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mickyschumacher · 8 months

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Hi!!! I just wanna say that I really love your writings!!! Their so good hehehe!! Can you do one a mick x wolff!reader?? Maybe one where toto sets them up cause he is tired of seeing them make heart eyes at each other and not making a move HHHH. Thank you lovie!!🤍

𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: love at times is shy and oblivious. like you and mick. but sometimes all you need is a father and a plan (with some backups!).

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 16+? (suggestive), fluff, poor humour as guaranteed, (loosely) based on the movie 'set it up', no sense of a motorhome ♡︎, mention of christian horner :(, possibly cringe, basically childhood friends to lovers trope, reader is lowkey a menace, confessions are made, toto in line for best dad award?, google translated german :0, a mess in general!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mick schumacher x wolff!fem!reader, joão felix x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: okay so i've been waiting for a good mick plot but nothing was coming to mind but this! this screams mick! thank you so much for your praise. hope i do them justice with this although the plot holes are there!!

𝐏.𝐒: i'm curious on how people envision themselves as wolff, horner, vettle readers, etc. if you're coloured like me, do you pretend to be adopted or from a previous relationship if it isn't specified? 😭 i mean the explanation has to be viable lmao. maybe you just don't imagine?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

There were certain values a Wolff had. Those that were just innate.

A Wolff, more often than not, was a leader, intelligent, charismatic, good-looking, and embedded with dad jokes. Additionally, when a Wolff wanted something, they would do whatever to get it. They didn't leave any leaf unturned, they made the rounds and the effort.

It didn't make sense. You had all of those values. Yet, every time you joined the Mercedes garage, your father, Toto, found himself questioning everything.

Take now for example. He was in the beloved Mercedes garage, sat next to the best reserve driver he had ever chosen, Mick.

Parents tend to be protective of their children before they're even born. And it only amplifies after they're born. From which strangers you meet, the roads you cross, the seatbelt you have to wear to the clothes you wear, the suspiciously high phone bill and your romantic endeavours. A father's protection for his little girl was a tad bit stronger than this, special in it's own way.

Toto would do anything to protect his children, especially his little girls. And if any guy was making moves on you, right in front of him, the 'dad' side of him was just waiting to come out.

But he could only do that if someone actually made a move on you. Sure there were other guys but the one sat right next to him did nothing but shyly follow you with his blue eyes and blush in your presence.

Mick was seriously frustrating Toto and his wife. The both of them had watched the German boy watch you with heart eyes ever since the both of you had first met at the Schumacher's house for dinner. You were young back then but hell, within five minutes everyone knew that Mick was a lovesick puppy.

Years had gone by with your friendship becoming stronger. Those same years involved Mick and you being stuck to each other as if you were hip-to-hip. You attended all his races and he supported you in all your academic achievements. And oblivious to you, somewhere along the road you had also become as lovesick as he was.

Toto didn't really realise how fed up he was. He didn't want to interfere. In fact, he wanted things between the both of you to happen naturally. But he just had happen to watch the entire hour and forty-five minutes of 'Set It Up' over your shoulder instead of doing his work and he just had to do something... hell, anything.

━━━━━━━━━━━

First things first... Toto couldn't put the both of you in an elevator. At least not yet. You knew each other while the two bosses in 'Set It Up' didn't, so it didn't make much sense. You probably would never even get to the topic of your feelings. Not without a physical icebreaker of sorts.

Toto needed someone and George Russell just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"George, my boy!" Toto chorused, beckoning the British driver towards him. He slung his arm over George's shoulder, bringing him closer to him. "Do you mind doing me a favour?"

George nodded without too much thought. "Yeah sure. What is it?"

"If you see Mick and Y/N go towards an elevator, stop them and tell Y/N that a guy asked for her number, uh, who was that footballer... ah yes, João Félix, him... he did ask her yesterday right?" Toto looked over at George.

"Uh, yeah. Before you dragged her away... listen, Toto, I'm not sure I can do what you asking me to. I thought none of us were going to mess with whatever's going on between them?"

"You're young, George. One day you'll realise what 'desperate times calls for desperate measures' means. So..." Toto trailed off, eagerly looking for an answer before spotting the hesitant expression on the British driver's face. "Can I pay you do the favour?"

George blankly looked at his boss. "I'm on your payroll, Toto. You already pay me. That also sounds like extortion and bribery."

Toto's eye twitched as an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. He stared at George heavily before giving in. "Fine. You'll be out before Lewis for this week's quali."

The corner of George's mouth teetered up, working to a small grin. "Extortion and bribery... it sounds cool," He said with a nonchalant shrug.

Toto shook his head to himself. "You can try and be less British, George. Just because your ancestors colonised doesn't mean you need to take the same behaviour," He patted his shoulder before leaving, feeling George's confused expression bore into the back of his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto was a great man. But today was one of those days where George really did question him. Part of him was praying that he didn't see you and Mick head to an elevator. The scenario was so specific that well... the probability was low.

There was no way he was going to see it happen. Not even 30 minutes after he had this conversation and he had just grabbed a coffee and was now heading to Alex...

But the peak of that blonde hair and the familiar shine of your signature glasses caught George's eye. Christ.

"How is that possible?" He muttered to himself, eyeing the both of you as you waited for the elevator to go up the Mercedes' motorhome.

First in quali. Come on, George. You got this!

"Hey guys," George greeted the both of you.

You and Mick turned to him and smiled. "Hey George. How's it going? Ready for practice?"

George nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah. Good, thanks. Uh, I was just wondering about yesterday... João? Since Toto dragged you away before you could do anything but he was just wondering if you would still consider giving him your number."

George pressed his lips, seeing Mick's eyes narrow from his peripheral vision. God how had the both of you not gotten together yet?

"I didn't know João asked you that?" Mick looked at you with questioning eyes.

You blinked, feeling your heart skip a beat slightly. You weren't sure why Mick's interest was to intriguing to you all of a sudden. You pursed your lips, looking to George. "Oh? I didn't know you knew João like that."

"I... don't. It's... Kika! Kika knows him... you know... Portugal things," He laughed awkwardly, giving a helpless shrug.

"Right..." You nodded slowly. "Uh, I don't know. I mean was considering it, I guess."

"You were?" George and Mick spluttered out in unison.

Your eyes widened at their reaction. "I mean, yeah... kinda?" You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly.

George could see the German driver's head racing a hundred miles per hour. It was time to get out of this mess.

"Okay, well, if you consider it, you could probably DM him on Instagram. Don't ask Kika!" George quickly said. "I mean... you know, she gets very excited to play cupid... anyways, I have to get back to Dudley, but let me know how it goes!"

You and Mick waved goodbye, heading onto the elevator after what felt like forever.

As the doors closed, you looked over at your thought-consumed best friend. "Penny for your thoughts, Mr Schumacher?" You humoured.

Mick briefly smiled before returning to his brooding state. He folded his arms, leaned on the wall of the elevator and stared at you.

Your mouth felt dry and yet you were drowning in your own saliva. There were certain things that weren't healthy for humans: too much sugar, high cholesterol foods, and apparently air-drying your hair. And then there was too much Mick.

The folded arms and his stupid shirt brought your eyes to the muscles you had so desperately been avoiding after Mick had started to work out even more in the past year.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of another topic of discussion.

In your pondering, Mick opened his mouth. "I don't think you should give João your number," He said, bringing his hands to his side, discreetly allowing the fabric of his shorts to soak up his clammy hands.

Your eyes flickered towards his face. You raised brow. "What? Why?" You asked, feeling an uneasy ache gnaw at your chest.

"I..." Mick started, "I mean what if he's a bad guy? You know... I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Your heart dropped. You felt like an deflating balloon: all blown up, only to be taken down. You mustered a soft smile. "I mean, you can't protect me forever Mick. What are you going to do? Vet the guy on the day of my wedding," You joked.

Mick frowned at your response. The image of you marrying someone that wasn't him was disheartening.

"I won't need to if you get married to someone you know," He shrugged. "You don't know João. You know me."

Oh?

Oh.

You almost did a double-take on your best friend. Did he know what words were falling from his lips. "So what? He's kinda cute. And a five-star FIFA player. I could take the risk. And eventually, I would know him... since that's how relationships work... communication and all," You defended the footballer.

Mick stared at you for a few seconds before blinking out of his short trance. "Right..." He said sharply, pushing himself off of the wall as the elevator opened. He struck out his arm, holding back the door. "You go on. I just remembered I need to talk to Toto."

You flickered your eyes to Mick, trying to read his face. "That's fine, we can go togeth–"

"No," Mick interjected, "it's... it's okay."

Upon the slight widening of your eyes and the startled expression lingering on your face, Mick's innate action was to internally wince. "I'll join you soon. Don't worry. I bring your favourite pastry on the way back, hmm?"

You nodded silently, taking a step out of the elevator and headed towards the lounge with a troubled feeling nagging at your head.

Had you struck a nerve?

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto couldn't tell what he had done wrong. You and Mick were fine this morning. But after he had told George to push things along between the both of you, a sense of distance radiated off of you.

And George still got out before Lewis for the first quali. Goddamn it.

When Toto raised an eyebrow at you after Mick had slightly brushed you off to talk to Bono, you simply shrugged helplessly.

That night Toto did not get a wink of sleep. Instead, he stared at this hotel ceiling with a twitching eye.

There was nothing he couldn't fix. Whatever was going on between you and Mick right now was just a small bump in the road.

The solution?

A baseball game.

Unfortunately for Toto, baseball wasn't that popular in Brazil. But that didn't mean they didn't do them.

The plan was going perfectly. Toto had offered a 'family day' and gotten you and Mick to join him and Susie to attend a local baseball match between some of university teams. Toto made sure you and Mick were sitting behind him so you had all the privacy you needed. As a dad, he shouldn't be that happy about kiss-cam, let alone bribing the camera operators with the help of Pierre and Kika. But he wanted peace and he was going to get it.

But nothing was easy in life. And Toto could not have predicted this in a million years.

As everyone waited for the game to start, Toto timidly turned his head. He caught the brown eyes of the five-star FIFA player. Giving him a hesitant smile, he averted his own eyes back to the field, cursing himself under his breath. "Scheiße," He muttered through his clenched teeth. Shit.

The tension in the air was thick, to say the least. You sat between João and Mick with blank expression.

João, who was in town for the F1 race, decided to stay back to support a friend in the match. Obviously.

When the footballer on your right extended his hand to Mick, you sucked in a sharp breath. You heavily eyed the firmest handshake you had seen in your life. Letting out a nervous laugh, you sat down before the gesture turned into hardcore glaring.

Still, there was the hope of this kiss-cam.

Toto waited with little patience, hearing João crack jokes in Portuguese that actually made you laugh while Mick took deeper breaths.

It felt like life itself had been poured into Toto once the kiss-cam started on the public. This mattered to him more than whoever was going to win this match.

Toto's face dropped as the camera fell on you.

Your mother pointed at the camera with a gleeful exclamation. Your eyes moved to the screen, widening when you saw yourself and the man next to you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Toto exasperated quietly.

You turned your head to the right, meeting the equally shocked brown eyes.

"In what way does he look like 'a blonde boy with the face of the greatest racer in F1 history'?" Toto said into his hands, shaking his head slowly.

Mick looked blankly at you and João on the screen before turning to you. He watched you shake your head softly, smiling awkwardly at the camera as the crowd urged you to kiss.

"Oh mein Gott," You murmured to yourself, eyes darting around in panic. Oh my God.

Suddenly, you felt Mick lean in, his fingers sliding under your chin and resting on your cheek. He turned your head slightly towards him.

Your eyes widened upon meeting his baby blues, feeling unnerving giddiness swarm you. You hoped your face screamed, "What are you doing?!"

All Mick did give a small smile, bringing his lips towards you.

Instinctively, your eyes closed, bracing yourself whatever was about to happen. All you could hope for was that this was all a dream of some sort. Maybe you fell asleep in the car?

You skin flushed at the feel of Mick's soft lips on your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, feeling him linger for a second longer before pulling back.

What on earth?

You weren't sure if you were breathing as you felt his hand move to your leg, covering your hand and giving it a small squeeze. You moved your eyes to the screen. Mick looked unbothered while the crowd erupted in cheers and boos. You, on the other hand, looked flushed.

And Toto?

The urge to run around with his hands flailing in the air was strong.

This was a home run, for crying out loud!

Whoever said jealousy was a disease... thank you!

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Liebling, du solltest jetzt rauskommen," Your mother said to you through the bathroom stall you had been hiding in for the past five minutes. Darling, you should come out now.

You winced as you banged your head against the wall of the stall. You sighed. "I don't think I can. Do you think you can convince the staff the bring a bed? Maybe some food?"

Your mother snorted. "What are you going to do? Live here?"

"Ja. War das nicht offensichtlich?" You retorted, eyes screwing themselves shut after replaying the kiss in your head for the umpteenth time. Yes. Was that not obvious?

Susie sighed, awkwardly smiling at a woman leaving the bathroom. "Y/N... it's Mick. You can't ignore him forever. How long do you think it will truly take for Mick and your father to storm in here after not seeing you for so long?"

You sighed at your mother's response. She was. As always.

The last thing you needed was a headline on ESPN: Toto Wolff and Mick Schumacher caught barging into a women's bathroom.

