we're fixing to die

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2026-09-21T15:06:46Z

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2026-06-15T22:33:42Z

swinging by my neck from the family tree.

QUICK STATS

Name: Justine Emily Ward.
Age: 25.
Birthday: May 10th.
Hometown: New York.
Species: Demon (Poludnica).
Occupation: Book collector / private seller.
Family: Parents, Joshua and Lillian. One older brother, Maximillian. Large extended family.

BACKGROUND

Justine's homeworld is a modern au in which supernatural beings exist within society amongst mundane humans: demons, angels, werewolves, vampires and supernatural humans. Across the world, these supernatural groups via for power and control in the ever-delicate balance between good and evil. Angels and Demons are divided in types, known as 'Callings' — an innate drive to use the abilities of their 'type'. Justine is a Poludnica demon: a demon who creates sickness within their body to infect and harm others. She has grown a speciality in physical illness, specifically those that affect the circulatory, respiratory and digestion systems. She has the potential to create diseases of her own, starting pandemics - but doing so would ultimately kill her in the process.

backstory cws: child abuse/child neglect; institutionalisation; institutional-related abuse

+ MORE

Justine was born to a wealthy, powerful demon family. Her grandfather, Simeon, is a Neqa'el - a leader amongst demons - and worked hard to produce a large family of influencers: Glaysa Labolas, those with the ability to control emotions and Temeluchus, those who can control fear. With the exception of a small group of the family being Rakshasa - the family enforcers - all other Callings were considered lesser and undesirable. So called 'undesirables' are either killed or sent off to institutions in hopes they die young. Reputation meant everything.

Always a sickly child, she grew up without affection from her parents - brought up by nannies and eventually sent to a boarding school. Her father was distant, haunted by the loss of his first family, while her ambitious and self-centred mother saw Justine and her brother Maximilian as little more than pawns to help raise her own social standing. They'd be married off to other demon families, having no say in their own lives. Her mother was often verbally abusive to her - because she was so sickly, because she was so nervous, and her tendency to shrink away was seen as an insult against her mother — who was so desperately obsessed with her social standing within the family. Maximilian was at least some comfort to her and they had a good relationship until he came of age and became more involved with family business. Despite her poor health, she was an incredibly bright child - something of a prodigy with her knowledge and natural acquisition of languages.

When Justine turned sixteen and became a Poludnica, it seemed set on what her future would be. No arranged marriage, no possibility of pursuing her own interests. Under the guise of a party thrown to celebrate her getting her wings, Justine's family met to decide what they'd do with her. Brought before her grandfather, he threw out the rest of the family to talk to her alone. But even the hardest of old demons could be softened by the sight of his frightened youngest grandchild, named for his long dead wife. Simeon was a leader of demons, but he wasn't completely heartless. Desperate for her own freedom, hoping for mercy, she made a deal: she would agree to being sent to an institution without fuss and would remain there. If she survived to the age of maturity, she would be allowed to leave. She would then completely cut herself off from her family, essentially writing herself off as dead. This would mean the family would no longer pay for her expensive keep and would no longer have an undesirable within their family. Reputation after all meant everything, she reminded him. Impressed by his little granddaughter's cleverness, her grandfather agreed to the terms, even allowing a small amount to be paid to her after she left the institution. It was almost refreshing to see a young demon try to bargain for herself like that.

Blackhall was a hospital facility for supernatural families with more money than sense, where they could dump their children struggling with their Callings. It was largely for the demon population and a vast majority of Poludnicas, Afreets and Behemoths were sent there. There's no affection here either: patients would be locked up in rooms alone, contained and 'safe'. They'd often face harsh regimes: force-feeding or restraints and wouldn't be allowed interaction with others. But Justine had been lonely for a long time, she had already lived under her mother's abuse and while her two years broke what was left of her spirit, she survived. She didn't die as she thought and her family hoped she would.

To her credit, her Calling didn't kill her. Nor did Blackhall. On her eighteenth birthday, she signed herself out, as agreed, and walked away from her family for good. It wasn't easy, though. She tried to secretly write to her brother after her release but the replies became few and far between before they stopped altogether - Maximilian was lost to her.

Now she looks after herself, living an isolated life. She still struggles with her health and her Calling but she tries to find some small pieces of happiness in what's been a isolated and unloved life. She collects books and spends her time reading and writing, mostly about her time in Blackhall.

PERSONALITY

+ docile; polite; compassionate; polyglot; intelligent;

- anxious; fearful; conflict-avoidant; self-conscious; low self-esteem;

APPEARANCE

Justine is a frail, standing at around 5’ 2” in height. Due to her Calling as a Poludnica demon, she constantly looks ill and is severely underweight. Her skin looks sallow and nearly has dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and poor health. Her dark eyes almost look watery or glazed over, and can appear dazed and exhausted. Her hair is a dark blonde / light brownish shade in colour, and wavy but a little lacking in lustre, which she normally wears down or up in a simple bun.

+ MORE

AURAL: Received Pronunciation that almost borders on Transatlantic; the culmination of a British mother, a life growing up in New York state and private boarding school education. Generally well spoken, lack of slang or swearing. Prone to stuttering/stammers, or failing to finishing sentences entirely.

OLFACTORY: Dependant on her physical state. On her better days, she smells clean; powder and light floral. Nothing overwhelming. During the thick of her times of illness, she smells of sweat, antiseptic, and the coppery scent of blood.

DEMEANOR: Lack of eye contact; handwringing; slouching/curling inwards. Justine exists by trying to make herself as small as possible, to avoid taking up space, to avoid being noticeable or seen. She carries the lessons of her childhood like a burden. She is a silent, unassuming presence. But she carries with her a desperate need to be appreciated, approved of, and loved.

DRESS STYLE: She wraps herself up in several layers of clothing, which hides the fact of how under-weight she is. Her clothes are usually in neutral shades and she particularly likes to wear comfortable clothing, particularly thick woollen jumpers. Her style is somewhat formal, in a sense. Or even a little on the older side. She favours dresses and skirts and blouses over jeans and t-shirts. She probably doesn't own any trousers, to be honest.

WINGS: As a demon, she has wings which are kept hidden beneath her skin — with the only sign of their existence when hidden is two thick surgical scars that run parallel down her back from her shoulder blades to mid-waist. Her wings, on the rare occasions she has them out, are relatively small with a total wingspan of just under four feet. They have the same colourings and markings of that of a common Sparrow.

THE POLUDNICA

For the first sixteen years of her life, Justine was completely human. Around their sixteenth birthday, demons will go through the painful transformation in which their physiology completely changes and they gain their Calling. As Poludnica demon, Justine gains the following abilities:

+ MORE

Poludnica Calling: has the ability to create and infect others with diseases, with a focus on physical illnesses that affect the circulatory, respiratory and digestion systems. The use of her Calling comes at the cost of her own physical health. Developing illness/ailments in others too quickly and too vast can cause her to burn out, and could actually kill her if she isn't stopped. When not actively using her abilities, she passively radiates cold and flu viruses — but she's gotten better as she ages at keeping these reigned in by actively restraining herself. She isn't perfect at it, but she's a lot better at it than what she was.

