Skitter
Been a minute, hasn't it?
Yeah, sorry about that.
I meant to update you guys a while back. Ya know, the whole gig of how one random man's kindness was the lynchpin to a thousand men and women's lives being saved. One act of kindness, committed by a man scared out of his mind of me, hands shaking, blood spattered as he tried desperately to keep my heart beating and my damn lungs inflating.
But I'll get back to that.
It's hard for me to tell these stories in order.
The story of my life.
Because, for me, I experience them out of order.
To put it more accurately, I've lived a version of my life hundreds of times over. Small variations in the faces that surround mine, the ways that I make an income, the places I rest my head at night. The reason that I continue this fucked up mess of a life I live is, well, simple.
The ones I love.
They look to me for love, support, encouragement. Advice. Company. A hero, at times, when they're feeling fanciful. A villain, when they can't quite handle the responsibility for the consequences of their own actions. It's okay, I promise. Sometimes I like getting the chance to flex my acting muscles.
Everything about me, in some form, is salvaged from another life, or in honor of another soul. From the tops of my head to the soles of my feet, this is true. The haphazard hatchet job of a haircut I call mine, cut off with a pair of kitchen scissors in 'pretty shapes' in order to feel real. For, good lord, anything in this awful loop of an existence to feel like it matters or makes a difference.
....lost my train of thought there for a moment, excuse me. Happens at times when the sanity begins to run low. Lack of sleep, stress, starvation, mild physical torture. You know, the usual. ;D
The barbell shoved through an eyebrow, in memoriam of the friend whose idea it was to get it.
The myraid piercings adorning my ears, in honor of the lifetime where.. where my friends helped me hand pierce my ears, because I was so afraid of pain at the time.. so long ago now, it seems.
The pentagram round my neck, stolen from another timeline's storage, worn to signify my magical alliances. A small bat charm relentlessly soldered into place overtop the pentagram, to signify freedom at night and amongst those that seek balance with their darkness...
........and, well. Don't let me lie, now. Or omit. I'm bad about that.
The chain, a reward from a water dragon I had done a small favor, helping him clear out his ransacked castle, and defend him from the world for a short period of time.. even from himself.
The medallion of bat and circle, that.. was crafted for me by Odin, a former lover of mine.
The simple, unassuming 10mm aluminum nut adorning the chain alongside the pentagram. Worn to.. remind myself of a simpler life, with a man I loved beyond all measure, who was a savant with anything mechanical or electrical. The 10mm, of course, always being what gets lost the most.
Just as he did. Ridiculous how often the Hanged Man slips away from me.
All to protect me, of course. That's what they all eventually say, in the end. Or, I do.
The navel piercing of aquamarine, doing double duty. The piercing itself held in place because, once upon a time, a little girl wanted to be 'pretty' and 'grownup', and begged her father to get her naval pierced when she turned sixteen. With a smile, he turned to her and said "if your grades are high enough, I'll help you pick out the jewelry.' Kinder, simpler times. Before the monsters.
The aquamarine color, a flag of sorts. A marker of Neptune's, his half joking bid for my hand in marriage (get in line, you fishy bastard..), half protection charm. A reminder that I can call upon him for a 'lawyer' to get out of trouble any time I'm willing to pay the price for his company. A reminder that, at any time I wish to cease suffering without basic medicine, insurance, money, or hell, even drugs... all I ever have to do is call on his name, and ask 'pretty please.'
Notice how I am still poor, and live most of my life in isolation.
I refuse to be bought, or owned, or sold, or traded. My soul, my life, is mine.
I've come far too far on this path to be willing to give away that marker.
Many a man (and woman) has sought to intimidate, buy, coerce, threaten, or blackmail their way into my heart or my life. All, playing a nasty game of chicken I refuse to lose. Some, I'll give them credit, don't back down in the name of cowardice, and truly do unleash their awful punishments. Some of which I am still suffering from to this day, because I would not pirouette on cue, or smile oh so wide and sing my Siren Call on demand to help business interests or bring in new clients.
My tattoos, well. They're all deliberately calculated to be sociological identifiers, or reminders to myself of who my heart belonged to. The green cursive print on my foot, in a child's scrawl. A bleeding heart adorning my left calf, stylized to seem as though the ink were still drying from a permanent marker. The blue kanji crawling down my neck, my truest allegiance, to that of my Father. To Death, to Life, to being.. well. The person I was meant to be. The leader of my faction.
