smile too widely. Haddiscoeâs smiles earn a soft, smothered âJoshuaâ and she has to save those carefully.
âItâs canned soup,â Aldith adds, her constant frownâacross hours, across universesâdeepening apologetically.
âWhich one would be safer?â Haddiscoe doesnât care about taste, but partnerships are made by push and pull, an offer for an offer as long as they donât touch.
Aldith huffs again, one part bitterness, another amusement. That stays the same too. âFrom lead or people?â
âThe cans shoot people?â She didnât think that was something they could do, but the only other option would be the element and that couldnât go in food.
Aldith laughs at the question, quietly, but it makes Haddiscoeâs heartbeat pump in extra time despite it probably meaning the element is in the food. The laugh is deeper too, older, richer. They could have hadâ
No, Haddiscoeâs here now, making up for what she almost lost.
âOh,â she says, maybe a little more embarrassed than she feels. Lead doesnât go in food. âSoup?â
For another perfect moment, Aldith fully looks at her, the warm orange of an earth sunset framing Aldithâs soft, fond smile. One day, sheâll kiss her.
Today sheâll eat lead soup, but someday. And theyâll have all the time in the world.
for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt!
word count: 895
â
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.
âRight, everyone,â High Councillor Emar put her glass down, her sharp fingers cradling it. âWeâve the matter of the Chalice on our hands. Eshani, do you have any updates for us?â
From her seat stood a lady in silks of shimmering gold and scarlet, her hair raised by a pair of phoenix pins. âI have a few potential leads connected with the meshaika in question, I believe itâs only a matter of time.â
Charimone lingered in the shadow of a candle on the chandelier, perched over the pickings of a blood-stained charcuterie. Two of these faces she knew, the others new, a glimpse into the world that trapped her.
Her heart pounded over the same precipice she did.
âWhat occupied you at the time it was gone, hm?.â Stood a slender face she knew not, a man cloaked in silks as orange as his hair, his sneer sharp as his features.
Eshaniâs face shifted the way water did, light bristling in her emerald eyes. The rest of the table glared and glanced at him, turning their attention back to her. âI had the remaining acolyte bring me to the Chaliceâs locationââ
He crossed his arms, a bite inherent in his words. âNeedless to say how that fared.â
Chatter exploded from them all. âSomeone else stole it at the ceremonyââ
Two bangs. âOrder, order.â Charimone flinched at the sight of Councillor Emar standing up, bracing both her hands upon the table. âThat has been addressed. What way is everyoneâs filachroste supply?â
âGreat excuââ
The man beside him gestured in front of his mouth. âPray tell, what are you doing to get the Chalice back? Go on, enlighten me.â
A smile flickered on Eshaniâs face.
Charimone lulled herself into the meetingâs enchanting rhythm, a series of bangs and flourishes blotting the main thought on her mind. She wished her fatherâs interactions had this bounce to them.
The candles around her drooped and dropped, hers blessed with no flame. A number more gained the same blessing upon the moment the other High Councillors stood, bidding farewells of varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Charimone watched servants collect plates and boards, pushing chairs back and gliding out of the room. She glanced at the one High Councillor left in the room, looking away again.
What danced behind those pale gray eyes she did but did not desire to know. The thought made her seize, this dread rising, a monster within come to claim her.
It spun her thoughts on a chandelier, spinning flames around the same thing. The Chalice. The one thing they desired. The Chalice. Her ticket out. The Chalice. A game she is but a pawn of.
The real monster swished her fingers around the candle. âCharimone.â
She breathed, knowing what stood behind her. In, out, in, out, her form emerging from the shadows.