Extended Lifespan / Slowed Aging: Justine has already reached full maturity and can potentially live up until the age of 500 years old or so. Poludnicas are highly unlikely to achieve this age and transform into Neqa'el, but it's not impossible. But due to the nature of her Calling, it is likely she will die much sooner than later — probably within the first 100 years of her life. While she is twenty-five years old, she is beginning to appear older than this and looks to be in her late twenties/early thirties.

Demon Physiology: Stronger and faster than humans but among the weakest of demons physically. Her strength and speed is amplified when her wings are out. Hotter body temperature than humans and has a naturally faster heartbeat compared to humans. Her blood, when spilt, is oily black in colour.

Species Recognition: While her wings are exposed, she is able to recognise the 'species' of others in very general terms: angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, supernaturals and mundane humans. Anything else comes across as 'something different', but not identifiable. When she does not have her wings out, everyone reads as 'human'.

Calling Meltdown: If Justine ignores her Calling completely, it goes against her very nature as a demon and can cause insanity. She runs the risk of a Calling Meltdown, where she snaps and fully gives in to her Calling — losing herself entirely to it and losing who she is as a person and who she is beyond the Calling itself. It also runs the risk of killing Justine as the over usage of her abilities will be detrimental to her physical health.

HEALTH

Justine suffers from both poor physical health and mental health issues. She is a prescription drug user and on multiple medications to help manage her illnesses and keep her docile and calm, quietening her Calling.

+ MORE

PHYSICAL

+ Prone to respiratory diseases: colds, flu, chest infections, pneumonia.
+ Prone to digestive issues: bouts of extreme nausea and vomiting.
+ Prone to migraines and nosebleeds.
+ Prone to general malaise, weakness, chronic exhaustion and fevers.

MENTAL

+ Anxiety — general anxiety disorder; fear of physical contact; anxious in social situations.
+ Phobias — enclosed spaces with others, public transport, crowds.
+ Hoarding Tendencies — in the form of book collecting.
+ Low Self Esteem

Name Cheryl TIMEZONE GMT/BST DISCORD _heolstor PLURK heolstor PB Carey Mulligan • CODE

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fel i fod

2019-10-13T00:14:53Z

𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕚 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 - 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕠𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕤
darling, darling hold me close | don't you know I'm broken too
these old bones still feel like home when all I've got is you

𝕚 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖 - 𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕟
and we will cry till this fire is drowned | and we will write all our memories down
and we will drive till these tires wear out but darling I will take you home

𝕗𝕖𝕝 𝕚 𝕗𝕠𝕕 - 𝕒𝕕𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥𝕙
(welsh, no translation available)

𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟 - 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤
i want to tell you before I forget | you're doing well you know you're living it
you're gonna make it no matter how hard it gets | despite the darkness some of these days

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕪 - 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕕𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕖𝕣
I want to see your sadness | I want to share your sin
I want to be your blood and I want to be let in

𝕘𝕦𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 - 𝕞𝕦𝕞𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕕 & 𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤
and I know you claim that you're alright but fix your eyes on me
I guess I'm all you have and I swear you'll see the dawn again

𝕔𝕣𝕦𝕖𝕝 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 - 𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕
and its just like a prayer | the way you showed me you care to be there and because
keep your head up hold your head up | even though its a cruel world

𝕞𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕖 - 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣
you've got a warm heart | you've got a beautiful brain
but it's disintegrating from all the medicine

𝕒𝕥𝕝𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 - 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕥 𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥
I wanna see you lift your chin a little higher | open your eyes a little wider | speak your mind a little louder
'cause you are royalty

𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 - 𝕛𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕛𝕠𝕙𝕟𝕤𝕠𝕟
it's not always easy and sometimes life can be deceiving
i'll tell you one thing | it's always better when we're together

𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 - 𝕚𝕣𝕠𝕟 & 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕖
and I have to speculate that God Himself did make us into corresponding shapes | like puzzle pieces from the clay
and true it may seem like a stretch | but it's thoughts like this that catch my troubled head when you're away

𝕛𝕦𝕕𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕤 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤 - 𝕜𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕠𝕟
and though I may seem cold and I feel I'm growing old | i wish that you would just come home.
cause I'm tired of feeling alone | please tell me how to let go.

comments

cr chart

2019-02-10T18:16:26Z

Benedict Dearborn fumitory

"But...no. It's yours, after all, and it's undoubtedly best in your care, I'm sure. There will be plenty more prints of Tristia in the world."
fellow second-hand bookstore patron. awkwardly dancing around each-other's personal space and tentatively edging towards falling into some kind of comfortable friendship. angst-fuelled pasts, hesitant physical contact, wine spritzers, book puns and drunken ikea trips: quietly trying to find happiness in an otherwise sad and awful world.

♫ forest fires - axel flovent

The Word Eater saysweetprayers

Who knows what kind of love it is, Who knows if they can put a term to it beyond 'love'? It doesn't matter. Words, they aren't for him, not in the way that they are for other people.
immortal being and devourer of words, aka 'cromwell'. he just broke in once and kept coming back. occasionally feeds from her, taking her words and leaves her gifts in return. usually just likes to spend time with her, considering her 'his'. indoor picnics, books, notebooks, tea and gentle touches. stole her first kiss. she's okay with this.

♫ sound of silence - kina grannis

Gabriel Starling dogamidstmen

"I appreciate it, really- you coming out here, not just the tea - I'm sure that'll be good as well, but...well. Thank you."
very tired werewolf softboy. can't get him sick easily which is huge relief. crying at hospital-based dramas, warm blankets, hot chocolate and good meals.

♫ black eyed dog - nick drake

Abby Eddings handswillwork

"quote here."
one half of the eddings twins, an angel of healing. adopted sister of sorts and regular care-giver in the form of angelic healing. actual sunshine girl who just wants justine to enjoy life. gentle hugs, encouraging words, devious plans with good intent, chronic health-problem suffering.

♫ little talks - of monsters and men

Merlin definitelynotmagic

"Is that— true? Because that’s not... You deserve people being nice to you."
cheery wizard boy with extrovert intensity of the sun. au in which justine and merlin are part of an arrange marriage between demons and those with magic. spend the first three months not talking to one another. gently trying to find friendship in an awful situation. he means well.

♫ fel i fod - adwaith

Esther Moreau 57times

"On a more earnest note, I understand where you're coming from. It's much easier to say you'll go and do something than to actually make yourself do the mental gymnastics to get to that point. "
stabby girl who's actually a little soft sometimes. morbid conversations not meant for young ladies but they're happening anyway. being not good with people, enjoying solitude and some peace and quiet.

♫ vincent - ellie goulding

Newt Scamander newtralize

"No, please take your time. It sounds like you've had a terribly rough time and I don't want to do anything to make it worse."
actual soft boy nerd with a box of creatures. that wholesome content that waters my crops and clears my skin. slow-growing friendship that suits them both. creature care, tea, respecting boundaries, soft kids being soft.

♫ alright - keaton henson

whatever could it be that has brought me to this loss?

2019-02-04T00:57:45Z

If she listened closely, she could still hear her screams.