Several lifetimes ago, I once lead an army against the forces of darkness. Straggler enforcers, snatched from the far reaches of the Earth, chosen for their ability to survive, love, and make the difficult decisions in the War we face. The ones we protected, were known as the Rabbits. The defenseless creatures in our stead against the foxes and wolves of the world. And, well. My personal crew were known as the 'Reapers.' Name stolen from countless human fictions, but in effect, it was true. Deathdealers, tricksters, merchants with glowing eyes, you name 'em, they were at my side.
You didn't have to cause death to be one of mine, for the record.
Most did not.
You simply had to be willing to fight for what you believed in to the painful end.
Ultimately, that's what we were all signing up for. A death wish. A bounty on our heads.
A most gruesome death, if we were caught.
Those of us I recruited to the cause, each adopted their own set of codewords, names, and brandings, so that no matter which timeline we came across each other in, we would recognize each other.
I, well. I've taken more than a few names as my own in my time. It would be an incredibly long list, not worth expending the time on naming at this time. The truest nickname, beyond my moniker of D.I.A., was a bit of sentimentality on my part: Persephone.
When this fight first began, I wanted to terraform the Earth into the Elysian Fields.
I have sacrificed an incredible amount to get our timeline back to even the rickety shape it is in now.
Those 'gods' and 'goddesses' you keep hearing about? Yeah, the jig is up.
They aren't literal. I mean, they are, in the way that they're real people, supercharged with insane abilities I couldn't begin to describe, all fighting in the supernatural war of ours, the Great Game.
But.. as far as mythology goes, we never knew the Titans. Not in the way you might think.
My first battle, alongside the great wolf Taishan, after the passing of my Father.. was the marking of the Beginning, as you know it at least. Twas the occasion that I accepted my first tattoo, the reaper's mark. 'Shinigami,' or for those of you not familiar with the language.. 'God of Death.'
I recognized the path that I was newly set to walk down, after the refusal of my crown.
You see, once upon a time.. I truly was descended from some rather gnarly fuckers. Some pretty classy dames too. When those two kinds of people settle down and decide to make babies, weird shit happens. DNA starts twisting up and making new patterns and shapes and designs. And dysfunction begins to reign where normality once stood.. I didn't mind, though. They were my family.
Scattered to the four winds, and every continent I can think of.
Most, their bones lie prone in their graves, or their ashes spread to the water.
I had the option, in the beginning, to inherit their knickknacks, and names, and land, and resources.
I refused.
I caught a glimpse of the life my Father had lead before me, and wanted in, no matter the price.
You see, I wanted to walk in his footsteps.
Be known for my kindness, my tenacity, my wit. My skills, and most of all.. my loyalty.
If I knew then what I know now, the prices I would pay, I can't say I would choose any differently.
Perhaps be a bit more strategic in my choices, my alliances.
But not once, since the day that tattoo needle took to my skin, have I faltered in what I strove for.
To be my Father's daughter. To help save those that were lost, or suffering, or confused.
Even if it were from themselves.
I have had to start over, time and again, because of unwitting mistakes on my part, or the callousness of others. Many times have I fallen in the name of Guarding those that needed it. That, that I cannot call a mistake, no matter how much pain or loss has come as a result.
You might occasionally hear me referred to as 'the Reaper Queen,' or 'Jack of All,' or a djinn, or a sorceress, or a succubus, or a myraid of other titles. You can safely ignore those, beyond possibly analyzing the motivations or reasonings of whoever decided to dub me as such shit titles. They're all pretty much hogwash, with maybe a kernel of truth behind each. Magic only exists in the worlds that it is believed in, and fairy tales.. well. They don't always exist in real life quite the way you imagined.
Quite frankly, of the stories told that were true, I most often appear as a nightmare, or an angel.
I suppose it depends on which side of the war you stand on, how you might view that.
Or what the hell you've done to piss me off lately, more accurately.
I am slowly working on edging my way back out of the shadows, to discreetly knock on some door's in the middle of the night. To begin recruiting again. And to begin visiting those that have wandered a mite bit too far without a bit of guidance from those that have walked that path themselves. There are a fair few in need of rescuing that I suppose it's time I come back out of hiding for.
If you're reading this, you likely already know if you're one of those chosen few or not.
So don't be terribly surprised if you catch a visit from your friendly neighborhood fuckup one of these days, perhaps at the witching hour, maybe in the bright shining light of day.
I'm flexible like that.
I'll be focusing on the ones that need me, first.
That ought to give the rest of you time to go run, hide, gear up, defend yourselves if you must.
But, rest assured, I am technically on my motherfuckin' way.
For those of you too dumb to flee, expect me at your door rather soon.
With a fangy smile, dead and cold eyes, and a blade to your throat, saying "How ya doin' today?"