Christian would have a field day!

You shuddered at the thought.

Susie's ears perked up at your grumble as you fumbled with the lock of the stall. She sported an amused smile at the blank look you gave her.

Slinging an arm around you, she rubbed your shoulder. "Come on, liebling. You got this."

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Oh thank God!" Toto exclaimed after seeing you and your mother come out of the bathroom. "You took forever!"

You narrowed your eyes at your father, avoiding the lingering eyes of a certain German boy. "Maybe next time you shouldn't feed me a hotdog at a baseball game, right?" You pressed with a raised brow.

"Hmm?" Toto mended his brows before nodding profusely. "Right! Right! Yes... that was my bad. Poor thing... you know, Mick, with Y/N being sick and all, I think you should drop her to the hotel. Me and Susie still have a date to go on!"

You and your mother looked at Toto increduolously.

"We do?"

"You do?"

Toto nodded, grabbing your mother's hand. "Yes! Okay, see you two! Tschüss!" Bye!

With a jaw-dropping expression, you watched your parents leave with a twitching eye.

You heard Mick clear his throat.

Slowly, you turned around with a small smile. Fiddling with your fingers, "So..."

Mick rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a small tinge of pink dancing across his cheeks. "The hotel?" He asked, swinging his keys around the his index finger.

Silently, you both walked out of the stadium and towards the car park.

You furrowed your brows upon seeing the orange and pink laden sky. "What the heck? How is the sun already setting?"

"I mean... you were in there for a long time," Mick shrugged.

The crisp summer evening breeze glided past your flushed skin. Your body winced at the paining silence ensuing between the both of you. You let out a small exhale. "Uh, with the thing before–"

"Yeah?" Mick eagerly turned his body towards you, on edge.

You cleared your throat at the anxious expression Mick sported. "You sighed. "Uh, that was to like... save me, right? Aus Verlegenheit? Danke für das." From embarrassment? Thank you for that.

Mick mended his eyebrows. "Verlegenheit? No. I... that was so you didn't kiss João."

You laughed nervously. "Right! So I didn't have to kiss João."

"No. So you didn't kiss João. There's a difference," Mick pointed out, eyeing your expression carefully.

Your eyes widened at his suddenly soft gaze. You looked up at the sky, hoping the breeze would cool the wave of warmth swirling around you. "That's... that's what I said," You shrugged.

Mick stepped in front of you, forcing you to look at him instead of the sky. "Why do you do that?" Mick asked.

"Do what?" You responded.

"I mean... I–just why do you have such a hard time admitting that I like you?"

You wish you had something to say. Anything. But it was as if the ability to speak had been seized from your throat entirely.

"I mean I know I don't make it obvious. I just thought we had some sort of understanding... you know... the one without words?"

You looked up into his hopeful eyes. Entranced, you leaned in towards him. Your fingers danced across his cheek just the way he had done not so long ago. You watched his eyes close at the feel of your touch, making your heart thud against your chest.

Inching closer, your thumb gently swiped over his lips, feeling his faltering exhale warm the pad of your thumb. "So pretty," You whispered to yourself, eyeing his face.

Mick wasn't sure whether you were talking about him or his lips but he didn't care.

You shuddered, feeling Mick's hand slide around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

Without waiting a second longer, you pressed your lips to his.

Mick's lips were softer than you had imagined, warm to the touch. Your stomach churned upon feeling his fingers skate under the hem of your shirt, rubbing tingling circles on your hot skin.

You hear an unrecognisable breathy gasp fall from your lips. The hair on your body stood straight as goosebumps littered your skin. All because of Mick.

Mick took advantage of the moment, darting his tongue to explore your mouth. He groaned against your lips, pushing your hips even closer to him, feeling the hard outline of his bulge rub against your pelvis.

Fuck.

You were going to combust at this rate.

Mick trembled in your grasp as your hands wandered his taut torso, lingering closely to his v-line.

He pulled away with an indescribable urgency, staring at you with small pants falling from his lips. He held your face with his hand, thumb gliding across your swollen lips. "We can't–" He sighed out, voice hoarse, "No more. Please."

Your thighs clenched at his plea, eyes falling down to his prominent bulge. You were sure he was in a lot of pain right now. The sexual tension between you to had been pent up for years now.

Your tongue darted out, swiping over his thumb briefly before faintly sucking on it. You looked up at Mick. "You're right, we shouldn't," You nonchalantly told him.

Mick's blue eyes danced with a tortured pain, following your tongue carefully. "We... fuck, Y/N," He complained, feeling impossibly tight in his pants.

"We fuck? Direct much?" You teased, removing your lips from his thumb.

Mick stared at you, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "I was saying... we should do this properly. Not in some parking lot."

"Why not? Car sex is hot. Just imagine!" You urged, amused by the conflict in Mick's eyes.

Imagine he did.

You and him in his God forbidden Mercedes... him making sure every inch of his car was stained with you...

Mick sucked in a sharp breath. "Nope. Come on. Hotel."

You gasped humorously. "In a hotel? Mick Schumacher! Well I never!"

Before you knew it, Mick had whisked you into his arms and into his car, hoping he was not breaking Brazil's speed limits tonight.

#mickyschumacher #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher #formula 1

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anotheroceanid · 1 month

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One day Hera does something that causes her image of an ideal daughter to crack.

Perhaps she fails some important exam or her number in the competition does not get the first place. There is no perfect result that Hera could proudly present to her parents and receive their love and warmth.

But Jason still arrives to pick her up on time and she is afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes in her father's eyes.

But Jason is gentle and affectionate to her as usual - he sits down on his knees in front of her, gently takes her face in his palms and his golden gaze is full of love.

"You are my daughter" there is no tremor in his voice, during the days of their "dollhouse game" treating them like their own children has become something familiar and normal "I love you endlessly just for this fact, not for your achievements and victories, just for what you exist, you are my girl and Percy's girl, no matter what."

He hugs her and Hera still feels Daddy's love.

Hera being an overachiever eldest daughter is so real of her 😭 Like, she's been carrying this family on her back for aeons and she can't just let it go even when she's playing pretend.

If Jercy gets to have kids of “their own”, either adopting a baby or having a baby through divine interference or omegaverse or genderbend or whatever, that's really not the point here, the thing is: Jercy gets a baby. An actual mortal baby.

Oh, the six are drenching in jealousy. But it's not just that, suddenly Jason ain't the nicest dad who ever lived anymore, because trauma comes back to knock on the door and suddenly the big six is like this to Percy: YOU HAVE TO HIDE, YOU HAVE TO RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN, WE WILL PROTECT YOU NO MATTER WHAT, MAKE SURE HE’S WELL FED WHEN THE BABY ARRIVES.

Well, Jercy tries to talk them out of this paranoia. They have a lot of talking about how they do not treat cannibalism as a family dynamic, but the gods are not very convinced. Suddenly, poor Jason is being hissed at all the time.

Then, the baby arrives. Hey, cannibalism is really NOT a family dynamic in that family.

That was supposed to be the happy ending, right?

Nope. Now they hate the baby. Father obviously love them more than us.

Yeah… They’re competing with a baby. They call the baby “Rock” as an insult. In fact, Zeus ends up the one to antagonize the baby the least, because he also never went through the “being eaten by your father” experience, so now turns out he can sympathise with a sibling of his. He’s #1 older brother to the baby, it's actually cute.

It's not cute that the other five are jealous of it too. I mean, Heatia is mostly cool, but she's definitely sadder and quieter ever since the baby was born.

#percy is rhea’s lookalike #jason is kronos’ lookalike #jercy #hades #zeus #poseidon #hera #demeter #hestia #kronos #rhea #ask #percy jackson #jason grace

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loracarol · 1 year

Text

Some actual quotes from people running for school district in my area:

(Every indent is someone different.)

Teaching your kids via Zoom and keeping students out of the classroom due to Covid-19 concerns has harmed the students attending [location] schools. We must focus on teaching kids “How to think, not what to think”. [...] Many parents fear what could happen to their children while at school. We need to do more to secure [location] school campuses. As well as ensuring the safety of your kids from predators both in and out of the classrooms. We need a reporting system that allows for anonymity when inappropriate conduct is suspected. Along with policy of swift response and through investigation and accountability, that is transparent to the families involved.

Understandable in a vacuum, but I gotta say, I'm seeing a lot of dog whistles in this one. Do you mean actual predators, or....?

Our [location] schools and school board have lost their way. I’m an [state] public school kid, a parent of five public school children, a foster parent, and the husband of a public school teacher. I’m running for school board because I’m fed up with divisive politics replacing real educational success. [...] Teach the Basics. Classrooms are not the place for political activists to force divisive ideological and extreme sexual viewpoints on our kids. [...] Return School Resource Officers. The safety, security, and well-being of our students and teachers have been sacrificed. Bring back the blue in our high schools.

Yikes.

Our schools in [Location] have been filled with political agendas. Our first responsibility is to EDUCATE our children and prepare them for the future. Any ideology that interferes with that primary goal must be eliminated from our schools. Our new Board must be more cohesive and focused on the STUDENTS. Parents will be considered core partners on the next [Location] School Board. OUR SCHOOLS WILL BE SAFE. After the murder of George Floyd our children were caught in the “defund the police” movement. Safety Resource Officers were removed by the Board and left our children vulnerable to threats from on and off campus. The next Board will be willing partners with the [City] Police Department and SRO’s will be returned to our schools

Did I already say yikes?

Yikes.

School districts should reflect the values of the families they serve. [...] Furthermore, I have concerns about some adoptions being made to the curriculum in our public schools. Students deserve to be taught in a politically neutral environment, political agendas aside.

Might be nothing, but I'm #sus.

As a Young Life Leader, I mentor kids on a regular basis. I have witnessed firsthand the positive impact that adults who partner with parents have on these young people. These young individuals thrive when the leader partners with the parents and everyone works together as a team. That is why I will always encourage and support parental rights in the school. As a father to three, I understand God given rights and the importance of parent involvement in their child’s education. I am a firm believer that it is the parents that know what is best for their child and I will provide transparency, open communication, and a collaborative environment for all involved.

So uh. When you talk about transparency, are you talking about outing kids or...?

There is something wrong that while the rest of the state’s school districts were pulling back on masking, our Superintendent proposed increasing masking and it took a gym of upset people to stop it

... Maybe the other school districts were wrong.

Parents have the fundamental right to be the principal decision maker in their children's education

In theory, I get where you're coming from. In practice I don't trust you.

While other districts have removed School Resource Officers (trained law enforcement) from their schools, I will work to shore up this program. In addition, we must make our students’ mental health a priority

Nothing helps kids' mental health more than cops in schools. :D

Anyway

The point I'm trying to make is this:

Please vote even when it's not a presidential year Thank you

#politics #elections #ballots

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prayer-experience · 2 years

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Wed. 07-20-22

God/Family: I added to my vocabulary-list page here on Tumblr the word kaaitaku. I felt the Spirit bring to remembrance the beauty of this word and how we utilize the principles of charity, oneness, forgiveness and brotherly kindness and endearment as a standard practice to promote peace. The English translation for this word is fault but we've transcended the meaning of this word to become a tool of honest reconciliation through humility. Kaaitaku is a word that has to be felt deeply within the soul. It's a word that connects us back in the presence of our neighbor with the expected acceptance with deep reverence in return. The spirit reminded me that shinning a small light on my culture is remembering my ancestors. I was sharing a part of Gods light that our people have nourished and preserved through culture.

Home Life: Laundry/Garbage/Swept/ Cleared Couch: My fatigue only allows me to do things in short spurts for the time being. I have to take breaks. Most important thing I must change is to schedule meals properly. I am in need of fuel.

Relationship with the World: I was skimming poems through the poetry magazine issue of Feb 2021. I found one poem from a native Colorado titled, 'A Flower in the Burning Scar,' This was the only piece of work I found to be transcendent in all the submissions I skimmed through. The theme was on people's interpretation of imprisonment and there were many submissions that were published from inmates in various facilities as well. I noticed one thing that all the inmates shared in common as they expressed their realities in a very visual manner. In no doubt were these people intellectuals, but they couldn't see beyond what they saw at face value. Their minds dared not go beyond what they could visually sense before them and therefore became reactive and used their genius only to limit themselves even further. They couldn't imagine anything more than what was at surface value. They lacked one thing that is vital to freedom and that was their ability to imagine something greater than their present reality. Instead of using their creativities to build they used their creativities to scheme and react according to what they saw and how it made them feel. They played right into the game of their enemies who were waiting with their traps open. When we have enemies there are ways to outsmart the system through imagination. Imagination is an important component of Faith. It's a visionaries goldmine as they can see multiple possibilities and avenues from one thought alone. Children probably have the most freedom to imagine life and possible realities they can create even without the use of technology. When we run interference with a child's upbringing naturally violence and frustration will follow no matter the social class. Violence varies in degree and will tend to look different everywhere we go, but it is easy to spot because of it's unrelenting projection of fear. We all have this projection. We all have this fear. But without fear we cannot have true faith. Fear is like a rising tide that we can drown in or learn to surf in. It's a way to truly master the shadows that binds us. Joseph of Egypt was a wonderful example of triumphant self deliverance. He obtained this by total submission to God. There was no other choice but to believe or curse God and survive alone. God had great plans in store for Joseph and Joseph clung to hope and his testimony that he fed well during the times of his youth. He was also a visionary man that loved to dwell on the possibilities of what could be to the annoyance of his brothers who fairly did not share the experiences and special treatment Joseph recieved. His optimism of faith was his natural temperament but it got challenged during his slave years. What sustained him was his understanding of true doctrine. He had the opportunity to know God on a different level. His natural temperament helped and his training in managing his Father's affairs kicked into full gear. His belief in his visions secured him a spot to lead in the most unlikely place he ever imagined. He had great imagination's as a child. Surely life took a turn from a path he expected was meant to be his destiny to be a ruler over his brothers.