Weeks passed after her sixteenth birthday and she’d yet to change. She’d thought, privately, that perhaps she was broken, that she wasn’t supposed to be a demon after all. Her body rarely worked for her, why on earth would it start now? Or maybe, she hoped, her mother had some kind of affair with another man, a human, and maybe the odds would finally fall in her favour. She was nothing like her family, nothing like what she was supposed to be. Despite all she knew, how she was taught – she was worlds away from them. She was quiet and clever and uninterested in social games. She understood what it meant to be a Ward but for as long as she could remember, she simply wasn’t one.

Being a demon was a prospect that horrified her. It moved her one step forward as a pawn in her mother’s games – where she’d be flaunted like a fashion accessory before marrying some demon in a bid to strengthen social ties with another group of demons half way across the world. Her life would never be her own, it never was.

Fever came first. Then the pain. Waves that wrecked through her, her veins alive with it, her body, her very being changing, shifting from human to demon. Her parents were on vacation, her brother at university. She was alone with the staff who could do little to comfort her in the transformation.

Her wings were the last thing to break through, floundering helplessly behind her as she lay panting on the floor – shaking with the terrible knowledge of what she’d become. She was not the manipulator, nor was she the tormentor – she was not even, by wild chance, a Rakshasa. She was sickness, the disease.

She was not was she was supposed to be, not was she was expected to be.

Her father was silent, her mother disgusted, her brother dismayed. Her grandfather was summoned.

In the midst of ‘her party’, showing her off, celebrating the change – she stood in the library of her home before her grandfather, shaking with her mother’s threats and awed in her grandfather’s very presence. He was a quiet man but his authority was absolute and no one would speak when he did. She had never met him before now but as he dismissed her family and softened slightly when she told him she was named for his wife, long dead, she grasped at what she knew.

Because she was quiet. Because she was clever. Because she understood what it meant to be a Ward.

She took a risk and made a deal.

She didn’t die like she was supposed to, like she thought she would or how her family hoped she would. She wouldn’t lie down and be swept away like a hasty mistake. Something deep down, wouldn’t make it easy for them.

She was locked in the institution for two years amongst struggling and dying demons like herself, born from families who had too much money and too much pride and not enough love. She ached and cried for what she never had in the first place, cementing herself with the fact that she would never really have it. She learned what it was like to be truly alone, learned what it meant to never be touched, never loved – lessons she’d already been learning for years and years.

She signed herself out on her eighteenth birthday, as agreed, and silently slipped away, turning from everything she knew. They sent the money, as agreed, to keep her away, to stop her speaking out, to stop her bringing more ‘shame’ to her family’s name. She agreed because it was the only way she could earn her freedom, the only way she could survive and have a life of her own, as alone and painful as it would be. It would at least be hers; she could then try to salvage something of herself.

And she got it.

Because she was quiet. Because she was clever. Because she understood what it meant to be a Ward, even if she never was one.

And now she never would be.

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info page

2018-07-11T21:27:25Z

untouchable.

go to bed on your own; wake each day with these thoughts.

THE BASICS

NAME: Justine Emily Ward.
NICKNAMES: N/A.
AGE: 25.
DATE OF BIRTH: 10th May.

MARITAL STATUS: Single.
SEXUALITY: Complicated.

OCCUPATION: Writer / Book Collector.
HOMETOWN: New York.
CURRENT RESIDENCE: --
PARENTS: Alive, estranged.
SIBLINGS: One brother, estranged.

QUIRKS: Stammering, varying speech speeds, looking down and avoiding eye contact.
LIKES: Reading, tea, woollen garments, spending time in bookstores, collecting books, writing.
DISLIKES: Most social situations, and while not a open dislike, she struggles with extroverts and physical contact.

RELATIONSHIPS

AILMENTS

MENTAL

☄ Anxiety - anxious about physical contact, social contact, being percieved as impolite.
☄ Phobias - enclosed spaces with others, public transport, crowds.
☄ Hoarding - has some hoarding tendencies in the form of collecting books.
☄ Low Self-Esteem.

PHYSICAL

☄ Countless cold and flu infections.
☄ Bouts of extreme nausea, fevers and vomiting.
☄ Exhaustion, malaise and weakness.
☄ Migraines and nosebleeds.

OOC INFO

NAME: cheryl
AGE: 30
PLURK: @heolstor.plurk.com
TIME ZONE: London GMT

PERSONALITY

While appearing docile due to various medications, Justine is very well read and has learnt to read several languages. Her greatest asset is her intelligence. Some of her favourite books, she can quote large chunks off the top of her head. She knows a great deal about the world of literature, but is overall quite knowledgeable.
Justine is not a social creature. She’s very anxious in most social situations. Her Calling is mostly the blame for that, as well as her upbringing. She struggles to make friends because she doesn’t really know how to deal with people. She knows to be polite, to be considerate, but that’s pretty much all she can do.
Brought up without much affection from her parents, she’s become very self-conscious, especially with her Calling which comes in the form of her fearing to be touched. So much so that she bundles herself up in various layers of clothing to avoid it and keeping a safe distance. She doesn’t do well in vast crowds unless she’s sedated herself enough to do so. However, as desperately lonely as she is and as much as she thinks she can’t be, she craves to be touched. She craves it just as much as she’s terrified of herself.
Her self-esteem level's not that better either. She's spent much of her life being ignore by her family and whilst she was away at boarding school, she got the distinct message that she wasn't important and that she wasn't meant to be shown affection or touched. She has an extremely low opinion of herself.

APPEARANCE

Justine is a frail, mousy looking thing, standing at around 5’ 2” in height. She constantly looks ill; her skin looks sallow and nearly has dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and poor health. Her dark eyes almost look watery or glazed over, like she’s about to cry and she nearly always has a rather sleepy look about her. Her hair’s a dark blonde / light brownish shade and wavy but a little lacking in lustre, which she normally wears down.
She wraps herself up in several layers of clothing, which hides the fact of how under-weight she is. Her clothes are usually in neutral shades and she particularly likes to wear comfortable clothing, particularly thick woollen jumpers.
Her wings, which she rarely has out, are small, and have the same colourings and markings of that of a common Sparrow.

ABILITIES

☄ Has the ability to create and infect others with diseases, with a focus on physical illnesses that affect the circulatory, respiratory and digestion systems. When not actively using her abilities, she passively radiates cold and flu viruses.

☄ Slowed aging and extended lifespan. Justine has already reached full maturity and can potentially live up until the age of 500 years old or so. Due to the nature of her Calling, it is likely she will die much sooner than this. While she is twenty-five years old, she is beginning to appear older than this and looks to be in her late twenties/early thirties.

☄ Stronger and faster than humans but among the weakest of demons physically. This is amplified when she has her wings out, which as usually remain hidden.

☄ Hotter body temperature than humans and has a faster heartbeat compared to humans. Her blood, when spilt, is oily black in colour.

☄ Able to recognise the 'species' of others with wings out in very general terms: angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, supernaturals and humans. anything else comes off as 'something different'.