On the other side of the candle, she peered down from her perch. âHow could you?â
Her voice breached a perilous drop. âCharimone, in all fairnessââ
âNo!â The chandelierâs arm swayed under her foot. âYou told my father to get the Chalice knowing you had it all along. You lied to me, youââ
She screamed on the way down, pulled off the candleâs lip and onto the table, scattering back under her captorâs looming gaze. âI told you the truth and nothing but. Not once have I lied to you. Nor will I ever. Get those words out of your mouth, or else.â
âYou just want to keep me forever!â Tears started to cloud her eyes. âThatâs all this is to you, politics.â
Another bang on the table, her overbearing face peering closer. âI didnât have to take you for your word. I couldâve brought you to your father at one of those gatherings, and announce that you followed him. Worse still, I couldâve put you on this charcuterie board and let my fellows have at it with you-â
Charimone swabbed an arm over her eyes, her voice clogged between two modes. âMaybe going home with my father wouldâve been better than this.â
Her smirk set a fire within her. âPerhaps you shouldâve thought of that beforehand, little wisp.â
âI didnât know at the time. All I wanted was to know why my father disappeared at Solstice,â She swallowed a gulp of air. âI canât believe heâd spend it with monsters like you.â
The words came out before her thoughts.
High Councillor Emar glared at her with an intensity she feared would pierce her soul. The scowl on her face betrayed a glimpse at teeth capable of clawing her heart out, the pause stirring Charimone into a spiral of worry.
She sighed, raising back to full height and glaring a moment more. âMake good on that, then and do not follow me on official business again.â
With that, she swivelled, her left hand swinging straight into Charimone.
She yelped as she careened towards the seat, shifting to a wisp and into the shadows. Below the seatâs underside, she found her purchase, freezing with the cessation of footsteps.
âCharimone?â Her voice lacked the rage that berated her.
She shivered in place, keeping the waver of her wispy form to a minimum. The footsteps got closer, mimicking the dread pulsating her heart.
She would not crash. She would not falter. She would not cry.
Charimone would wait until the monster walked away.
â
Tagging the General taglist for this (ask/comment/reblog, etc if you'd like to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart-deactivated20 @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @thelaughingstag @oros-ash3s @jacqueswriteblrlibrary @rainbowsnowflake @fourwingedwriter @oddcryptidwrites @ark-inkweaving @bardic-tales @agirlandherquill @oc-writing-corner
âWhat occupied you at the time it was gone, hm?.â Stood a slender face she knew not, a man cloaked in silks as orange as his hair, his sneer sharp as his features.
Oh wait I think I know this guy^!! Maybe? I think in another oneshot of yours I read he was visiting some noble lady..? I'm sorry I don't remember exactly đđ but I got to this part and pointed at my screen in recognition! Lol
Another bang on the table, her overbearing face peering closer. âI didnât have to take you for your word. I couldâve brought you to your father at one of those gatherings, and announce that you followed him. Worse still, I couldâve put you on this charcuterie board and let my fellows have at it with you-â
HEH??? What an insane thing to say đđ
Charimone has my heart and soul cheering for her!! I really hope she makes it out okay :((
Thanks so much for the reblog!! <333 I'll be sure to tag you, :D
Oh wait I think I know this guy^!! Maybe? I think in another oneshot of yours I read he was visiting some noble lady..? I'm sorry I don't remember exactly đđ but I got to this part and pointed at my screen in recognition! Lol
:DDD You do know this guy! (Affril) He's the same one that paid a visit to Claudia (to this very room no less) some time after this meeting precisely due to said meeting's details somehow leaking out. The wisp he wanted? That is Charimone, though he can't prove it haha
Back when Claudia and Najsha first met (centuries ago), one of the things they bonded over was hating on Affril! And that's lead to a political line that persists to this day (making it all the more surprising for Claudia that the trial note got four High Councillors' signatures, usually Affril's side is outnumbered 3 to 4.)
HEH??? What an insane thing to say đđ
When Charimone went to sleep that night, she had a nightmare because of those very lines. That nightmare was one where Claudia pulled her off the chandelier mid-meeting, put her in the centre of the table and sat back with a glass of blood wine while the other six High Councillors all clamoured to grab her. Eshani prevailed in the end, but as this was a nightmare, Charimone doesn't know that Eshani would've been nice to her had the two ever met in real life
Have you ever met a giant? You might think that's a stupid question; how could anyone ever be unsure? Aren't they, well, giant?