Let it not be said I'm not generous with my fair warnings. ;D
Yeah, sorry about that.
I meant to update you guys a while back. Ya know, the whole gig of how one random man's kindness was the lynchpin to a thousand men and women's lives being saved. One act of kindness, committed by a man scared out of his mind of me, hands shaking, blood spattered as he tried desperately to keep my heart beating and my damn lungs inflating.
But I'll get back to that.
It's hard for me to tell these stories in order.
The story of my life.
Because, for me, I experience them out of order.
To put it more accurately, I've lived a version of my life hundreds of times over. Small variations in the faces that surround mine, the ways that I make an income, the places I rest my head at night. The reason that I continue this fucked up mess of a life I live is, well, simple.
The ones I love.
They look to me for love, support, encouragement. Advice. Company. A hero, at times, when they're feeling fanciful. A villain, when they can't quite handle the responsibility for the consequences of their own actions. It's okay, I promise. Sometimes I like getting the chance to flex my acting muscles.
Everything about me, in some form, is salvaged from another life, or in honor of another soul. From the tops of my head to the soles of my feet, this is true. The haphazard hatchet job of a haircut I call mine, cut off with a pair of kitchen scissors in 'pretty shapes' in order to feel real. For, good lord, anything in this awful loop of an existence to feel like it matters or makes a difference.
....lost my train of thought there for a moment, excuse me. Happens at times when the sanity begins to run low. Lack of sleep, stress, starvation, mild physical torture. You know, the usual. ;D
The barbell shoved through an eyebrow, in memoriam of the friend whose idea it was to get it.
The myraid piercings adorning my ears, in honor of the lifetime where.. where my friends helped me hand pierce my ears, because I was so afraid of pain at the time.. so long ago now, it seems.
The pentagram round my neck, stolen from another timeline's storage, worn to signify my magical alliances. A small bat charm relentlessly soldered into place overtop the pentagram, to signify freedom at night and amongst those that seek balance with their darkness...
........and, well. Don't let me lie, now. Or omit. I'm bad about that.
The chain, a reward from a water dragon I had done a small favor, helping him clear out his ransacked castle, and defend him from the world for a short period of time.. even from himself.
The medallion of bat and circle, that.. was crafted for me by Odin, a former lover of mine.
The simple, unassuming 10mm aluminum nut adorning the chain alongside the pentagram. Worn to.. remind myself of a simpler life, with a man I loved beyond all measure, who was a savant with anything mechanical or electrical. The 10mm, of course, always being what gets lost the most.
Just as he did. Ridiculous how often the Hanged Man slips away from me.
All to protect me, of course. That's what they all eventually say, in the end. Or, I do.
The navel piercing of aquamarine, doing double duty. The piercing itself held in place because, once upon a time, a little girl wanted to be 'pretty' and 'grownup', and begged her father to get her naval pierced when she turned sixteen. With a smile, he turned to her and said "if your grades are high enough, I'll help you pick out the jewelry.' Kinder, simpler times. Before the monsters.
The aquamarine color, a flag of sorts. A marker of Neptune's, his half joking bid for my hand in marriage (get in line, you fishy bastard..), half protection charm. A reminder that I can call upon him for a 'lawyer' to get out of trouble any time I'm willing to pay the price for his company. A reminder that, at any time I wish to cease suffering without basic medicine, insurance, money, or hell, even drugs... all I ever have to do is call on his name, and ask 'pretty please.'
Notice how I am still poor, and live most of my life in isolation.
I refuse to be bought, or owned, or sold, or traded. My soul, my life, is mine.
I've come far too far on this path to be willing to give away that marker.
Many a man (and woman) has sought to intimidate, buy, coerce, threaten, or blackmail their way into my heart or my life. All, playing a nasty game of chicken I refuse to lose. Some, I'll give them credit, don't back down in the name of cowardice, and truly do unleash their awful punishments. Some of which I am still suffering from to this day, because I would not pirouette on cue, or smile oh so wide and sing my Siren Call on demand to help business interests or bring in new clients.
My tattoos, well. They're all deliberately calculated to be sociological identifiers, or reminders to myself of who my heart belonged to. The green cursive print on my foot, in a child's scrawl. A bleeding heart adorning my left calf, stylized to seem as though the ink were still drying from a permanent marker. The blue kanji crawling down my neck, my truest allegiance, to that of my Father. To Death, to Life, to being.. well. The person I was meant to be. The leader of my faction.