LINKS

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visuals
fic
cr chart

ABOUT

Justine's homeworld is a modern au in which supernatural beings exist within society amongst humans: demons, angels, werewolves, vampires and supernatural humans. Justine is a Poludnica demon, a demon who creates sickness within their body to infect others. She has grown a speciality in physical illness, specifically those that affect the circulatory, respiratory and digestion systems. She has the potential to create diseases of her own, starting pandemics - but doing so would ultimately kill her in the process. Because of the toll of giving others diseases and the specific Calling itself, Justine often looks and is sickly herself.

cw: child abuse/child neglect; institutionalisation; institutional-related abuse
Justine was born to a wealthy, powerful demon family. Her grandfather, Simeon, is a Neqa'el - a leader amongst demons - and worked hard to produce a large family of influencers: Glaysa Labolas, those with the ability to control emotions and Temeluchus, those who can control fear. With the exception of a small group of the family being Rakshasa - the family enforcers - all other Callings were considered lesser and undesirable. So called 'undesirables' are either killed or sent off to institutions in hopes they die young. Reputation meant everything.

Always a sickly child, she grew up without affection from her parents - brought up by nannies and eventually sent to a boarding school. Her father was distant, haunted by the loss of his first family, while her ambitious and self-centred mother saw Justine and her brother Maximilian as little more than pawns to help raise her own social standing. They'd be married off to other demon families, having no say in their own lives. Her mother was often verbally abusive to her - because she was so sickly, because she was so nervous, and her tendency to shrink away was seen as an insult against her mother — who was so desperately obsessed with her social standing within the family. Maximilian was at least some comfort to her and they had a good relationship until he came of age and became more involved with family business. Despite her poor health, she was an incredibly bright child - something of a prodigy with her knowledge and natural acquisition of languages.

When Justine turned sixteen and became a Poludnica, it seemed set on what her future would be. No arranged marriage, no possibility of pursuing her own interests. Under the guise of a party thrown to celebrate her getting her wings, Justine's family met to decide what they'd do with her. Brought before her grandfather, he threw out the rest of the family to talk to her alone. But even the hardest of old demons could be softened by the sight of his frightened youngest grandchild, named for his long dead wife. Simeon was a leader of demons, but he wasn't completely heartless. Desperate for her own freedom, hoping for mercy, she made a deal: she would agree to being sent to an institution without fuss and would remain there. If she survived to the age of maturity, she would be allowed to leave. She would then completely cut herself off from her family, essentially writing herself off as dead. This would mean the family would no longer pay for her expensive keep and would no longer have an undesirable within their family. Reputation after all meant everything, she reminded him. Impressed by his little granddaughter's cleverness, her grandfather agreed to the terms, even allowing a small amount to be paid to her after she left the institution. It was almost refreshing to see a young demon try to bargain for herself like that.

Blackhall was a hospital facility for supernatural families with more money than sense, where they could dump their children struggling with their Callings. It was largely for the demon population and a vast majority of Poludnicas, Afreets and Behemoths were sent there. There's no affection here either: patients would be locked up in rooms alone, contained and 'safe'. They'd often face harsh regimes: force-feeding or restraints and wouldn't be allowed interaction with others. But Justine had been lonely for a long time, she had already lived under her mother's abuse and while her two years broke what was left of her spirit, she survived. She didn't die as she thought and her family hoped she would.

To her credit, her Calling didn't kill her. Nor did Blackhall. On her eighteenth birthday, she signed herself out, as agreed, and walked away from her family for good. It wasn't easy, though. She tried to secretly write to her brother after her release but the replies became few and far between before they stopped altogether - Maximilian was lost to her.

Now she looks after herself, living an isolated life. She still struggles with her health and her Calling but she tries to find some small pieces of happiness in what's been a isolated and unloved life. She collects books and spends her time reading and writing, mostly about her time in Blackhall.

Layout by ~Tessisamess

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[fic] here by the road i loiter, how idle and alone.

2017-05-18T22:36:17Z

"when the lad for longing sighs,
mute and dull of cheer and pale,
if at death's own door he lies,
maiden, you can heal his ail."

Nights were the hardest. On the first night she never once looked at him, too absorbed in her own sorrow. She sat, trembling and waiting in anticipation to leave this world again, to get home again. But as the night went on, she found herself growing tired and she turned away from him to sleep. As the fire began to die, he could hear her gently crying before she fell still.

On the second night, she sat with her knees pulled up to her chin, gazing into the fire with watery eyes. She spoke little, still lost in her solemn melancholy, picking half-heartedly at her food. Nothing he said would rouse her from it. She answered his questions with one or two words, sometimes with no words at all but with hums and shakes. After a while he gave up and sat watching her across the flames. She was a sorry little thing; filthy and exhausted from wandering the woods with him for the last two days. She was not made for it. Something similar to pity flooded him and it was a feeling that sat uncomfortably in his chest.

On the third night, she began to read. She seemed to be in a better mood; held herself a little less tightly. He had found her a small hot spring for her to bathe in and the warm water had seemingly revitalised her. She didn’t seem to mind sitting in half-damp but clean clothes, her hair falling in tangled waves. He was sure she’d even seen a small smile at her lips.

Pulling a book from her bag, she huddled close to the flames to read by their light, her face close to the pages as if determined to drink in each word. He watched her, curious to know what she read, remembering the old man: Peasants are ignorant people, they do not read and write like you and I. She was no peasant, she was not ignorant. Yet she was frightened by him, or by perhaps something else. Perhaps the home she was lost from.

She read quickly, worrying her thumbnail between her teeth. The gentle passing of pages breaking the silence and it wasn’t long before she looked up, not quite reaching his gaze but realising he was watching her. She looked uncomfortable for a moment as if she had done something wrong – shifting sheepishly like a scolded child. Without a word, she reached for her bag and produced a second book. Cautiously, she stood and moved towards him, holding the book out in a trembling hand. She smiled encouragingly and he took it from her. The book was old, a paper cover coloured by time showing a pensive man sat atop a hill, surrounded by countryside. Poetry. A collection by Housman. He said nothing as she sat back down and continued reading, not looking up again.

He started reading, drinking in the idyllic images and found himself moved by the wistfulness and pessimism. Once or twice, he would look up at her, confused. Why had she given him this? What sadness lay in her to read such morbid poetry? What a strange creature she was.

On the fourth night, she had finished her books and sat once more gazing into the flames. When she had no more books to offer him, he asked her for a story of her own. He had none to give her; none that he found would bring her cheer. He could tell her of the old man and his son and his wife, how he learned to read and write and speak; how he’d aided them with their farm. But he couldn’t bear to recount how in the end, he’d been driven away – left with rage and hatred in his stomach.

Hesitantly, she spoke of a city named Chicago and how she’d moved there when she had turned eighteen. She spoke of her home, filled with books from the floor to the ceiling and how she spent her days reading in an old, comfortable chair, warmed by the sun. She told him of people she met there in the city, both cruel and kind.

Something changed in her expression when she spoke of a strange creature that would visit her: a man and yet not a man at all. She didn’t know his real name but she referred to him by the name ‘Cromwell’. How he fed upon words, stole her words from her dreams to survive. He did not understand how such a creature existed, one that never ate or drank and yet devoured words, her words, to survive. A creature that travelled through stone and closed doors with ease; that brought her gifts of books and paper to write on. And even though he was gone, lost – she hoped he would one day find her again.