In reality you could walk past a giant in the street. At first they look like anyone else. It's only on a closer inspection that you'll start to see something more.
I met one last night, in a bar down in Leith. She was a fascinating women. Seemingly in her mid forties, with broad cheekbones and clear grey eyes framed with spreading laughter lines. It was those eyes that caught my attention first; they had the depth of a sea loch, and seemed to glint and shimmer with their own light.
The more I talked to her, the more I felt... a density to her. As if the room and everyone in it was being drawn towards her, like she had weight in dimensions that I couldn't see. Her voice was quiet and her movements smooth and slow. But I could no more have pulled away from her than the planets can escape the pull of the sun. Not that I wanted to.
We stayed until closing time and walked out into the night together to stand by quayside and look over the Forth.
We didn't talk anymore then, just stood for a while in comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of the sea.
Before she left, she turned to smile at me and gently touch my hand. She stepped from the quayside and walked away over the sea towards the horizon. Each step covered a bewildering distance. She didn't grow, her legs didn't stretch, it was instead as if the world moved around her.
Our village plays host to a minor god of love. When the sky is this purple, he is having big feelings, and we rush offerings to the alter, rolling our eyes.Â
AITA for telling my boyfriendâs coworkers that heâs lying about his body count?
I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. Itâs honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like Iâm in the right, but now Iâm wondering if I overstepped.
For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. Heâs always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.
At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesnât have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and âstart talking about our future.â
(Side note: no this isnât about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while itâs been growing, I wouldnât call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)
I told him itâs completely normal for it to take a whole year before heâs ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (Iâve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. Itâs not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.
Anyway, boyfriend didnât do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasnât for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but thatâs a different story). He said it felt like I didnât believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldnât be thinking about marriage so soon.
It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that Iâd worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didnât understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasnât Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.
We both said a lot of things we didnât mean and Iâm embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.
It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldnât offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.
Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.
But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didnât go through his stuff) and heâs been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but heâd been lucky to be maiming half that.
Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didnât want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.
I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didnât want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldnât get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dadâs janitorial company.
I let it go. I was worried but I didnât want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didnât believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since Iâd had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.
Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.
It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.
But still, I didnât say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didnât want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didnât complain even though it interrupted my work day.
Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didnât have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I donât do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didnât appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasnât the only butchering it.
He said he didnât want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didnât want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldnât hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didnât believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.
He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didnât believe in him.
I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didnât want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.
He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said heâd get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.
Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.
Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. Itâs invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriendâs current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.
I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, Iâve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.
I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesnât have his phone on during his assignments, so I didnât bother calling him. I just figured itâd be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.
Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).
So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, heâd be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I donât often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.
She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.
I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasnât there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.
While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriendâs coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didnât make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but heâd told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.
I asked them about it and they said that heâd been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.
At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?
Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesnât count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).
Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!
Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.
I told her I didnât know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasnât a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which sheâd only heard good things about.
Iâm embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. Heâs new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.
She said she didnât think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.
I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldnât really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.
At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriendâs job, but if I didnât say something, I was jeopardizing my business.
I told my boyfriendâs coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didnât think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio werenât his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.
The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptidâs kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.
I told him I really didnât want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didnât know those kills didnât belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man â who turned out to my boyfriendâs boss â said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employeeâs misconduct.
I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasnât mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.
Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didnât feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.
I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasnât a mistake at all.
My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.
I said I knew heâd been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.
I told him that wasnât how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.
(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows Iâm sensitive to being called an object.)
He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didnât want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I shouldâve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and wouldâve never done this.
He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasnât me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking Iâm better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while heâs basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.
He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I donât think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.
 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didnât ever feel like he was enough for me and he didnât even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.
I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasnât sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where heâd been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasnât.
So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.
I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.
Now Iâm at my friendâs house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasnât right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldnât understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.
She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadnât brought them to his bossâ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, heâd have had kills of his own. She thinks that if Iâd just confronted him at home, he wouldnât be on suspension.
So now Iâm worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriendâs coworkers that he was lying about his body count.
AITA?
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It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"
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