Several lifetimes ago, I once lead an army against the forces of darkness. Straggler enforcers, snatched from the far reaches of the Earth, chosen for their ability to survive, love, and make the difficult decisions in the War we face. The ones we protected, were known as the Rabbits. The defenseless creatures in our stead against the foxes and wolves of the world. And, well. My personal crew were known as the 'Reapers.' Name stolen from countless human fictions, but in effect, it was true. Deathdealers, tricksters, merchants with glowing eyes, you name 'em, they were at my side.
You didn't have to cause death to be one of mine, for the record.
Most did not.
You simply had to be willing to fight for what you believed in to the painful end.
Ultimately, that's what we were all signing up for. A death wish. A bounty on our heads.
A most gruesome death, if we were caught.
Those of us I recruited to the cause, each adopted their own set of codewords, names, and brandings, so that no matter which timeline we came across each other in, we would recognize each other.
I, well. I've taken more than a few names as my own in my time. It would be an incredibly long list, not worth expending the time on naming at this time. The truest nickname, beyond my moniker of D.I.A., was a bit of sentimentality on my part: Persephone.
When this fight first began, I wanted to terraform the Earth into the Elysian Fields.
I have sacrificed an incredible amount to get our timeline back to even the rickety shape it is in now.
Those 'gods' and 'goddesses' you keep hearing about? Yeah, the jig is up.
They aren't literal. I mean, they are, in the way that they're real people, supercharged with insane abilities I couldn't begin to describe, all fighting in the supernatural war of ours, the Great Game.
But.. as far as mythology goes, we never knew the Titans. Not in the way you might think.
My first battle, alongside the great wolf Taishan, after the passing of my Father.. was the marking of the Beginning, as you know it at least. Twas the occasion that I accepted my first tattoo, the reaper's mark. 'Shinigami,' or for those of you not familiar with the language.. 'God of Death.'
I recognized the path that I was newly set to walk down, after the refusal of my crown.
You see, once upon a time.. I truly was descended from some rather gnarly fuckers. Some pretty classy dames too. When those two kinds of people settle down and decide to make babies, weird shit happens. DNA starts twisting up and making new patterns and shapes and designs. And dysfunction begins to reign where normality once stood.. I didn't mind, though. They were my family.
Scattered to the four winds, and every continent I can think of.
Most, their bones lie prone in their graves, or their ashes spread to the water.
I had the option, in the beginning, to inherit their knickknacks, and names, and land, and resources.
I refused.
I caught a glimpse of the life my Father had lead before me, and wanted in, no matter the price.
You see, I wanted to walk in his footsteps.
Be known for my kindness, my tenacity, my wit. My skills, and most of all.. my loyalty.
If I knew then what I know now, the prices I would pay, I can't say I would choose any differently.
Perhaps be a bit more strategic in my choices, my alliances.
But not once, since the day that tattoo needle took to my skin, have I faltered in what I strove for.
To be my Father's daughter. To help save those that were lost, or suffering, or confused.
Even if it were from themselves.
I have had to start over, time and again, because of unwitting mistakes on my part, or the callousness of others. Many times have I fallen in the name of Guarding those that needed it. That, that I cannot call a mistake, no matter how much pain or loss has come as a result.
You might occasionally hear me referred to as 'the Reaper Queen,' or 'Jack of All,' or a djinn, or a sorceress, or a succubus, or a myraid of other titles. You can safely ignore those, beyond possibly analyzing the motivations or reasonings of whoever decided to dub me as such shit titles. They're all pretty much hogwash, with maybe a kernel of truth behind each. Magic only exists in the worlds that it is believed in, and fairy tales.. well. They don't always exist in real life quite the way you imagined.
Quite frankly, of the stories told that were true, I most often appear as a nightmare, or an angel.
I suppose it depends on which side of the war you stand on, how you might view that.
Or what the hell you've done to piss me off lately, more accurately.
I am slowly working on edging my way back out of the shadows, to discreetly knock on some door's in the middle of the night. To begin recruiting again. And to begin visiting those that have wandered a mite bit too far without a bit of guidance from those that have walked that path themselves. There are a fair few in need of rescuing that I suppose it's time I come back out of hiding for.
If you're reading this, you likely already know if you're one of those chosen few or not.
So don't be terribly surprised if you catch a visit from your friendly neighborhood fuckup one of these days, perhaps at the witching hour, maybe in the bright shining light of day.
I'm flexible like that.
I'll be focusing on the ones that need me, first.
That ought to give the rest of you time to go run, hide, gear up, defend yourselves if you must.
But, rest assured, I am technically on my motherfuckin' way.
For those of you too dumb to flee, expect me at your door rather soon.
With a fangy smile, dead and cold eyes, and a blade to your throat, saying "How ya doin' today?"
Let it not be said I'm not generous with my fair warnings. ;D
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