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“The mistaken claim that Amazons must have received their name because they were single-breasted was widely repeated by Greek and Roman writers, and every author thereafter is obliged to grapple with the paradoxical image. A fiction invented in the fifth century BC was behind the notion. This fake “fact” surfaced at least two centuries after the tribal name “Amazon” for an ethnic group of men and women was used by the Greeks (chapter 1). The historian Hellanikos of Lesbos (b. 490 BC) described Amazons as “a host of golden-shielded, silver-axed, man-loving, boy-killing females.” Then Hellanikos attempted to make their foreign name “Amazon” into a Greek word. The Greeks were fond of this sort of etymological exercise of forcing Greek meanings onto loanwords from other languages, based on similarities to sounds in Greek. The strong tendency of ancient writers to create and accept crude, “patently absurd” word derivations is well known.

In this case, Hellanikos maintained that Amazones must mean “breastless” or “lacking breast” because a- means “without” in Greek and mazos sounded to Greek ears a bit like mastos, the Greek word for “breast.” A rival folk etymology suggested that the name meant “without grain,” because maza was Greek for “barley.” The Scythian nomads were in fact meat-eaters, not vegetarians, but this dietary label was much too dull to compete with the lurid image of women who sacrificed their breasts to become warriors. Hellanikos’s false etymology demanded a story to explain the Amazon’s missing breast. Various dreadful scenarios were proposed for the method of this alleged self-mutilation, which was based solely on specious wordplay.

Airs, Waters, Places, a treatise attributed to the physician Hippocrates (fourth century BC), stated that Sarmatian women seared the right breast of baby girls with a red-hot bronze tool, so that the right arm would be stronger. The idea here was that the potential power of the breast would be displaced to the corresponding arm. It is physiologically true that handedness often corresponds to slightly larger hands and feet on the dominant side of the body, and that habitual exercise of one limb or hand can result in development of larger bones and musculature. (As noted in the previous chapter, bioarchaeological signs of right-handedness and larger finger bones among archers have been ob- served in the skeletal remains of warriors of both sexes in burial sites across Scythia.) Hellanikos and Hippocrates were contemporaries of Herodotus, our earliest and most accurate Greek source of detailed information about Sarmatians, Scythians, and Amazons based on his firsthand observations and interviews around the Black Sea in the fifth century BC.

Significantly, however, even though Herodotus describes many gruesome and extraordinary Scythian customs, he never mentions this self- inflicted breast deformity. Nevertheless, the idea took hold. Diodorus, Strabo, Pomponius Mela, Justin, and Orosius repeated the tale that Amazons used an iron tool to cauterize the breast at infancy or before pu- berty so that it would not hinder their use of the bow and spear. Pomponius Mela said that removal of the right breast made them “ready for action, able to withstand blows to the chest like men.” According to Apollodorus and Curtius, Amazons “pinched off” the right breast but retained the left for nursing their babies. Arrian described Amazons who came to join Alexander’s campaign in Persia (330 BC); to him, the right exposed breast appeared to be smaller than the covered left breast (see chapter 20).

We know that at least three later writers disagreed with the one-breast notion. John Tzetzes, the Byzantine commentator on Hellanikos, pointed out that the etymology was untrue because cutting off a breast would cause fatal bleeding. Another author, Philostratus (third century AD), rejected Hellanikos’s claim and proposed a more logical—and more humane—explanation, that amazon actually meant “not breast- fed.” Philostratus argued that real-life Amazons love their children but do not nurse them because the practice results in mollycoddled children and saggy breasts, undesirable traits in their warrior culture. Instead, the nomadic horsewomen nourish their babies with mare’s milk, honey, and dew. Tryphiodorus, a Greek poet of the fifth century AD, also defined amazon as “unsuckled.” Such a concept was far removed from Greek culture, with its stay-at-home nursing mothers, but seemed reasonable for nomadic hunter-warrior women.

A similar practice appears in a sixth-century AD Roman description of a northern nomad tribe called the Scrithiphini (probably the Sami people of the western Arctic region) whose women and men hunted together. According to Procopius, their infants were not nursed but fed with bone marrow and swaddled in cradle boards hung on trees while the mother and father pursued game. Once the sensational “factoid” of one breast became embedded in the catalog of Amazon attributes, each successive writer routinely included it in his description of the women warriors. Perhaps the concept seemed appropriate because Amazons represented the opposite of Greek wives and mothers, and their “terrifying asymmetry” signaled their barbarism.

Some modern scholars suggest that deliberately removing one breast was intended to symbolize the Amazons’ willful destruction of their own femininity and so resonated with Greek men who feared women who behaved like men. For Greek women, the removal of one breast would signify the terrible sacrifice Amazons made to become more like men. For other scholars “one-breastedness” signi- fied Amazons’ freedom from nursing and maternal attachments: Amazons “don’t need breasts because they will never raise children.” But many ancient Greek texts described Amazon mothers, and some referred to nursing babies (not to mention the archaeological discoveries of female warriors buried with children; chapter 4). According to another theory, Amazon “breastlessness” stood for the “sexual unripeness of the nubile adolescent” Greek maiden. Some scholars point out that Greeks associated the right side of the body with masculinity and the left with femininity. Most classical writers described removal of the right breast while the left was exposed, but some reversed the sides. And Greek artists were inconsistent about which of the two breasts was exposed in Amazon battle scenes.

If the concept of removing a breast was such an important symbolic attribute for the Greeks, then one must wonder why no single-breasted Amazons appear in classical art. Despite the popularity into modern times of “just-so stories” about how the Amazon “lost her breast,” ancient Greek painters and sculptors invariably depicted the mythic Amazons double-breasted. As noted, symmetry was an essential quality of the Greek ideal of beauty. Amazons of myth and art were always portrayed as beautiful heroic women, the equals of the handsome aristocratic Greek heroes. Perhaps physical asymmetry in artistic scenes would be jarring to Greek aesthetic sensibilities. (Ugly or deformed people appear in artistic illustrations of ancient comedies or scenes of daily life but are rare in heroic situations.) Moreover, artistic portrayals of Amazons are often erotic—showing mutilated women could interfere with sexual appeal.

Vase painters and sculptors often emphasized Amazons’ bosoms with diaphanous drapery or body-hugging garments. Another artistic “convention” was to show fighting and wounded Amazons in chitons (loose, short, belted tunics fastened at the shoulder—also worn by Greek males) worn in exomis style, with one breast and shoulder exposed. Art historians have interpreted this typical Amazonian pose in many different ways. Was revealing a breast an erotic gesture? Was the “one breast exposed” intended as a subtle, less graphic stand-in for the “one breast missing” literary motif ? Was a bared breast meant to evoke sympathy, in the case of wounded Amazons? Was flaunting the breast in the midst of battle a way of taunting or distracting the male heroes, or was it to make sure the men (and the viewer) understood that they were being attacked by women? In fact, one exposed breast reflected practical active attire. The archer goddess Artemis and the huntress Atalanta were dressed for action this way, and so were many Greek male archers, workers, warriors, and heroes. In Greece and other ancient cultures, the dominant shoulder of active figures was often left unclothed for freedom of movement.

Apparently Greek artists and their audiences were not persuaded by the literary trope that female archers were hindered by their breasts. But if artists never depicted one-breasted Amazons, why did the idea catch on and persist so stubbornly in Greek literature? Did some ancient cultures really practice breast removal or suppression? Was there some exotic custom or mode of dress that could have been misunderstood in antiquity, leading Greeks to believe reports of “breastless” or “single- breasted” women warriors? An atrocious practice in West and Central Africa today results in the maiming of millions of young girls by their mothers who hope to prevent rape. “Breast ironing” involves cauterizing budding breasts with a heated metal tool to inhibit breast development. Is it possible that travelers’ tales of similar African “breast-searing” customs were known to the writers of the Hippocratic texts and projected onto Sarmatian women and Amazons of Scythia?

There is no way of knowing how ancient this “secret” ritual of Central Africa really is, and in the absence of any other evidence the likelihood of a similar practice in ancient Eurasia seems slight. Nonetheless, the coincidence is striking, given that several ancient Greek sources mention the use of a heated metal tool. A fictional romance written in Egypt by Dionysius Skytobrachion, about Amazons transported to a Libyan setting, included ethnological details from North Africa to give local flavor to his tale (see chapter 23). When girls were born to the Amazons, he wrote, “both their breasts were seared so that they would not develop into maturity, for they thought that projecting breasts were a hindrance in warfare [and] this is why they are called by the Greeks Amazons.” He is the only ancient author to say both breasts were cauterized, as in modern reports of breast ironing. Did the author know of an African breast-searing custom? The answer is unknown.

A less violent, practical ethnological tradition of “breast suppression” for the comfort of horsewomen existed much closer to home—in the heart of ancient Amazon territory. Since antiquity girls and women of the Black Sea–Caucasus were trained to be expert archers and riders who hunted and fought. Ethnographic evidence among Circassians, Ossetians, Adigeans, Karbardians, Abkhazians, and other groups points to a long tradition of “flattening the breasts during maidenhood.” When girls were seven to ten years of age, their mothers laced a leather vest or corset around their chests, to suppress movement when the girls were riding and shooting. The leather corset was worn until marriage. On the wedding night, the groom slowly, patiently unlaced the fifty-some ties to demonstrate his love, respect, and self-control. Early European travelers in the Caucasus described this traditional article of young women’s attire, which later became known (and modified) as the “Circassian corset.” In the Caucasus, commented the German historian Julius von Klaproth in 1807, “young unmarried females compress their breasts with a close leather jacket, in such a manner that they are scarcely perceptible.” Archaeologist John Abercromby remarked in 1891,“There is nothing improbable in believing that the Caucasian custom has a long row of centuries behind it.”

One of the Nart sagas refers indirectly to the custom of enclosing the torso of girls in leather corsets. In one saga the hero Warzameg mocks a young woman for having “breasts like old bouncing pumpkins.” The simile reveals Caucasian cultural values, notes the Nart saga translator John Colarusso. Ridiculing large, unrestrained, bobbling breasts was meant as a great insult. Among horse peoples of the Caucasus, swinging, pendulous breasts were considered unsightly and awkward “for one simple reason.” Colarusso explains: “If a woman were to go galloping on her horse across the steppes with large breasts unconstrained, she would be uncomfortable and in pain from their bouncing. So there was a premium on small, firm breasts” for active outdoorswomen. Notably, in the 1920s, European and American women’s new liberated, active lifestyle coincided with tight bandeaus to minimize the chest and flatten the breasts into a boyish silhouette.

Athletic women of most body types tend to favor some sort of bosom support, and modern mounted archers wear tight bodices. It’s reasonable to guess that in antiquity, most female riders, archers, fight- ers, and athletes bound or supported their breasts in some fashion. “Support, binding, or restraint, or some form of sports bra for riding” was probably used by mounted nomad women. Greek artists often depicted Amazons with tight-fitting tunics and diagonal chest bands that may have functioned something like a modern “cross-your-heart” brassiere, notes one art historian. Was there any other special attire that could have been misunderstood by the Greeks as “breastlessness” in antiquity? In vase paintings, many Amazons are clad in cuirasses (rigid bronze breastplates), scaled armored tunics, laced corselets, and upper garments and straps, much like those worn by men and all of which had a “flattening effect”.

These artistic depictions reflected the chest armor of padded or rigid materials and scaled armor worn by real nomad warriors of both sexes in antiquity. Archaeological discoveries in Saka-Scythian-Sarmatian lands have turned up a variety of armored tunics fashioned from horn, hooves, bone, and small gold plates or scales in the graves of both men and women (chapters 4, 12, and 13). Baldrics (diagonal chest straps) and wide belts of leather with gold, bronze, and iron plates were also common in male and female burials. If the Greeks observed fighting women clad in protective chest armor that looked just like male armor, the flat-chested effect would help explain descriptions of “breastless” Amazons.

Modern “Amazon” fantasies often picture women wearing curvaceous metallic chest armor molded in the shape of breasts, à la Wonder Woman and Xena, Warrior Princess (fig. 16.4). An ancient version seems to be depicted in figure 5.1. But such erotic “breasted” armor is imprac- tical and dangerous. Experienced female soldiers of any era know that breast-shaped metal chest armor would be life-threatening. Why? Because cone-or dome-shaped projections would direct the force of blows of weapons toward the sternum and heart. Even a fall could be fatal, causing the sharp metal separating the breast hollows to injure or even fracture the breastbone. Therefore, armored fighting women in antiquity would have worn padding under chest plates shaped exactly like the men’s, presenting a flat surface or a ridge down the center to deflect blows away from the heart.