She seemed to glow; rising from her sadness, coming alive at the very mention of him. A warming in her chest, something fond and loving and... perhaps it was love. He watched her curiously, internally fascinated and yet a pang of something else settled inside him. Something coarse and bitter. It reminded him of his dream, of his own longing and how wished for someone to speak of him as she spoke of this Cromwell. Perhaps her heart belonged to them but still, she had been kind to him. She had not run or screamed or thrown stones at him. She had been like the old man De Lacey and perhaps the hearts of men were full of brotherly love and charity after all.

Or with this girl, at least. It was enough for him.

On the fifth night, he presented her with a gift wrapped in cloth. He’d left her alone for a time before dawn and headed towards a small town, looking to pilfer something for her. Sitting down across the fire from her and he found himself unable to remain still, eagerly waiting for her to unwrap it. Her hands shook, moving slowly to uncover the gift. Something unrecognisable flickered over her face, something soft and sad and joyful all at once.

A book.

A slow, small smile spread across her lips. She took a breath, shaky and quick. The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser. Her fingers traced the leather, ghosting over the engraved letters. “It’s... perfect.” She whispered, “Thank you.”

The smile lit up her face and he enjoyed the sight of it, a simple pleasure. It was short-lived as she got up from where she sat and carefully made her way towards him. She had wondered if this was something she should do. Fear wracked at her insides, a voice in the back of her mind telling him not to do, not to touch him. But in the days she’d spent with him, she’d found he’d never once sniffled or sneezed like those she knew, the warning signs that she had infected someone with the flu without meaning to. Perhaps he couldn’t get sick. Perhaps she was learning to control herself when it came to accidentally radiating illness. But she wanted to. He’d been kind and she knew how his life would go, she knew what would become of him one day. She wanted to.

And then, underneath it all, she craved it. That simple human contact with another person; proof she wasn’t untouchable, that she wouldn’t hurt everyone.

She knelt beside him, her arms reaching for him. He flinched away from her and she paused, hushing him, assuring him. He was hesitant, unsure of what she intended to do but she remained still, calmly waiting for him. Finally, he gave in, moving himself back towards her and waiting obediently until she moved again. Without a word, she leant forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and gently pulling him close.

He shook, realisation slowly dawning on him with such a violent, ragged gasp. His movements shaky and jerking, he moved his arms around her to return the embrace. He was gentle, as if frightened to hold her too tightly as much as he wanted to. Would she break if he did? She was so small, fragile. Would she grow scared? Run from him, thinking he meant to hurt her? He wanted nothing more than to cling to her, cherish this moment for the rest of his days.

He made a sound, something sorrowful and pitiful but also of elation. There were no words for this, nothing he could say to express the feelings bubbling inside him. He was reminded of the kindness De Lacey had shown him but this... this was different. He could feel her heart fluttering, beating too quickly to be human, in her chest, her pulse racing but she was calm, unaffected as she held him. He found it strange, how quick it felt but he understood that perhaps this was how it always beat.

She didn’t dare breathe. It was as if a great weight had lifted from her shoulders. One she felt when Abby hugged her or Gabriel held her hand. Acceptance and relief but above all, she was safe to do so, to act upon everything she craved for so long. But there was something bittersweet in it all and she didn’t want to say anything, she didn’t want to ruin it. She wanted him to enjoy this for what it was, an act of thankfulness, of kindness. She understood his reaction, she knew his future.

This was important.

“P-promise me something...” She murmured. “Remember... remember this.”

She pulled in a breath, “One day, I... I might have to leave... you.”

Her words hit him harder than any stone, struck a blow more painful than any stick. Leave? Curse the portal that brought her here, surely it would never snatch her away again – not after all this time. Here he had found a small, strange creature, one that showed him kindness. She couldn’t leave, she couldn’t.

He made a strange sound, held her a little tighter. “No, no you mustn’t.” He whined, “Why? Why leave? Why leave me?”

“Because... because one d-day, the Rift... it... it might take me back.” She explained, feeling a slight sting in her eyes. “B-because... as much as I ration my medications... they’ll run out. I don’t... I don’t know if I’ll... last.”

And silently, to herself, because I am not part of this story.

“So... so please.” She continued. “Remember this. Please.”

And desperately, she hoped he would.

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app for as wip

2016-05-14T23:00:17Z

Player Information

Name/Alias:

Personal Journal:

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Please put *I am 18+ years old* to confirm you are of minimum game age.

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Character Information

Character Name: Justine Ward.

Canon: Beyond The Rift Native.

Canon Point: Post Endgame.

Character Journal:

Appearance: Justine is a frail, mousy looking thing, standing at around 5’ 2” in height. She constantly looks ill; her skin looks sallow and nearly has dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and poor health. Her dark eyes almost look watery or glazed over, like she’s about to cry and she nearly always has a rather sleepy look about her. Her hair’s a dark blonde / light brownish shade and wavy but a little lacking in lustre, which she normally wears down.

She wraps herself up in several layers of clothing, which hides the fact of how under-weight she is. Her clothes are usually in neutral shades and she particularly likes to wear comfortable clothing, particularly thick woollen jumpers.

Her wings, which she rarely has out, are small (roughly standing at 3ft at full wingspan), and have the same colourings and markings of that of a common Sparrow.

Age: 23. 10^th May 1993.

History: Justine was born to a rich, powerful family of demons in New York. Old money. If her parents could get away with it, they wouldn’t have had children at all. But children meant connections. Her parents were socialites, vain, especially her mother. She clearly ruled the roost, her father out of the country for most of the year.

Justine was a sickly child to begin with, which her mother sneered at. Children were not meant to be ill, needy little things in her eyes. They were her social tools. They’d befriend others at her wish; they’d look perfect and be silent. Which is just what happened to Justine throughout most of her childhood: children were brought for her to play with and befriend and then they’d be gone when their families fell out of favour with her parents.

She had no real friends, children were in and out her life too quick for her to become friends with; her parents showed her little love when they did see her. The closest person to her was her brother, who was several years older than her. Justine’s social skills developed poorly because of it. Even her tutor’s etiquette lessons didn’t work. She was a shy, sickly child and was shut away.

When her sixteenth birthday came and went, she got her wings and became a Poludnica. Justine’s health got worse; her anxieties making her lose control of her Calling often. Her mother was a mix of outrage and ashamed. She couldn’t live with a demon of disease in her home. Her daughter’s Calling had seemed to taken a shine to diseases which blistered and sored the body. Justine was shut away even more, an unsightly disease-ridden mess, until her mother decided to send her away.

She was sent to a boarding school – mostly for Poludnicas like herself from all over the country. The school was small, but the damage was already done, and Justine struggled to build friendships. She spent her days fed various medications and sedatives to keep her Calling at bay and busied herself with her studies.

Always a bright girl, Justine had been a keen reader. What her tutors didn’t teach her, she taught herself. She learned to read several languages over the years and built up a small library’s worth of books. Books were her one escape; they were the one thing that made her forget about her Calling, about her family that rarely contacted her, about how lonely she felt.

She left boarding school and moved to Chicago, feeling it would be better to be around more people like her (if she could find them). She lives alone, estranged from her family, in a small apartment with books stacked from floor to ceiling. Her days are normally spent inside with those books. Her brother sends her checks to live off, but rarely writes, and never leaves a return address.