In antiquity, some male and female warriors wore heavier armor on one side of their bodies, leaving the other side less protected or exposed, which could give an impression of single-breastedness. As we saw in the archaeology of Scythians (chapter 4), the skeletons of warrior men and women indicated that most battle injuries were on the left side of the body, dealt by right-handed opponents. Heavy armor for a gladiator’s sword arm and shoulder was used in Roman times, especially for the gladiator known as the “Thracian.” Suits of armor with pauldrons, heavy plates protecting one shoulder and arm, were often used in mounted combat. One-sided armor or shoulder padding unfamiliar to the Greeks could have been mistaken for single-breastedness and could account for Arrian’s report of the asymmetrical chests of the Amazons encountered by Alexander.

The notion of single-breasted Amazons—which seems to signal something about a warrior women’s sexuality, willpower, and masculine strength achieved by sacrificing a feminine attribute—has clung to the standard literary description of Amazons for more than two millen- nia. It seizes the imagination because it is gruesome, just as the tale of African mothers who cauterize their daughters’ breasts grabs attention today. A seductive false “logic” still clings to the ancient image. To people who have never drawn a Scythian-style bow or observed women archers competing in Mongolia, it seems to make sense that womanly breasts might present an encumbrance in archery. But drawing the bowstring back along the cheek or holding the bow out from the body while turning to the side means that breasts are no hindrance and there is no danger of injury to them.

Instead, a real concern is that loose clothing might interfere with the bowstring. Therefore archers wear body-hugging upper garments, like those shown on many Amazons in ancient art. For beginning longbow archers, the most vulnerable area is the inner forearm, which can be struck by the bowstring. Yet the notion of protecting the chest persists in archery. Women—and men too—are often encouraged, even required, to wear chest-guards, even though expert male and female archers find that close-fitting shirts and a forearm guard are the only safety requirements. An analogy exists in modern boxing. Unsubstantiated safety concerns were long used to justify excluding women from boxing. Women won the right to box in the 1970s in the United States but were required to wear an unwieldy plastic chest shield, which caused more cuts and bruises and made the chest a much bigger target. In 2008, medical experts convinced the boxing commission to lift the regulation.”

- Adrienne Mayor, “Breasts: One or Two?” in The Amazons: Lives and Legends of Warrior Women across the Ancient World

#the amazons #adrienne mayor #history #ancient #armor #scythian #greek #sarmatian

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canonlucidia · 2 years

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Ba’el + Fatherhood

[ For the Character + Word Ask meme found here ]

[[ For More information about Ba'el and the Royal Family, click here ]]

It is not difficult, realistically speaking, to sire a child. At best it is a moment of mutual pleasure, at worst, it's a dispassionate transaction between two parties.

The difficult part, of course, is what comes after the fruits of those labors are born.

Out of all the things that Ba'el thought to learn as a newly crowned King of Hell, how to be a Father was simply not high on the list, if it was ever on it at all--a footnote to a footnote, a half legible scribble tucked into the bottom edge of a page.

He hadn't thought much in the way of heirs, his own throne just barely won, the blood of the previous king still tacky on his claws, the sound of their death still resonating in his ears, but that hadn't meant his freshly inherited court didn't have designs for Ba'el's eventual, inevitable fatherhood.

He married quickly, decisively to his favorite general, and quickly produced a child. He saw little of the boy, (Vasago, Ba'el had named him) half out of true avoidance, and half out of the reality of governing an entire realm truly being a time sink. It didn't bother him overmuch-- his Queen Consort had always been capable, and.... Really, what would Ba'el have to offer them?

He would not be what his Mother, the late King, was to him. He would never disown, disavow, or dispute his own child's lineage the way his Mother had. But on the same token... Ba'el would never have half of the kindness of his Parent, who had raised him in bitter squalor, who had fed him on promises and hope and helpless affection.

At such an impasse, Ba'el found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for direction... And so, decided to table the concerns of Fatherhood for a bit longer, until he had more time to devote to thinking the matter over.

Time passes so quickly when one stops paying attention to it.

Ba'el marries again, and again, and thrice more after that. Alliances are power, and blood pacts are the price to pay for an iron grip on the throne. Children are born, and named, and sometimes they have his hair, or his eyes, and it probably makes him feel... something, truly, but...

Ipos is born not long after Vasago, an early, bloody thing. Ba'el does not suppose they will survive their first few years, and is nearly shocked that they do. (They are his child, did he not survive as well?)

But Ba'el is careful with his time and his affections-- it's dangerous to favor any of the children over another, and best for him not to grow overly attached, when he himself made manifest the current rights of succession. Most of them will die in combat, he reasons, so it is not imperative he spends too much time with any of them.

His third born, Beleth, seems so far to have the best chance at surviving to adulthood with minimal interference, and is thus the most promising heir. It's safest therefore to indulge a bit with him, instructing and teaching him, carefully, subtly maneuvering the right teachers into the right positions for his son to learn from.

The boy is even near by-- with his mother's position as second consort, and therefore Head of Staff, his second wife has no need to leave the Demon King's palace to attend to other duties, and therefore, has no need to ship their child off to a distant villa with some maternal family member to mind them away from the dangers of the royal court.

Ba'el wouldn't go out of his way to call it pleasant, but the proximity settles something unknown and restless in him.

A fourth child is born (Seere, who barely resembles Ba'el at all apart from the determined, resigned set of her brow), and then a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, and finally, an eighth.

Paymon, Ariton, Rosier, Amaymon.

Ba'el names all of them, looks into the faces of the lives he helped create, and dooms them in the selfsame breath.

#canonlucidia #fic ask meme #lanternes of light #anonymous #HOLY SHIT this one hit me like a truck #as Ba'el is of course my own OC this ficlet is entirely like... just my own bullshit #Ba'el is! A Fucked Up Person! and has complicated and fucked up feelings #Paymon will one day grow up to be the Diavolo we know and love for those who are New here #and most of his siblings are dead #ask to tag...?#anyways tysm anon this is the most self indulgent shit

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ariparri · 3 years

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This drawing was inspired by a story my friend cursedautumn wrote for me as her part of our usual story for art trade.

It's been so long since I've drawn something in this style, I was scared I was going to give up half way through the entire thing. But nope, I was quite ambitious and pulled through 9 hours to finish this piece!

Look at that! It's absolutely beautiful 😭 I can stare at this and be so damn proud of it all day!

Speaking of the story, you can read it here under the cut. Flowers may be my absolute favorite from autumn's stories, but this was just too cute. I just adore the father/daughter dynamic Veruca and Elroy have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His Princess

"Alrighty, I'm leaving." Wilhelmina kissed Elroy on the cheek and took the bag. “I'll be there in the evening, don't wait for me early. I left a list of products that Vera needs to be fed. Are you sure you can handle it?"

"You underestimate me," Elroy growled, jokingly offended. "Veruca will be fine, I'm a fully capable father, Wil. Go and have a good rest, you'll see when you come back, the house will shine, and the child will have the tenth dream." Wilhelmina smiled dryly and rolled her eyes. "You're the same as always. Well, I'm off."

With that, she opened the door and went out. Elroy watched her go for a while until she disappeared behind the fence, then closed the door and took a deep breath. Elroy McQuaid was a father of two children, but, frankly, he had already forgotten what it was like to stay all day with a small child. Coby had grown up a long time ago, now he was at Hogwarts (where, by the way, he recently received an indignant letter from Minerva McGonagall about his son's behavior), and little Veruca did not want to sit still and quickly came up with entertainment for herself: she rolled away from her father, turning over from her back to her stomach, then, on the contrary, crawled up to him and began pulling his hair or stubble. Elroy didn't mind, but he couldn't let his daughter roll around on the floor all day and pinch him! He had to think of something to do. So he picked up Veruca in his arms and spoke, "What should we do? We're going to play with toys, aren't we, baby?"

"Yes!" Veruca said glibly. She didn't know how to speak yet, but she already knew words like "yes", "not", "ma", "pa" and "Co-i" (that is, Coby). Elroy was infinitely proud of his daughter; Wilhelmina took it much more calmly and even laughed at his constant delight. Elroy was slightly offended: "How can you, Wil? She talks great for her age!", but there were no big quarrels because of this, and he understood that his wife showed love for her daughter in a slightly different way.

As soon as she was in her room, Veruca clung tightly to a wooden box filled to the brim with toys. There were dolls, plush toys, a plastic tea set, with which the baby sometimes gently beat her older brother, several suits with bat wings and many other means of entertainment. Elroy watched in silence as she turned over the wooden box, and sighed to himself: later he would have to take a long and painstaking time to clean up the mess that his daughter had made. But he obediently waited until all the contents of the box were on the floor, and smiled, "Come on, Vera, choose what we will play."

Veruca thought for a while and a soft bat colored so bright it was slowly eating out Elroy's eyes. This bat was given to the McQuaid family by friends a few years ago, and at first Coby played with it, and then it was taken away from him by his younger sister. Veruca took it out at every opportunity and forced the first family member she met to entertain her, holding her in their hands and "butting" the girl with a toy. Elroy didn't have much choice right now. He asked, "Are we going to play this?"

"Yes!" Veruca nodded. She had the same light green eyes as Elroy, like clear, transparent water.

"All right," he agreed. "I'll butt you. Come on…" Suddenly, he quickly grabbed the toy and began to gently poke his daughter in the face. Veruca burst into a ringing childish laugh, trying to grab a bat, and randomly waved her plump hands in the air. Elroy poked the toy first on her cheek, then in her stomach, then in her shoulder, and she laughed and made futile attempts to outwit dad and catch her pet. At that moment, Veruca strangely reminded Elroy of a young Wilhelmina, just as cheerful, laughing happily, not yet so strict and upset by the behavior of her growing son. Actually, Veruca was much more like her father, but there was already something about her that made her obviously the daughter of Wilhelmina McQuaid.

After playing with the bat, Veruca lost interest in it and took up a book of fairy tales written by the bard Beadle. Of course, it was still too early for her to read them, but the bright pictures on the glossy paper attracted the eye, and the baby ran her finger along the pages with genuine interest, looking questioningly at Elroy, as if asking what was depicted here. Most of all, she was interested in pictures of beautiful queens, princesses and sorceresses, women with long hair, dressed in dresses, robes and heavy jewelry. The girl especially liked the drawing of Morgan Le Fay, a tall red-haired woman with light green eyes, in a white dress. Veruca poked at it with her finger and hooted.

"This, baby, is Morgan Le Fay. She was a very outstanding sorceress, healer and fortune-teller. The sorcerers bewitched people, Vera, they are also wizards, it's just that their magic was different. And Morgan was both a sorceress and a witch. It's complicated, isn't it?" Elroy explained, to which Veruca frowned and turned away, indicating that she was not interested in this topic. She always did this when she did not understand what was being said to her, but she did not want to show her ignorance — it hurts her pride so much!

And even though Veruca was still a very little girl, she had pride. This pleased Elroy: if self-confidence and healthy pride are inherent in a person from childhood, nothing will knock them out of there. So let his daughter be proud. It was better to have pride than not to have it, his sister had once told him, and Elroy completely agreed with her.

Suddenly, his daughter turned over on her stomach and, starting to turn over slowly, rolled in the opposite direction from him. Elroy was so surprised that he didn't even understand what was happening, and he stared at Veruсa with his mouth open for a few seconds, and then he realized that the typical willfulness of the McQuaids had awakened in her, and she decided to try to move herself. Attempts to "escape" have occurred before, but Wilhelmina, with the air of a connoisseur, assured that this is normal and there is no need to interfere with the child's self-development.

"Veruca!" Elroy called out to his daughter.

"Ah!" she answered him and giggled, once again turning over on her stomach. "Vera," the man said more quietly. "Where are you going?" Veruca smiled with an almost toothless mouth and giggled louder. Elroy sighed loudly and got to his feet to put the mischievous girl back in her place.

Suddenly, Veruca reached out with a tiny hand and grabbed the leg of a chair. She tensed, slightly lifting the body and pulling her legs under her.

And then she began to get up — in the literal sense, to get to her feet, holding tightly to the leg of the chair, as if for a handrail, and finally straightened up and stood up, swaying slightly. Elroy froze in mute amazement, joy and disbelief, watching his little daughter, his princess, stand on her feet for the first time, and was afraid to even sigh and break the great moment. This feeling was even brighter than what he had experienced when Coby first got on his feet, much, much brighter, although Elroy did not want to admit it to himself.

It seems that Veruca was afraid of her own independence and the next second fell on the carpet and began to cry. Elroy was at his daughter's side in the blink of an eye and hastily picked her up in his arms, saying affectionately:

"Don't cry, Vera, don't cry, my princess, everything will be fine, you're a good girl. Look, you got up for the first time today, can you imagine?" and he kissed the top of her head, stroking her back. Veruca's crying wasn't caused by pain or anything worse, it's just that she hardly expected such sharp physical progress from herself.

So he patiently calmed her down until the girl stopped crying and wearily buried her face in her father's shirt.

"Do you want to sleep?" Elroy asked gently. "Let's go sit outside. It started raining there, we'll swing in the chair, listen to the weather…"

They did just that. Elroy went out onto the terrace. There he sat down in a wicker rocking chair with Veruca in his arms and was quiet; a summer downpour was really rustling on the green street and in the garden. The storm swelled over the McQuaid estate, rallying in the sky in a dense purple wall, ready to crack and burst into lightning. But while there were no loud noises, Elroy held the sleeping Veruca, wrapped in a plump purple blanket with a bat's face, in his arms and looked at the blooming garden. There was an unusual calmness in his soul, although, in general, there was no cause for alarm; nevertheless, such satisfaction in his soul had not been for a long time-maybe because he was the father of two children, the eldest of whom was now supplying his school with problems, and the youngest was still very small and helpless, like a porcelain doll. They had to look after both of them, and it was difficult for him and Wilhelmina. Very difficult.

Elroy kissed the top of Veruca's head as she dozed off. No, he was grateful to his wife, Providence, and himself a million times for his daughter, because since his youth his dream was to have a daughter, his little princess, just like from fairy tales. As a child, he saw how carefully his father treats his sister, and just dreamed of doing the same.

And now he had Veruca.

His little girl.

His princess.

Elroy wrapped his daughter more tightly in the blanket and began to doze a little himself. The storm did not break out with thunder and lightning, only the rain began to rustle more loudly, and somewhere on the horizon a rainbow began to appear, as if the sky was watching the father and daughter and letting a bright ray through the summer rainy haze.

The rainbow was flaring up. Elroy and Veruca were sleeping peacefully.

#ariparri #elroy mcquaid #veruca mcquaid #hogwarts mystery #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #hogwarts mystery mc #fanfic #hogwarts mystery fanfic #fanfiction #hphm fanfiction #hphm fanart #hogwarts mystery fanart #jacob's sibling

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

My Adoring Fan Chapter 5

Chapter 4

A/N: A bit of a fluffy chapter as the twins make up

As Aurelius entered the kitchen, both Azalea and Mammon turned their heads to him.

“There ya are,” Mammon says as he leans against the island counter. “Only three hours after your Ma called for you, but, hey, at least you came home.”

“You’re not going to yell at me too, are you?” He asks.

“Well, that depends. Do ya know why what ya did was wrong and do ya understand why you’re being punished for it?”

Aurelius nods. “Yes.”

“Then no, there’s nothin’ I need to say that ya probably haven’t heard from your mother already.” The oven dings and Mammon goes to pull the peppers out and places them on a plate for his son. “Here, have somethin’ ta eat before we leave.” Aurelius nods as he grabs a fork and starts eating.

“Leave?” Azalea asks as she looks between them. “Leave where?”

“Home.” The demon says as Azalea looks surprised. “What, you thought we were bluffin’ when we told you two that if you had one more spat like this that we’d be pullin’ one of ya from the house? Your Ma and I can’t keep coming over here every two or three nights to diffuse a situation between the two of ya like this because ya can’t seem ta learn ta get along. An’ since Aurelius started this by going along with Zulima’s hair-brained idea, he has to move back home until we think he’s learned his lesson.”

“So Aurelius gets punished while Zulima gets away scott-free?”

“No, of course not. Solomon was here earlier ta dish out her punishment and Uncle Asmo will be here shortly ta decide how long whatever her punishment was will last and talk with her about why this was wrong in the first place. Their startin’ to get up fed up with her actions too and this is probably your cousin’s last chance ta prove she can shape up before they pull ‘er out of the house too.”

Azalea turns to her brother with an apologetic look.

“I'll let ya have a few minutes ta talk privately and then we’ll be leaving.” The Avatar of Greed steps out since he knows his children won’t honestly speak their minds if someone is listening.

“Listen,” Aurelius says as he leans his head against Azalea’s, the black streaks in their hair pressed together. It’s a thing they’ve done ever since they we little. “I’m really sorry about this. I knew it was wrong and I still did it anyway. Are you still mad at me?”

“A little bit.” The older cambion sighed, “You didn’t send that audio clip to Max, did ya?”

“Yeah, but if it’s any consolation, she didn’t listen to it and deleted it instead. You really should tell her though. I think you’d be really happy. She definitely likes you back.”

“Why did ya do it? I feel so betrayed.”

“I told Mum that I was just bored but really it was because I was getting annoyed with Zulima talking about how much she quote-unquote ships you two and wishes you’d just get together already...”

“I get that. She can be rather persistent.” Azalea sighs. “If that’s the only reason then I guess I really can’t fault ya for it... How long are ya gonna be gone?”

“Until the end of next term. I’m grounded too for taking so long to get back here, so I’m losing my phone and I won’t get to do any photoshoots for the next three months... I’m think of quitting all together when my contract is up actually. The time off will give me a chance to really decide.”

“Majolish is gonna be really mad that they’ve lost their top model,” Azalea laughs softly. “Hey, the reason ya wanna quit is ‘cuz of that letter, right?”

“Yeah, a little bit.” Aurelius hums. “Actually, while I was running from you, I think I met the sender of that letter- well more like I plowed into her as I was running away. She didn’t seem all that crazy and claimed she didn’t know who I was but I don’t know, I got some really weird vibes so I think she was lying.”

“Hey, I just thought of this but doesn’t that girl who hounded you to start a relationship with her reside at the House of Sorrow? Maybe she’s the one who sent that letter so she wouldn’t have any competition for your attention.”

“I didn’t think of that. It would make sense, actually. “Do you think I should write her back and say I know it was her? See if it was really her and give her a chance to come clean?”

“Why don’t ya do it at school? We’re all bound to have classes with her at some point in the day so being able to get her alone and there be no chance for interference sounds like the perfect opportunity. What’s her name? Is she pretty?”

“She introduced herself as Persephone- you know like that greek myth and yeah she is. Funnily enough, she looks a lot like that idol that Henry was crying about earlier. Her hair and eye color are the same shade of grey as that idol’s.”

“That’s really interesting, actually. When I was talking with Henry earlier, I proposed the idea that maybe she was taking a break to enjoy a normal teen life so I wonder if I was right. Maybe this is something you could actually pursue as far as a relationship goes... If she is that idol then she wouldn’t be interested in dating you for our family’s prestige, fame, or money since she has plenty of her own to begin with. I know you’re lonely just like I’m lonely.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Aurelius pulled back. “I do want to find a mate eventually, but I also just want to survive RAD first before I start looking. It would be nice to have someone that looks at us in the same way Dad looks at Mum- with nothing but love and adoration but not a lot of demons really like us. They mostly just tolerate our existence.”

“You’ll get that eventually.” Azalea smiled. “I mean I got my person so you should too sooner or later, right?”

“Yeah, we-”

“Aurelius, what’s with this letter you have?” Arella asks as she enters the kitchen. “This really worries me, Sweetheart.”

“I got that today actually and I think I know who sent it, but also I’m starting to suspect she wasn’t actually the one who sent it. I’m going to meet with her at school to clear the air over it.”

“I don’t think that’s a very safe idea, Aurelius. From the verbiage in this letter, she could be stalking you. I know from experience with Dad and Uncle Asmo that people like this will do anything to ensure they're the only ones who have your attention.”

“I promise I’ll be safe, Mum. But I have to find out for sure if it’s her or....” the teen trails off and Arella doesn’t like the sound of that.

“Aurelius, has a classmate been harassing you, Darling?”

“Yeah... I didn’t want to tell you and Dad because I didn’t want to worry you guys... it’s been a thing for a while. You would think after rejecting her for the thousandth time, she would get the hint...”

“What’s been a thing?” Mammon asks as he pops his head in the doorway. “C’mon, Buddy, let’s go home.

“Our son is being harassed by one of his classmates and he didn’t want to tell us for fear of worrying us. Also, he received this rather alarming letter today in the post.”

“What? Lemme see that thing.” He takes the piece of paper in his hands and scans it over, eyebrows raising in alarm. “Aurelius this is not okay. Is this the person whose been botherin’ ya?”

“Maybe...? I can’t really be sure. The implied sender isn’t the person whose been bothering me at school rather a girl that just transferred to RAD but I think it might have been forged by that person so I would avoid the sender at all costs. I want to meet her and confirm whether or not it’s really her.”

“You absolutely will not be doin’ that.”

“Dad I-”

“I said no. Aurelius, ya have no idea how dangerous people like this really are. I’ve had someone like this threaten your mother’s life multiple times back when we had first started officially datin’. Even Uncle Asmo got the same thing when he and Solomon went public with their relationship and other demons found out they had a kid together. I think combined, your uncle and I got close ta a thousand of these types of letters. It got so out of hand that at one point Uncle Lucifer had to step in and deal with it for us. This spells out nothing but trouble for ya and I don’t want ya getting' hurt by some nutcase that has a few bolts loose in the head.”

“Dad, you’re overreact-”

“No, I’m not, you’re not doing this and that’s final. I still have every single one of those letters and I’ll let ya read the worst ones to show ya just how dangerous something like this can get. Believe me when I tell ya this is not something ya want to deal with. And I’m warning you right now. If you get another one of these types of letters, I’m pulling ya out of modeling until you’re at least 1700 years old.”

“But what about my contract? Won’t I get penalized for breaking it?”

“We had a clause put in the fine print that if your father and I felt you were unsafe or were not benefitting from it emotionally or physically for any reason during the term of your contracts, that we had the right to terminate them at any point in time for your safety.” Arella explained.

The teen only sighs. He knows he should listen to his father but there’s something nagging him at the back of his mind. “Alright, I won’t do it.”

“Thank you.” Arella let out a relieved sigh. “We should get going now. It’s late enough as it is and your father and I both have to work in the morning. Give your sister a hug if you wish.”

The twins nodded as they moved to give each other a hug.

“See ya at school, I guess.” Azalea sighed. “Sorry I got ya booted back home.”

“It’s fine. This wouldn’t be happening if I hadn’t started it. Love you.”

“Love you too.” They let each other go and Aurelius headed off with their mother after Azalea gave her a hug goodbye.

“Are ya good ta go back down the stairs in your room without sliding down the railing? Your room is messy and I don’t want ya tripping and hurting yourself over a pile of books. Ask your cousin to help ya clean it tomorrow.”

“I think so. If I need it, I’ll just guilt Zulima inta helping me. She owes me after that trick she organized.”

“Okay,” the demon chuckles as he pulled his daughter into a hug. “I’ll come back ta check on you when I get back from the fourth layer with your brother. Make sure you use that cane, please. It’ll only benefit you, kiddo. I love you.”

She nodded as she let her father go. “Love you too. See ya then...” Azalea watched them go before going to put the plates in the sink and climbing the stairs. She stopped at Max’s doors and knocked, knowing it was about the time she’d be getting ready to bed. When she heard a soft ‘come in’, Azalea pushed opened the door.

“Hey...” She says as she walked in and closed the door. “We should talk...”

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find more on my masterlist

#obey me next gen #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me swd #obey me fluff #obey me mammon #obey me oc #aurelius #azalea #arella

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Note

Ohh maybe 1, 2, 3, and 28? 👀

*takes a sip from my can of soda* Ahhh~! Caffeine for the soul~ >:3

But you know what's better for the soul? Questions! Curiosity! RAMBLING ABOUT CHILDREN! >:D Let's GOOOO!

1. What would your Warden generally think of your Hawke and your inquisitor?

Rylen:

Now, I kind of see Elise eventually meeting or at least, reaching out to Rylen after the events in Kirkwall. After all, she’s an Amell, and so is Hawke. They’re literally the only family each other has (that’s not ‘found’ family, that is.). So, I think Elise would reach out through a letter or somehow manage a visit to her cousin and...connect. She would see him as inspiring; Rylen always manages a smile and a quip. However, if they were to spend more and more time interacting with each other, Elise would see that Hawke isn’t very well put together, especially after the Chantry explosion. She would question why Rylen chose the templars, why he executed Anders who was a like a brother to her, but eventually she would come to understand the whys. Elise would see it as no different as when she decided to spare Loghain at the Landsmeet; they did what they believed to be right and what would be best in that very moment. Both Rylen and Elise sacrificed their own happiness for the benefit of others, and were still blamed for future complications and there’s something comforting in a finding another who can relate. :3

Fane:

So, I actually have some later fic ideas for a confrontation between Elise and Fane (after Trespasser, kind of Pre-DA4 shenanas~), and suffice it to say, these two have similar ways of thinking, but their methods are entirely different. Fane is rash, prone to barreling head first into conflict without thinking about those around him. Elise is analytical, always assessing and placing the pieces in her head to make sure everyone comes out alive. This isn’t to say Fane doesn’t care about his comrades; he does. There’s countless, countless times he takes a blow for someone else without batting an eye or thinking that he could die. He just doesn’t plan; he acts. Fane can get lost in the moment of battle, in the heady scent of chaos and blood. Elise, at first meeting him, would see him as any typical warrior; eager for battle and a garden of death. But if they were to sit down and talk...I think she might find him endearing and fascinating. More or less she would think, ‘He’s so mature for someone so young. I mean, he’s twenty-four, but...he speaks as if he’s older. His speech is manicured, measured as if decided upon carefully. And his eyes...there’s pain, a deep, deep pain. Like some of the older Wardens, those just hearing the Calling. But also...hope? Conviction? Who are you, Inquisitor? What has the world done to you?’