Recently, she’s started to befriend a few members of a certain Angel crime-family (not that she knows this) and is trying to build some kind of life for herself, but it’s hard work and she’s taking baby steps to do so.

Personality: Justine may appear a little slow at times, but she has a particularly sharp mind. She’s very well read and has learnt to read and speak several languages. Some of her favourite books, she can quote large chunks off the top of her head. She knows a great deal about the world of literature, but is overall quite knowledgeable. Her medicines keep her doped up a lot, and sadly, for most of the time, it’s all hidden away.

Justine is not a social creature. She’s very anxious in most social situations. Her Calling is mostly the blame for that, as well as her upbringing. She struggles to make friends because she doesn’t really know how to deal with people. She knows to be polite, to be considerate, but that’s pretty much all she can do. She’ll be the sort to stand hunched up, waiting for everything to be over without a hitch. Her medications and her time in Chicago has helped to be better at this but she still remains a very withdrawn and shy person.

Brought up without much affection from her parents, she’s become very self-conscious, especially with her Calling. Saying that, she’s not vain in the slightest, a stark contrast to her mother. She doesn’t care much for her appearance or if she’s walking down the street looking like death warmed up. Her self-consciousness comes in the form of her fearing to be touched, so much that she bundles herself up in various layers of clothing. The only exceptions she allowed herself was Abby and Gabe – being angels and less susceptible to falling ill thanks to her Calling – and the strange man she knows as Cromwell, who is never affected by something so trivial as ill health. Humans, she knows, are so fragile and she’s terrified of making someone sick. She doesn’t do well in vast crowds unless she’s sedated herself enough to do so. However, as desperately lonely as she is and as much as she thinks she can’t be, she craves to be touched. She craves it just as much as she’s terrified of herself.

Her self-esteem level's not that better either. She's spent much of her life being ignored by her family and whilst she was away at boarding school, she got the distinct message that she wasn't important and that she wasn't meant to be shown affection or touched. She has an extremely low opinion of herself and it has caused her relationships around her to suffer for it.

Her emotions are very much kept locked away with the exception of fear and anxiety. She’s capable of kindness, though. Even if she doesn’t know how to show it. She’s a little bit of a dreamer, too. She’s read so much; she’s often lost in the fantasy worlds even if she doesn’t have a book in her hands (which is rare). It gives her a little rose-tinted view on the world and what happens to her in life. She’s not stupid of the real world and how cruel and unfair it can be, just sometimes it seems better to see it through those lenses. It makes her life easier, makes it hurt less.

She believes in fairy tales and she believes that one day she’ll get her happy ending.

Powers/Special Abilities: As a Poludnica, Justine has the power (her Calling) to control disease. She can create sickness within herself which she can then spread to others. This ‘gift’ comes at a price, though. To use her Calling, the sickness she creates in turn makes her incredibly sick – she tends not to use her powers when she can help it, but as someone inexperienced as she is, the need to create sickness is something she will inevitably give into. She has gotten slightly better when it comes to control but she still usually radiates a flu virus and anyone non-superhuman who spends a significant time directly around her will end up with a particularly nasty cold.

As a demon, Justine is faster and stronger than humans. She has a pair of small wings of around 3ft in wingspan with the colourings of a common sparrow that she can ‘let out’ Her blood, when spilt, is black and slick like oil. She is hot to the touch and her heart-rate is significantly higher than humans. She can also hold her breath for up to half an hour and if she is lucky, can live up to 900 years old. She can still be killed as easily as humans, though. Her skin is as fragile as paper, like any other human.

River Power: Omnilingualism – the ability to understand, read and speak all languages.

Reason for Character Choice: Everyone has a reason to play their favorite characters, what's yours? What about your chosen muse calls to you? Why are you choosing to play them here? This doesn't have to be long, there is no minimum. We're just nosy.

Additional Information: Anything else we should know? You can leave this blank if no.

Writing Samples

First-Person Transmission Sample: This network sample should be written directly from the characters point-of-view. This may address and individual or group. You may use a previously created sample or a log excerpt from another game. (Minimum of five lines). In game your muse can choose to post via video, voice, or text as they like and the same applies for the application! Whatever suits your character or would be the way of communication is acceptable.

Third-Person Log Sample: When she left Chicago, Justine chose to go with Gabe and Abby. Her own family has disowned her, wanted nothing more to do with her; so she emptied her bank account and left with the twins and their family. She didn't get to see him before she left, and she hurt for it. She didn't even know how this would affect him, if he would slip out of the universe unscathed or fall with it. She thought about him often, even dreamed of him. It was all she could do. Part of her believed she'd never see him again. She mourned that. Months passed, she never saw him. And she thought, now, it was all over. She had lost him forever. Years passed, he became a silent story in the back of her mind, never forgotten.

The warmer weather here is better for her health. Having Abby close by also helps keep her Calling at bay. She feels better these days but it's not always a done thing. Her bed-side is always littered with medicine bottles; an oxygen canister sits in the corner by the bed. She made it to twenty-two, she'll live to see twenty-three - but the future for her is always uncertain. Her Calling gets easier with age, she finds. She's lucky.

She's home late, back from the library, lost in pages of books until the security guard gently reminded her that it was time to go home. Abby and Gabe are out, although Justine never seems to mind. She likes having the house to herself. She prefers the silence. She shrugs off her coat in the dark, hangs it up, heads toward her room.

It's the smell of the tea she notices first when she opens her bedroom door. So used to the scent of paper, old leather and illness - it's a strange to find it. She freezes, doesn't reach to turn on the light. Her breath flutters in her throat, she feels oddly calm. Silently, she crosses the room to her desk, fumbles for her desk light.

The low light brings the tea into view, still warm, as if it were freshly made. She stops breathing then, holding her breath, not uttering a single sound. Some small part of her knows. She doesn't know what to think. The word comes out, a nothing more than a whisper. "Cromwell."

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Threadlist

2013-06-04T18:41:05Z

Beyond The Rift

29/09/12: In which Justine discovers Kashtta's library - with Gabriel Eddings
20/10/12: In which Justine is back at the library - with Maxwell Davis
18/11/12: In which Justine goes to the Twins' birthday party - with Gabriel and Abby Eddings
03/12/12: In which Justine is making snow angels - with Ben Casey, Tessa Legare and Helen Magnus
29/12/12: In which Justine finds a flirty Gabe - with Gabriel Eddings
26/01/13: In which Justine knocks over all the coffee - with Phil Coulson
26/01/13: In which Justine meets a cat who is THE Sherlock Holmes - with Sherlock Holmes
13/03/13: In which Justine is worried about Mr. Coulson - with Phil Coulson
13/03/13: In which Justine finds a Helen - with Helen Magnus
14/04/13: In which Justine and Maxwell end up in Frankenstein - with Maxwell Davis
22/04/13: In which bb!Justine meets a bb!Jonathan - with Jonathan Crane
16/05/13: In which Justine gets affected with Birthday Shenanigans - with Tony Stark
04/06/13: In which Justine finds a blue box in her apartment - with The Doctor

Something Kind Of Trashy

27/02/12: Six Word Prayers - with The Word Eater
27/02/12: Six Word Prayers - with Sherlock Holmes
02/05/13: Six Word Prayers - with Del Eddings

The Only Sound

22/03/12: one day i know, i'll feel home again - with Gabriel and Del Eddings

PSLs

21/07/12: stirring up a storm in your mind - with The Word Eater
18/10/12: when you wake up, everything is gonna be fine - with The Word Eater

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CR Chart

2013-01-26T21:35:54Z

CR CHART。
( onlywaytolive )	Gabriel Eddings - Original "If we do get lost we'll find out way out eventually. At least we'd be lost in good company."