2. What would your Hawke generally think of your warden and your Inquisitor?

Elise:

Rylen would probably have the same opinion of Elise as she does with him. They’re family, split apart due the misconceptions and fear, and my Hawke cherishes family. He lost everyone else he could rightly consider family. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Isabela, and Merrill are the only people he can call family now. (Anders and Aveline are complicated. I won’t go into that can of worms. For now~ >:3) He would definitely feel a level of guilt for what he had to do in Kirkwall with Anders, with the mages, with...everything, but Rylen just tries to make it through another day. If he and Elise started to interact I think it would be extremely beneficial to Rylen. Elise is patient, sometimes stern, and not afraid to lay all the facts out. Rylen would admire that since he’s had to go through life wearing a mask, a smile, a facade just to placate someone else. He would see Elise as another sister and his opinion of her would probably be along the lines of, ‘I won’t let another member of my family be torn from me. Father, Bethany, Carver...Mother.. I failed them. I won’t fail her. I won’t fail her. She’s bright and she keeps her head held high. Heh, now I see how she killed an Archdemon and lived to tell the tale. ...Bet the lightning has something to do with that, too.’

Fane:

Rylen and Fane, in my head, actually hit it off from the get go. They’ve both had to take mantles of power, even though they never, never wanted to. Though, for different reasons, of course. But Rylen would find Fane inspiring and wholly capable of doing what must be done. He’d be kind of put off that most of his well thought out jokes and pokes would fall flat on Fane, but eventually, Rylen would see why that is. (Draconic nature withstanding.) Also, once my Hawke found out Fane is dragon? OHHHH, BUDDY. There would be yelling and screeching and cries of, ‘WHY DO I KEEP MEETING DRAGONS, FENRIS?! FIRST THE WITCH, NOW THE INQUISITOR?! ..I’m done. I’m putting my daggers down and stealing away into the mountains. Varric, you wanna come with? I know you’re fed up with this shit, too! Don’t lie! DON’T. LIE.’

3. What would your Inquisitor generally think of your warden and your Hawke?

Elise:

Fane would probably think of Elise as...interesting. Not in a bad way. Just...interesting. Fane isn’t comfortable with Wardens after Adamant. He learns that he can hear the corruption inside of them and that terrifies him. And confuses him. And makes him go, ‘What the fuck am I? I don’t even know anymore. Why do I try?’ But, if he were to get over that and, like I said with Elise, talk? He would have another perspective of the men and women that had let fear take them by the throat. It wouldn’t change his feelings regarding the Wardens entirely, but one level mind, one open mind, is enough to make Fane tap into his nature and consider other sides of a very, very large cube.

‘She’s more...quiet than the others. Maybe because it’s just her? No...Loghain was still loud as fuck when it was just him, so why? Ugh, I’m so sick of these puzzles. At least she’s more stable, but I can see the pain in her eyes; green like mine, but missing the gold. Maybe the Taint is stronger than she thinks? Perhaps, but still she fights, still she claws her way towards something that may be impossible. ...Hmph. How typical. A similarity. This world continues to confound.’

Rylen:

Fane respects Rylen after spending some time to feel him out, know his cues, and piece together which is his actual face. Once that happens, Fane can move into respect with my Hawke. These two have a fairly similar moral compass; pragmatism regarding most decisions. Again, they both have been thrust into a position without asking for it, so that would be a stepping stone upon the bonding path. All in all, Fane’s general opinion of Rylen would be, ‘He’s worn that mask of smiles and bright, grey eyes for too long. It’s cracking at the edges, wearing down to mere mortar. Then again, I have my own mask. I’m in no position to judge and condemn, but...it’s worrying. Even the strongest wings can be torn and all that greets is the earth below. I hope your wings don’t falter, Champion. It would be disappointing for the world to lose someone who cares when those who should are content to point the finger towards anyone but themselves.’

28. What is their favourite location within their own game and what would be their favourite in each others?

Fane: The Emprise du Lion! Snowwwww! Coooold! Ice dragooooon! >:3 ...minus the red lyrium. *snorts*

Origins: Hmm, I think Fane would like the Brecilian Forest. He enjoys forests as much as he enjoys the cold, the ice, and the snow. He likes the animals, even though he tries not to interfere with them, and he likes the quiet. No chattering, no demands. Only trees, leaves, and the occasional whistle of wind. Also, Fane likes to investigate ancient ruins. He’s not interested in the history, really. He just wants to see if he can find any remnants about his kin that the elves may have left behind. :3

DA2: Probably Sundermount since again, wilderness. Fane doesn’t do too well in crowded areas and Kirkwall would make his heart rate sky rocket. Not just because of the people, but because of the size. Those cramped streets of Lowtown would just make him...eugh. *shivers*

Elise: She adores Orzammar! Especially the Shaperate! The dwarves fascinate Elise since not many tomes in the Circle went into depth about them! :D And if we want to with Awakening areas, I would saaaay...Amaranthine. She’s always like towns and cities due to not being able to experience them until the Blight! :3

Inquisition: Elise would adore the Frostback Basin. Like, really enjoy it! All that flora and Avaar culture and wilderness? MMMM!

DA2: Definitely the Wounded Coast. Hands down. My daughter enjoys the sea so much. The salt in the air, the feel of sand, and the pretty, pretty shells and rolling waves? Every Circle mages’ wet dream. *waggles eyebrows*

Rylen: So, if we’re not talking like open world areas in the game, I would definitely say Rylen’s favorite place is the Hanged Man. The man needs a drink to deal with Kirkwall. Just saying. It’s also where he can just...be himself with the people who know him.

Inquisition: Hinterlands. He’s a FERELDAN. He wants his MABARI to RUN in native land! He wants to...go home. ;3;

Origins: I like to think the Hawke family went all over Ferelden before settling in Lothering. I mean, they kind of do, but maybe for more than a few months at a time? So, Rylen would enjoy Denerim. He likes to go where people are, where life is. He likes crowds because he can blend into them and not be tracked down until he wants to be tracked down. ...My Hawke just wants to live in peace with his glowy elf husband and run a mabari ranch. Is that too much to ask, Bioware?! Let Hawke REST!

Woo! That was FUN! It really got me thinking, too! X3 Thank you so much, friend! <3

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soulmate-game · 4 years

Text

“Alright, so tonight is going to be fairly standard. Arkham is silent, and there’s no solid leads on what any of the free rogues might be up to. Harley is sick and Ivy is stuck at home taking care of her, so they aren’t going to be up to anything on either side of the law for a few days. Catwoman is the only person we’d have to look out for right now, but her kleptomania has taken her out of the city for a change,” Barbara was typing away at the large Batcomputer keyboard as she brought all of the Gotham vigilantes up to speed on what to expect for patrol that night. “So, Red Hood and Black Bat will take the Narrows and surrounding area patrol route like usual. Nightwing and Batgirl, Upper east side and fashion district patrol route. Red Robin, you’re taking the route that passes city hall and through Old Gotham and Diamond District, and if you don’t throw a fit maybe you can take Robin with you. Batman, crime alley and Newtown patrol. Robin or no Robin, pick your poison,” the redhead offered, finally spinning her wheelchair around to look at everyone. “We’ll be pretty spread out tonight, but like I said, there’s nothing. No whispers of anything planned on the dark web, no news from any of the rogues, Blackgate and Arkham are, dare I say, peaceful right now. But if you see anything, I’ll redirect you guys so you can get backup ASAP.”

This was a rare night. Usually there was at least a plot or red flag to investigate, but not that night. For some reason, it seemed like Gotham had gotten a dose of sanity that it had been desperately missing.

“Actually,” Alfred took that moment to walk in, a slight pep to his step that seemed to catch everyone’s attention. “I do have news. Batman, you of course know that I have been keeping a close eye on Paris’s situation as per your orders, yes?”

Bruce, who had already been inching towards the batmobile none too subtly, suddenly stood stock still and slowly turned to look at his father figure. He could feel the eyes of his many children honing in on him, silent questions behind those orbs.

“Of course, I remember,” he confirmed cautiously. “You haven’t had an update for me in years.”

Years? Tim furrowed his eyebrows. That meant this had to be something that stretched very far back, because everything that Batman tried to keep secret from him since he became Robin had already been outed. Right? Well, he supposed there was always the possibility that Bruce could have snuck something by, but not a large one. Between him and Oracle, any new secrets he tried to squirrel away were unearthed pretty swiftly. So, most likely this was something Bruce had asked Alfred to keep an eye on at least back when Jason was still Robin. Maybe even further back than that.

“Yes, well you wouldn’t have appreciated any prior updates, sir,” Alfred said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. He always would be the one to understand Bruce Wayne and Batman the best out of all of them. “But this is a big one. I used our inside contact to check up on the Paris situation like I do every month, and this came up,” Alfred pulled out a remote from his pocket and clicked it at the computer, triggering it to bring up an article that likely had been hidden and only accessible via that remote signal. If Barbara had had any reason to check for hidden files she would have found it easily, but Alfred was good at never giving any hints as to when he was hiding something.

But what was on the computer was far more interesting than the all-too-familiar, cryptid ways of Alfred Pennyworth.

Because it was a news article from an online Paris newspaper. It was still in untranslated French, but nobody in that room had any trouble reading it. It was dated to have been published two weeks earlier.

On the cover picture for the article was a man that everybody also recognized, being high-profile and extremely influential in the fashion industry. Most of them had even met the man at least once, the aging Gabriel Agreste. In his early seventies, it was odd to see the man being herded into a police vehicle. He didn’t seem all that threatening, though he still struck an oddly intimidating figure with his cold glare and straight back. Being herded behind him was a woman of around Bruce’s own age, with long brown hair in several elaborate braids. Her dark, almost muddy green eyes bore into the camera and a snarl was on her face. Lila Rossi, the model that had been employed under Agreste for quite some years now and had turned into a sort of reality TV celebrity after she got too old to be hired for as many modeling gigs. She was known as highly untrustworthy, a lie monger and the most infamous gossip in the celebrity world. The headline for the article was;

“THE PARISIAN NIGHTMARE FINALLY OVER! AFTER THIRTY YEARS OF TORMENT, THE HAWKMOTHS OF PAST AND PRESENT HAVE BEEN ARRESTED.”

Underneath that title picture was another, this one detailing the Parisian heroes to stop Hawkmoth, who had been replaced years ago by his female counterpart Monarch, a play on the Monarch Butterfly. The Heroes, on the other hand, had remained mostly the same after the infamous confusion of the early years of Hawkmoth’s reign of terror, where Ladybug had temporarily started adding hero after hero to the team before mysteriously and suddenly retiring almost all of them.

On the right was Ladybug, who stood proud with her arms crossed and a somber gaze directed towards the two unmasked villains. On the left was Chat Noir, in a weird black leather costume that was like a bizzare yet fashionable meld of DiscoWing and the classic Batman uniform. Minus a cape or cowl, of course. Standing behind them, all fanned out, were the last four members of their team. Viperion, in a dark teal snake-themed costume. Ryuuko, standing next to him in a black and red ensemble with her elemental symbol proudly on her chest. Bunnyx, in her bright baby blue and white, and lastly the imperious Stinger behind them in her black outfit with gold accents.

As everyone but Alfred and Bruce read the article and examined the photos as quickly as they could, the eldest vigilante in the room slowly removed his cowl. His eyes were wide, disbelieving as they stared only at the two pictures on the screen and didn’t pay any heed to the article itself.

“Thirty years,” Jason remarked, turning to face Bruce angrily. “Paris has been under attack by magical madmen for thirty years, and you never told us? We knew nothing about this, and this has been going on since before us. Since before you, even,” he waved a hand at the screen angrily. “You know that they have been under attack since before Batman was even a thing, and you never said anything? We could have helped! The league could have—“

“Been a liability,” Bruce interrupted, but it was the uncharacteristic softness to his tone that ultimately shut Jason up and attracted everyone else’s rapid attention. “The league knows. The founding members, anyway. It was something I briefed them on back when we first founded the League, but we were careful to keep any mention of it off of any electronic system. The magic behind the attacks stopped any word of the terrorism from getting out through normal means. We pretended to put the JLE in Paris, when really they are centered miles out of city limits and never set foot inside Paris’s boundaries.”

“Why?” Dick asked, his own mask off so that he could glare into Bruce’s eyes without it obscuring his expression at all. He wasn’t explosively angry like Jason, but it was clear that Dick wasn’t happy either. “They all look to be your age, Bruce. Which means they’ve been fighting HawkMoth since they were teenagers, on their own, since before there was any Justice League or very many other established heroes at all to provide backup. And I get that HawkMoth and Monarch seem to have controlled or fed off negative emotions and a lot of us would have been liabilities, but there are Leaguers who have extreme control over their emotions. You could have gone. Or J’onn, you could have even sent Tim. Anybody to help even a little.”

“Paris isn’t my city, it’s Ladybug’s city. The League and most metahuman heroes stay out of Gotham because I asked them too, but I am not the first to have the idea that keeping other heroes out of a volatile city can be beneficial for damage control. Ladybug herself told me not to allow any interference in the situation,” Bruce braced himself against the back of one of their metal debriefing chairs, leaning forward so it could take most of his weight. That, and the way he never looked away from the photos displayed on the computer, tipped off everyone else that Bruce might not have stayed uninvolved willingly. That he had a deeper connection to the whole Paris mess than just keeping a shrewd eye on a possible issue.

“You know Ladybug?” Tim decides to speak up, leaning back against the desk that housed the batcomputer keyboard. His voice was decidedly softer than that of his elder brothers’.

Bruce nodded, still in an odd partial trance. “We met when I was on a trip to Paris, before I became Batman. It was twenty-three years ago, I was eighteen and found out the hard way about the situation that the rest of the world was somehow oblivious to. I was able to meet Ladybug during one of her patrols, and confronted her. Even after I became Batman two years later, she refused any help. It wasn’t until about a year before I adopted Dick that I finally decided I couldn’t keep worrying about a situation and people that I wasn’t being allowed to help, so I told Alfred to use the sources that Ladybug had given me back when we first met to check in on the situation every month or two. I know that it was not the best decision, making Alfred do what I couldn’t bring myself to, but by the time I adopted Dick I had mostly forgotten about it. I was too worried about trying to figure out how to raise a kid and then deal with raising a vigilante kid after that, for the first time.”

Silence reigned for a while. This was, essentially, news that Bruce had been waiting to hear for over twenty years. An outcome that he had been barred from being a part of. Talk about bittersweet, especially when Bruce seemed so passionate about wanting to have helped. Probably too guilty about not being allowed to.

In the end, it was Damian who made the connection between this news and his father’s foreign mood and behavior first. Or at least, he was the first to vocalize it. Cass probably noticed it sooner.

“You have feelings for Ladybug,” Damian somehow managed to make the declaration sound like a reprimand. “I admit, she is likely much better of a suitor for you than that mangy cat, but I hardly think that trying to start courting her again after so long apart is reasonable. She could have changed from—“

“I know, Damian,” Bruce’s knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the chair. “Trust me, I have spent more than enough hours contemplating calling her again to catch up, but I knew it was best to stay away. I had grown busy with Batman and the League anyway, and adding the time difference on there was no way any relationship between us would have been feasible.”

“So you cut yourself off from even being her friend. Which, might I remind you, I heavily advised against,” Alfred finally cut back into the conversation, hands clasped behind his back. “The two of you had maintained a perfectly stable long distance friendship for over five years, and I still consider the day you cut her off to be one of your stupidest mistakes, master Bruce. On an unrelated note, I received a call from the designer that you always commission your more high-fashion suits from, sir. She is coming to Gotham for a time, and I gave her an invitation to come visit for dinner tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind.” With that said, Alfred turned on his heel and walked away.

“That man never raises his voice, but somehow still makes you feel like absolute shit when he gets mad,” Stephanie mused aloud when the butler had left, earning silent nods from everyone else.

“How are you still alive, Father?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow over one vibrant green eye. “If you cut off Ladybug only to continue to commission the person that I assume is her civilian identity on a regular basis, how has that idiocy not blended into the rest of your life?”

“It has,” Jason added in, always up for a game of Rag on Bruce. “He’s just always had this annoying ability of surviving even the shittiest situations he ends up in. It’s like he has plot armor or something.”

Bruce only grunted, pulling his cowl back on. “Patrol. Robin, you’re with Red Robin today. Don’t kill each other.”

“Oh no, I want to live to see the girl you’ve apparently been crushing on since you were a teenager,” Tim said as he ambled over to his motorcycle. “Seeing THAT reunion is gonna be way better than picking another fight with Demon Spawn.”

“Tt.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Your tie won’t get any straighter,” Barbara teased Bruce, watching as he fiddled with the tie around his throat for the millionth time in just the past ten minutes. Alfred had made sure that he couldn’t escape this, even going so far as benching Batman for the night.

And to make matters worse, it was still far too early for patrol so all the Wayne kids were present. Stephanie had other obligations to see to, unfortunately, but other than her even Jason had come over to the manor to see the fallout.

“Master Bruce, she is here,” Alfred’s voice cut through the almost palpable nerves emanating from the usually stoic or charismatic man. Batman was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but neither was Playboy Billionaire Brucie Wayne. No, this was Bruce Wayne, as genuine as anybody could see him. And more nervous than his kids had ever witnessed.

The door was opened, and in stepped someone that defied any of the Batkid’s preconceptions. They were expecting someone suave, sophisticated, with hard-earned muscle trying to hide under her skin. Like a Wonder Woman type of person, bursting with strength except for when they made an effort to disguise it. But that was not what they got. No suave, sophisticated bachelorette of a businesswoman and reputable fashion designer. No goddess-masquerading-as-a-human. Not even a femme fatale like Selina Kyle or most of Batman’s exes.

But there was a distinct observation that the kids made the moment they saw her.

Black hair, so dark that it seemed to reflect blue in the light, and clear blue eyes that were dark, vibrant, and seemed to glow with intelligence and humor, with just the slightest gray tones that hid in them grim experiences and disillusion.

She had a smile that was eerily similar to Dick’s when she laid eyes on the family and let it spread across her face. It was like the warmth of the sun, and instantly made the impersonal foyer feel cozy and welcoming. But the sharpness in her eyes as she scanned over all the people gathered, more than she expected if her eyebrow raise was any indication, was just like Tim. Too much like Tim.

She came to a stop a few feet away from the Wayne clan, and rested one hand on her waist as she popped her hip out. Jason’s attitude.

Her hair was up in a simple but elegant bun, with a braid curling around the base of it. She was small, about five foot four if their estimates were correct, and the sleek sleeves of her midnight blue dress simultaneously emphasized and disguised the lithe, corded muscle mass that seemed to flow smoothly down her arms. Not a brawler’s muscle, but an acrobat or gymnast’s. The delicate silver embroidery along the sleeves and trim of her dress, and curling around her waist like a belt of thread, was in actuality a string of bats in various flight poses interspersed with silver swirls and tiny ladybugs. Her own playful personality, it seemed, something innocent and daring and subtle all at once that didn’t quite fit any of the kids, it was solely hers.

“I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the woman finally introduced herself, holding out her hand even as her radiant smile stayed firmly in place. When her eyes found Bruce again, they stayed there. “An old friend of your father’s. And by the way, Bruce. If you ever cut contact with me again without ever explaining yourself, I will not stay twiddling my thumbs in some other city again. I will hunt you down and get you to tell me what exactly possessed you to freeze me out, and only if it is some really good reasoning will I let you off without giving you a remedial lesson in the importance of dodging.”

Damian’s fire.

Dick looked over at Bruce, then at Marinette. She caught his eye, nodded and winked, and looked back to her old friend.

“But I do have to say, this looks suspiciously like a family we might have had if you had ever gotten up the courage to ask me out all those years ago instead of not realizing that I never specifically forbade you from visiting Paris, only heroes in general. You’re lucky I’m patient. I spent thirty years waiting to get back the Butterfly Miraculous and lock those two up for good, but making me wait twenty years to finally confess to you is a bit much, don’t you think? And adopting kids with only blue eyes and black hair is a bit on the nose, even for you.”

Scratch that, Damian’s loyalty.

Bruce really had adopted kids that reminded him of Marinette in some way, and the way he would grin or smile at Damian when he was displaying his usually subtle but steady loyalty, or the way that Bruce had almost unending tolerance for Damian’s stubbornness, it all started to make sense.

Bruce had tried building a family around the one he imagined he could have had with Marinette.

“Mari—“

“Nope. You’ve made me wait this long, you don’t even get a hug until after dinner. Then we can catch up, and you’ll take me out to dinner in a few days,” suddenly what was happening seemed to creep up on the woman, and she fidgeted. Sheepishness rose to her face, and she winced at her own words. But damn, she had imagined this day for so long, she couldn’t help but get assertive! “I mean, if you want to. I get it if you lost interest in dating me, but—“

“How about I set up a private dinner on the top of Wayne enterprises, day after tomorrow. We can even do a patrol afterwards if you’re up to it.”

His sons all facepalmed, some inwardly and some outwardly. Barbara groaned and Cass pinched the bridge of her nose. But, to their astonishment, Marinette’s smile just came back full force.

“Aww, you know I can’t resist the offer of a patrol. But just one, I want to enjoy some time off now that I’m not perpetually on-call as Paris’s main hero.”

Bruce finally grinned back, his eyes soft for the first time in a while that wasn’t directed at his kids. In way that they had never been soft towards Selina or most of his past flings.

“Just one patrol, then.”

“Sounds like a date.”

First attempt to upload this goofed and deleted the first part, so here is attempt number two! Again, Brucinette has been invading my dreams.

Apparently there is a part 2 now.

#mlb x dc #ml x dc #brucinette #aged up marinette

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dany-is-my-queen · 4 years

Text

Born To Be Yours | Part II

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,795

Note: I’m back!!!

Part 1 here Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

“You shouldn’t interfere when it’s none of your business.” Joffrey was still angry with you.

“Don’t mess with the ladies and we’ll be in peace.” You calmly said.

“Always so honorable... the hero saving the day.” Your mother mocked.

“Why you say it like that, mother? I would do it over again, you are so heartless and extreme about little matters.” You rolled your eyes.

“You don’t care about your brother's honor. That’s the real reason you defended those pathetic girls.” She spat.

“I do care about him. It’s the other way around. You are a pampered kid. You should start acting more like a man, Joffrey.” And with that you left his room.

“May I come in, princess?” The sweet voice of the oldest Stark daughter rang. You were on just a pair of trousers, definitely not wearing proper clothes to be talking to her.

“Of course, my lady. Just give me a second, please.” You put on a dress. “Let her in.”

“I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior. You saved my wolf’s life, I’ll be forever thankful, my princess.”

“It was the right thing to do. I would have preferred her to stay by your side, though.”

“She’ll find a new home. I hope she returns to the north, where she belongs.” You gave her a soothing smile. “Does prince Joffrey hates me?” She asked sadly.

“No no, he is just a bit... irritating and gets easily offended. But it’s not personal, my lady. You are promised to him so with time your relationship will evolve.”

“I hope so. I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening, my princess.”

“Lady Sansa, if you need someone to talk to you can always come to me. You and your sister. I pray for your little brother to wake up. She nodded.

“You are very kind.”

~~~~~~

“Did you found a suitable candidate up in the North, niece?” Uncle Renly asked with a droll voice.

“I met a boy... very good looking and a gentleman but he wasn’t my type. He’s the eldest son of Lord Eddard.”

“Sounds quite the man.”

“We didn’t have the chance to get closer so I’ll forget about him.” You might never see him again after all.

“Princess Y/N, what can I do for you?” The tall man greeted.

“I haven’t had the chance to thank you, my lord, for accepting to be the new hand. I know it was a difficult choice to make, leaving your home. My father really needs you. He lacks of loyal friends and I believe you’ll be very helpful around here.”

“Oh, I will do my best not to let Robert down.” He smiled.

“A raven came this morning. I- I forgot to deliver it earlier, my lord hand.” Maester Pycelle said with his usual stutter and left.

“Good news?”

“My Princess! I didn’t expect to see you.” A voice that didn’t please you stated.

“Lord Baelish.” You faked a perfect smile.

“Lord Stark, perhaps you’ll like to share the news with your wife.”

“She’s on Winterfell.”

“Is she?”

“I won’t tell my mother. Lord Baelish knows I can keep a secret. Can I join you?” The relation you had with Petyr was not the best. He informed you of things your parents won’t share with you. Despite that you never liked him nor his personality.

“Better not keep her waiting.” You reached his brothel unnoticed.

“I’ll talk to her when you’re done. I’m not a spy. I can be trusted but I prefer to stay out of your business, Lord Eddard.” And it was true. You had no interest in gossiping.

“Thank you.” They entered. Not before he took Baelish and throttle him suspecting this was a trick.

“Lady Catelyn.” You bowed your head.

“Princess Y/N, what a surprise...” She looked at you with dismay.

“It’s fine. I won’t tell a soul. I am glad to hear that little Bran is finally awake. And also, I wanted to let you know that I’ll keep your daughters safe. Now that you both are here I give you my word. My family is complicated and tends to have a reputation. I will look after Lady Sansa and Lady Arya, as long as I can, I promise.” Since the incident with the direwolves you had this enormous feeling of responsibility, deep down you knew their stay in King’s Landing won’t be as enjoyable as they thought. You hoped you were wrong. Prevention was a good idea.

“I will be in your debt, my princess. Knowing this gives me relief. It’s hard to find good people here in the capital.”

“It certainly is. Say hello to Lord Robb from me.” You wished her good travel home but sensed trouble in her.

~~~~~~

“Y/N! Want to spar? I’m so bored and Myrcella is doing lady stuff.” Tommen asked you, holding his little sword.

“That’s not proper for a princess to do and mother doesn’t approve.” Joffrey hissed.

“But father does. We are not useless like yourself, big brother.” You rumpled your brother’s hair. “Let’s go Tommen.” You found Arya in the courtyard with his dancing teacher. “Mind if we join the class?”

“This is Syrio Forel, he is from Braavos.”

“My Princess, my Prince.” He did a small reverence.

“I want to learn how to be a knight!” Tommen said excitedly. After a long time practicing you got tired. Syrio was surprised when he saw the way you wield the wooden blade.

“Natural talent, Princess Y/N.”

“Thank you. My father was the first person that taught me how to properly do it so I can defend myself when there are no guards around. Ser Jaime also instructed me of some techniques.”

“That’s my intent too. Not wearing dresses and attending to councils. I was born for this.” Arya said sure.

“No one will be able to stop you when you are old enough, perhaps not even now.” She grinned.