( handswillwork )	Abby Eddings - Original "..."
( othered )	Maxwell Davis - Original "But it's good that people can still find kindness here."
( daredtobelieve )	Helen Magnus - Sanctuary "Call me whatever makes you comfortable, then, dear."
( frillyapron )	Tessa Legare - Original "..."
( matchmaking )	Ben Casey - Original "It's her loss, you know. I mean sure, I've only known you for like ten or fifteen minutes, give or take, but you seem really nice, so it's her loss."
( preferstotext )	Sherlock Holmes - Sherlock "..."
( earpiece )	Phil Coulson - MCU "..."
( NAME. )	WHEN WE SAY GOODBYE. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit, sed diam nonummy nibh euismod tincidunt ut laoreet dolore magna aliquam erat volutpat. Ut wisi enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exerci tation ullamcorper suscipit lobortis nisl ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis autem vel eum iriure dolor in hendrerit in vulputate velit esse molestie consequat, vel illum dolore eu feugiat nulla facilisis at vero eros et accumsan et iusto odio dignissim qui blandit praesent luptatum zzril delenit augue duis dolore te feugait nulla facilisi.
( NAME. )	WHEN WE SAY GOODBYE. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit, sed diam nonummy nibh euismod tincidunt ut laoreet dolore magna aliquam erat volutpat. Ut wisi enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exerci tation ullamcorper suscipit lobortis nisl ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis autem vel eum iriure dolor in hendrerit in vulputate velit esse molestie consequat, vel illum dolore eu feugiat nulla facilisis at vero eros et accumsan et iusto odio dignissim qui blandit praesent luptatum zzril delenit augue duis dolore te feugait nulla facilisi.

link. link. link. credit.

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[fic] my love's an iron ball.

2012-12-31T01:34:54Z

He flits in and out her life; silently, like a shadow.

She’ll turn around and he’s there. She could be washing dishes and feel him press against her, be up screaming and throwing up in bed on a bad night and notice him place a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Usually she’s curled up in the corner of the room, lost in piles of books, and look up to discover him watching with a small smile, a new pile of books in his hands.

He only stays as long as she’d like him to. As the time passes, she wants him to stay forever, but she knows deep down, that he can’t exactly do that. Still, she’ll take any moment of his company he gives her.

And in time, Justine is quite sure she loves him. She’s never been in love before and she doesn’t know how to describe it, but she’s pretty sure that’s what it is.

She whispers it to him one night as they sit quietly amongst the books. She’s having trouble breathing and her forehead feels like it’s on fire, her Calling flaring up and warning to cause some trouble for the days ahead. But she says it, just three small, tiny words whispered into his arm.

He doesn’t reply, and she’s fine with that. She wanted to say it and she’d said it.

The next time she sees him, he wakes her up in the middle of the night. She feels finger brush around her jaw and she instantly knows it’s him. She can’t see him at first, which is normal, but there’s a muffled sound that confuses her. Pulling herself up in bed, she suddenly feels something cool pressed into her hands and a kiss placed on her forehead.

It’s something made out glass; smooth and circular. A jar. It hums and drums in her hands and she’s not entirely sure why and there’s a spark of wondrous fear in her heart.

“What.. what is it?” she breathes into the darkness.

Reaching for her bedside, she flicks on a lamp, filling the room with gentle light. He’s sat on the end of her bed, smiling at her. Without a word, he motions to the object in her hands.

Justine looks down and gasps.

A heart. An actual human heart. The sound she heard was it’s steady beat. She doesn’t know how it’s possible, how such a thing can be done. But she knows that not everyone has a friend who slips around the world as a shadow.

There’s a mix of emotions in her chest; she knows it’s an odd gift, but somewhere, deep down, it’s sweet and it makes her heart sing. It’s a very bold and deep gesture. And she thinks she understands it.

‘You told me you loved me.’ He writes. ‘This is my reply. I give you something much truer than words.’

Justine gazes at him, barely able to breathe. Without a word, she places the jar safely on her bedside and clambers out of bed. Taking only a few short strides, she reaches for him, buries her fingers in his hair, places little kisses on face. She can feel a swell of tears in her eyes, but just this once, she won’t cry.

“I’ll… I’ll keep it… forever.” She says after a few moments. “Like… a secret. Safe.. and well.”

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[OOC] Visuals

2012-11-07T15:45:11Z

( a silent heart ticking under the ground )

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[fic] Del/Justine - "so this is goodbye"

2012-10-16T15:23:17Z

It’s rare for a Poludinca demon to last for so long on Earth. Justine was lucky enough to last ten years from the day she got her wings. Her Calling had eaten away at her, and in the end, it got too much. She’d been in and out of hospital for the last few months with various kinds of organ failure and by now, the damage done was simply too much.

It was too intense for even the most experienced Angel of Healing to deal with and as much as Abby begged her to let her help, the demon would not allow her to end up killing herself over her. Gabe needed her, and she would not take away his sister.

After so many years of living in fear of herself and her sickness, she finally accepted and calmly waited for death.
It didn’t make things any easier, though. It certainly didn’t make things any easier for Del. As much as wanted to die, she didn’t want to hurt him. She had never wanted to hurt him.

He’d been her Guardian for seven years now, and it was something she would always be grateful for. He was the one person who was several things: he was her best friend, her big brother, sometimes her father, her carer, her protector. He’d stay when she begged him to leave, cheer her up when she felt sad or lonely, wiped her mouth when she threw up, gave her the little things she had been denied most of her life.

He was hers, she was his. Guardian and Ward.

And now she had to leave him.

She was sorry for that, she really was. She hated how she was going to hurt him, how she’d leave him and take a part of him with her when she did. She’d read enough about Guardian/Ward relationships and bonds, she knew what would happen to him. She knew it might kill him. She didn’t want to die and let that happen. She couldn’t.
But she couldn’t keep living anymore. Her body couldn’t do it any longer.

He hadn’t left her side for the last few days. He couldn’t physically bring himself to do so even when she wanted him to go home and rest. He looked exhausted; dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, his clothes and hair dishevelled.

And when she awoke to find him dozing off in the chair at her bedside, she didn’t have the heart to wake him.
She didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.

“Del.” His name came out like a gasp, her mouth dry and throat crackly.

He was awake in an instant, green eyes peering at her with concern. He smiled a little and leant forward in his chair, taking her hand.

“Hey, how you doing little lady?”

Justine tried to smile but it couldn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Could.. could you do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

She swallowed thickly, “Could you hold me? Just.. just for a little while.”

“’Course I can.”

Carefully, he got onto the bed with her and trying not to disturb any wires or equipment, pulled her close. Justine fell against him heavily, her eyes closing for a moment. She didn’t have long, she knew that.

“Thank you.” She breathed.

“You don’t need to thank me, I’m happy to.”

Justine moved her head a fraction, “No… not that.”

She was quiet for a while, trying to muster the energy to speak. Her throat didn’t want to cooperate, but she was going to say what she wanted to say.

“I wanted to thank you… for everything. For.. for being my Guardian. You’ve.. you’ve done… so much for me.” She swallows thickly again, feeling tears in her eyes. “You.. you made me happy.”

Del listened, his hold on her tightening a fraction. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want her to say goodbye – but he knew that’s what it was. And if she wanted to say it, he’d let her.

“I’m.. I’m sorry I have to leave you.” She said after a long pause.

“Don’t apologise, okay?” he told her gently. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m… I-I’m sorry, anyway.”

He pressed a kiss to her clammy brow and sighed. He didn’t know what to say to say to her. The words died in his throat and he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He was going to miss her. Not just as a Ward, but as a friend. He, Gabe and Abby had very much adopted her over the years. She was Eddings, even if they didn’t share the same blood.

“I don’t… want to say goodbye.”

Del looked at her, his brow rising slightly. “Then don’t. We won’t say goodbye, it means it’s not the end.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,”

There was a small pause.

“... I love you, Del.”

“Love you too, Jus.”

And after that, she said no more.

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[music] Justine's playlist player.

2012-09-30T16:53:04Z

justine ward

my skin by natalie merchant
'i've been treated so wrong, i've been treated so long,
as if i'm becoming untouchable.'

sound of silence bykina grannis
'but my words like silent raindrops fell,
and echoed in the wells of silence.'

sleepsong bybastille
'when you're out loneliness it crawls up in the ground,
it's what you feel but can't articulate out loud.'

easy bysaycet
'i left it all behind me,
my hands been torn away.'

i'm listening byjames newton howard
(instrumental)

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[BTR] Permissions Post

2012-09-29T00:45:26Z

Justine is Poludnica, a demon of disease. She ‘specializes’ in diseases that focus on blistering, blood-vomiting, feverish and generally unsightly things. The main thing is that what she creates is horrifying and plague-like, it destroys a person’s appearance. Another character will generally be slowly effected if around her for a period of time.

If you’re around her for a short while, your character might feel a little under the weather, any longer and they’re going to start getting really sick.

However, Justine’s the sort of demon who doesn’t like to use her Calling. She fights against it and will only end up using if she can no longer control it, or if she’s having a hard time with her meds and she’s panicked and edgy. She’s also still a baby, she’s still adjusting to her Calling, and controlling it isn’t easy. She might find herself using it without meaning to.

So, if you’re ever around her, I have these questions:

1. Is there anything that might make a character harder to infect or immune to disease? (Humans are easiest to infect, then Supernaturals and Wanderers, then demons, then angels. But, some Wanderers may be immune to diseases thanks to powers from their own world.)

2. If not, is it okay if your character gets sick?

I think that’s about it, actually. Thanks for taking the time to fill this out, everyone! <3

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Application for Beyond The Rift

2012-09-04T03:39:12Z

( oh write me a beacon so i know the way )

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[fanmix] 'sound of silence' - for Charley

2012-08-16T18:38:08Z

sound of silence
justine / word eater fanmix

( hello darkness, my old friend )

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[fic] Prompt: how frugal is the chariot that bears the human soul?

2012-03-23T20:09:46Z

It’s some time past seven in the morning. Weak morning light filters through the half-drawn curtains, blessing the room with much wanted and needed warmth.

Justine lies curled up on her bed, eyes half-open and unblinking. Her breathing swallow and uneven, her body shivering its way through another cold sweat. She can feel the nausea rising in her stomach, made worse by the half full bucket of festering bile at her bedside. How she keeps throwing up at this point is a mystery to her – the contents of her stomach have long since emptied.

It’s been another bad night. Sometimes the Calling just seeps through unexpectedly and the usual sickness she feels from it and it unleashes an almighty terror upon her.

She can hear whispers in her head: infect, kill, consume, destroy, kill, kill, kill… The demon begging to be let out, urging her to go out amongst the crowds: to infect, to make them all fall sick, to kill them with bloody coughing fits, searing fevers, blisters and boils.

Over the last three years, her body has become a cooking pot for diseases unknown to man. The things it creates have taken a high toll on her. She’s frail and some mornings she wakes up wanting death. Sometimes it’s just too much to keep on living. Body and mind too tired, too fragile to keep her standing.

Turning over, Justine faces another bookshelf. She reads the titles, never quite taking them in. Freud, Tolkien, Dahl, Nietzche, Shakespeare, Dickens. She’s read them all, some of them more than once. Stories and ideas to fill herself with, to expand herself with.

How could someone like her, someone who fills her mind with beautiful words, be resigned to live in this body? Nothing but sickness and silence and days without sleep. Nothing but loneliness and vomit and blood.

Sometimes it makes her cry. She could be so much more; she could be like the things she dreams about, like the characters in stories. Beautiful creations given heart and strength to stand with each day that passes. But instead she’s stuck with this broken body, drowning in disease.

Drawing in a haggard breath, Justine blinks the tears away. She looks to the window, to the light and wills herself to get up.

Today is another day.

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[fic] Prompt: words you cannot say.

2012-03-22T18:22:59Z

Justine reads. She reads and reads and she forgets to sleep and eat and sometimes it just makes her sick. Not the usual kind of sickness, though. Not the one that comes from her Calling. But something normal, the kind of sickness anyone will get when they’re just so run down.

And it’s not all bad. Despite the fact she runs herself down, she’s still happy. There’s probably not a time when she’s unhappy if she has a book in her lap, curled up on comfy, battered chair in her apartment. She sits by the window, warmed by the sunlight. And she’s happy. She has her stories, the words from long dead poets and writers and they speak to her. They give her hope, joy, sadness.

But most importantly, they give her words.

She can’t talk, not to anyone. She just can’t bring herself to do it and when she tries, it comes out in stutters and whispers. The years of being told she was worthless, an abomination, had broken her down. That she’ll never really be accepted by her family. That she should have stayed in the boarding school, because it was where she belonged – with the other outcasts. That she’ll spend the rest of her days unloved and medicated and unaccepted.

She’ll never be able to bring herself to tell her brother that she loves him. That she’s sorry for being who she is. That she misses her father and mother. She’ll never say how lonely she is. She’ll never say that she craves love; she craves people to be close to her. She needs human contact. She can’t be locked away in her apartment for the rest of her life.

It breaks her heart that she can’t say these things. Sometimes she feels fed up because she knows the words, she knows what she wants to say and she just can’t bring herself to speak them. She reads so much she knows a thousand ways to say them. She could speak them in another language, in the dead tongues, she knows them all and yet she still can’t do it.

And in the end, she tells herself that maybe she’s not read enough. That there’s still so much to read, to learn, to discover. There’s more than enough books out there, she just needs to find them.

So for now, Justine will keep on reading. Hoping one day it’ll be enough to finally say what she can’t.

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