You could see yourself in this girl, you have a lot in common. She was fearless and didn’t seem to want to marry a lord and live in a castle. You could also see the similarities between Lady Sansa and you. You love to fight and go hunting, use a bow, but you knew how to weave as well, how to properly greet the lords and ladies, and you wished to get married someday. You were a proper daughter, with dignity and manners, your father was always more fond of you, your mother on the other hand... she loved you in her own way, you were the perfect child in everyone’s eyes.

“Lady Sansa, I am happy to know your brother is fine.” You put a hand on her shoulder.

“He won’t be able to walk ever again. But it was a miracle. Thanks for your prayers.” She answered.

“Would you like to visit the Throne Room? Your septa can join us.” She nodded.

“Someday your husband will sit there and you by his side, then you’re going to present your son to the court. All the important people of the Seven Kingdoms will gather here to see the prince.” Septa Mordane stated.

“What if I have a girl?” The Stark inquired.

“If the gods are good you’ll have girls and boys, plenty of them.”

“They all going to be beautiful children. Just like her mother.” You complemented.

“But if I only had girls...”

“The throne will pass to Tommen, my little brother.”

“And everyone will hate me.” She harried said.

“No one could ever hate you, Sansa.” Her septa affirmed.

“Your Septa is right, my lady. I already told you. As your friend, I won’t let anybody speak ill of you. Besides, you are lovely.” You squeezed her hand.

“Thank you, my princess.”

“Sansa, do you remember your lessons? Who built the Iron Throne?”

“Aegon the conqueror.”

“And who built the Red Keep?”

“Maegor the cruel. My grandfather and uncle were murdered here, by orders of the Mad King. Why?”

“You should speak to your father about these matters.”

“You are dismissed.” The old woman left. You walked towards the throne indicating her to follow you.

“Would you like to seat on the throne, my lady? It’s not a comfortable chair but it was forged from the one thousand swords that had been surrendered to Aegon in the War of Conquest by the lords who had offered their fealty, though the actual number of the swords is less than two hundred. These were melted down by the fiery breath of Balerion the Black Dread.” You conclude telling her.

“You seem to like these type of stories, Princess. Your knowledge for the topic is quite vast.” She was surprised yet amused.

“Yes, I enjoy to read and uncle Tyrion told me a lot about this when I was just a little girl. What kind of stories enthralled you, sweet lady?”

“The ones with honorable knights, chivalry and love.” A dreamt sigh left her mouth.

“I like those too. Especially this tale about Ser Florian called Florian the Fool, he was a legendary hero of the Riverlands from the Age of Heroes. He felt in love with a maiden named Jonquil. Singers compared the sudden marriage of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen and Queen Alysanne Targaryen to their great romance.

“I know that one! Is my favorite tale of all time. But I didn’t know they compared them with the Targaryens of that period. It’s very romantic.” She blushed a little.

“And one of the songs... I think this is how it goes, Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool... oh my gods! I sound terrible.”

“No! You have an adorable voice, princess Y/N.” You grinned.

“You are lying! I found that song a bit creepy. He was watching Jonquil and her sisters bathed. The face of the girl turned just like her hair. I didn’t mean to ruin it.” Both of you laughed.

“It’s alright. I still love it.” The throne room was never your favorite place to be, it was hollow and boring. You imagine all the horrible things that happened here. But now with the presence of such a pretty lass it felt different, not gloomy at all.

The next day it was the tournament in the name of Eddard Stark. Though the man didn’t attend. You sat next to the oldest Baratheon boy. Tommen was inpatient so as your father. Lady Sansa smiled at your brother but he looked away, avoiding her completely.

“Is it so hard to be nice at your lady?”

“Shut up.” You return the smile to her. She was half disappointed it wasn’t Joffrey and half happy you did notice her.

“Start the damn joust before I pissed myself!” And the opponents made their appearance. Ready to begin.

#sansa stark x reader #sansa x reader #game of thrones shot #game of thrones fic #got #baratheon reader #sansa x fem baratheon reader

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cafeinthemoon · 4 years

Text

The Nidaime’s Assistant extra scene (reader and Hiruzen)

So this is the extra scene from That Wasn’t a Genjutsu I’ve talked about a few days ago! I still miss writing for this story and it was my favorite part of the whole Nidaime’s Assistant series, so when the idea for this short scene came out, I just had to write it down. Now I want to share it with you. I hope you enjoy 💙

Title: That Wasn’t a Genjutsu

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen | up

Word count: 1151

Chapter (s): 1/1

Warning(s): mentions to labor/birth/blood

Symbols: ✔ | ⭕ | 🔺 | ▶

A Message from the Hokage

Now that everything was over and you two were finally taking a well deserved rest, the room in which you were with your newborn was silent. It was hard to believe in the fuzz of the night before: the women around your bed during your labor; the blood, the pain and the sweat all over your body; your baby fighting to come out; your mother’s outside the door, waiting and worried about you and making you regret telling her you haven’t feeling so well just some weeks before.

However, nothing was hurting more than knowing that your son was going to be brought to this world and his father was still not there. According to the last message he sent to you – two nights ago – Tobirama was on his way back to the village, but the possibility that he was not going to return in time was real. You knew it since the start, of course; still, you couldn’t help feeling anxious for him, for the baby for yourself. Even after the labor, when the baby was brought to you and you were informed about his good conditions, you couldn’t let yourself rest. You haven’t slept more than a few minutes that night.

But now everything was going to be okay. Despite the discomfort of the previous months, you survived the labor process, and your child was alright, as far as the medical ninjas could see. He showed to be louder than his sister when she was born, or so you thought (and to be honest you’ve already heard some women speaking about how boys use to cry louder than girls), but now that he had his first bath, was wrapped in soft sheets and being held by his mother, he was as quiet as can be.

And now that you finally had some time to observe him, you noticed how much he resembled his father: his pale skin and his thick white hair made it clear that he was going to be his living image after growing up; he still didn’t open his eyes, but it was like you were already seeing a pair of reddish pupils staring at you at that moment. You smiled with yourself when the image of a younger version of Tobirama came to your mind.

The baby has been sleeping for a few minutes, but now he started to move and groan. Of course, he was hungry. You slipped the strap of your gown and helped him to find your nipple. It was a strange yet comfortable sensation while the boy was being fed by your milk, returning to his previous state of peace. That was the second time in your life that you had to breastfeed a child, but it was like a first time anyway: each of your children were unique living beings, so that keeping each of them close to you while they get what was necessary to survive directly from you was some sort of special gift for one and for the other, despite being the same thing. Speaking of that, you remembered that your girl was never so hungry, so you had some problems with breast ache when she was little; you were hoping that this boy would be different.

You were almost finishing to feed him when you’ve heard someone knocking on the door.

- Come in – you said, sort of afraid of disturbing the boy.

The door was opened and Hiruzen Sarutobi, one of your husband’s students, entered the room. The boy closed the door quietly behind his back and took a step toward the bed, but stopped when he noticed what you were doing.

- Am I interrupting? – you saw his cheeks blushing – I can come back later…

You smiled.

- No, Saru. You’re not doing anything wrong – you whispered to not disturb the baby – Come here. I’m just going to ask you to speak low, because he’s almost sleeping.

Hiruzen gave you two a soft smile and approached the bed; his embarrassment with your current circumstance was visible – you understood that, to him, it was like seeing his sensei’s wife naked – so you did what you could to make him feel at will, keeping a light conversation about his team, his recent missions and how life has been around the village.

He took some time observing the baby, and once you looked at him you understood that he was seeing the same as you.

- He just came to this world and is already his image, isn’t he? – you commented, caressing his white hair, as bristly as his father’s – I can just imagine how he will be like when he become a grown man.

- You are right, y/n-sama – Hiruzen agreed.

- Saru, I already told you to just call me y/n – you replied with a stifled laughter – To me, you are part of the family.

He blushed.

- Thank you for that… – and as if he was almost forgetting the reason for his visit – I’ve just received a message from Tobirama-sensei. He says he is reaching the village today and is coming to see you by the evening. He says sorry for not coming earlier, but unexpected things kept him in his mission. He sent us ahead him because he stated that this time we could not help him. He had stay behind and work by himself.

You nodded but raised an eyebrow right after.

- He had to stay behind and work by himself, uh? That grumpy old man will never change. He could have kept at least one of you with him, I know. The truth is that he wanted you all to get some rest and leave him to do everything in his way, with no interference or divergent opinions, that’s it. You know that, right?

Hiruzen opened his mouth with surprise after hearing speaking like this about your husband, but then he smiled.

- Yes, I know. Still, this is everything he told me, and here I am to pass his message.

- It’s okay, I know the man who lives with me and that you have no fault in this, boy. You don’t need to be worried.

A moment of silence passed and Hiruzen spoke again.

- He also asks about your state, and the baby’s, y/n.

Your face got warm with this part of the message. Tobirama still had his moments, after all.

- I’m fine. Still tired, of course, but I will be okay in a few days. You see, it happened naturally, so that my recovery will be faster. And the boy is alright as well. The doctors examined him as soon as they took him with them, and no problem was found – you smiled – However, I think he will keep us awake for more nights than Amaya did.

Saru understood the joke.

- This might become a problem for Tobirama-sensei!

- Indeed! – you laughed as well.

#naruto fanfiction #tobirama #tobirama x reader

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songsoomin · 4 years

Text

No More Dreams (A)

Word count: 3.5K

This is the story I wrote for the Ateez writing competition and I based some aspects on what I have seen in dramas/films and documentaries but this is just a fiction; I’m not trying to create a stereotype of what all people who are struggling financially go through - this is just what my character’s life is like.

If you are kind enough - or think this is good enough - to like and comment on for the competition I would be so grateful. The link is below and I used Veilduck VPN to get on the website.

Posted: 9th July 2020

http://ateez.kqent.com/bbs/board.php?bo_table=gevent&wr_id=3280

The familiar pain stabbed at Mingi's stomach again as he groaned and rolled over, trying to get some sleep. Hunger was something he was very used to by now but that didn't mean it got any easier with time. It still hurt just as much.

To say that Mingi was poor was an understatement, rather he survived each day not knowing if he would be as lucky the next. Today he'd had some cup noodles from a convenience store but that was it; he was out of money until he could get paid again but at least he had a roof over his head...for now.

Mingi's family had always been poor but it hadn't always been like this. He'd never known his father; all his mother ever said about him was that he ran off whilst she was pregnant so he grew up with just his mother. He still lived in the same semi-basement they always had done; really just a room with a partly enclosed toilet and shower room and a sort of kitchen set up - a sink and tiny fridge with a gas stove burner. The fridge was never really used as Mingi didn't have the luxury to buy fresh food to store; he just bought what he could afford each day so he didn't even keep it plugged in, not wanting to waste the electricity.

His mum got them by doing part-time work day to day; folding pizza boxes, handing out leaflets on the street, that type of thing and, although it didn't pay well they were okay. They couldn't afford lavish food and mostly survived on basic things but they were fed. Mingi went to school and worked as hard as he could hoping to make a better life for them both. He had dreams, he loved aeroplanes and imagined himself working in that field and one day buying a big house for his mum but those dreams ended when she died.

It hadn't escaped Mingi's knowledge that she struggled and that it took it's toll on her mentally and physically. He could see she wasn't well but never imagined the secret she was keeping from him. Cancer. She had found out about it but couldn't afford the treatment she needed. She kept it from him as long as possible so as not to cause him any pain. There was nothing that could be done so she struggled on - no need to burden him with the knowledge. Mingi never knew if this was the right decision or not; he couldn't blame his mum for wanting to spare him the pain that knowledge would bring but the shock of such a sudden decline was no easier in his mind.

His mum had worked herself to the bone to make as much money as possible for him but the cancer was progressing each day and once it spread to her liver she declined rapidly. Mingi would never forget the day he came home to find her obviously in pain and barely able to move. When you see someone everyday it it's easy to miss gradual changes but now he really looked at her he could see what she had become. She was thin and frail and no longer looked like the mother he knew.

"Mum, please let me take you to the hospital!"

"Mingi," his mother rasped out, "nothing can be done now...it's gone too far."

"Why didn't you tell me? We could've done something."

"The treatment is too expensive, Mingi." she reached her frail hand up to cup his face, "Even if we gave up everything, the money we'd save still wouldn't have been enough."

Mingi's mother stopped to catch her breath and he could see what a struggle it was for her.

"I had to try to make sure you'd be okay, I haven't got much money but you'll be fine for a little while."

Over the next few days Mingi watched as his mum faded away while he gave her water and tried to get her to eat. The last thing she had said to him was how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. As she slipped into unconsciousness he whispered,

"Mum, I love you. Please don't leave me."

but he knew this was the last moment they would share together.

He sat on the floor, next to her on their old couch, holding her hand until he fell asleep. When he woke the next morning, she was gone.

He didn't know what to do, who to call. They had no family except each other. He sat in their semi-basement next to her body for a couple of days just frozen with grief and shock until a teacher came by to see why he hadn't been to school. The door was unlocked so she carefully entered to find Mingi sitting against the wall next to the couch, legs bent and arms wrapped around his knees. His mother's lifeless body covered by a blanket. I t was clear hadn't eaten in days so Miss Kim went out to buy him some food while they waited for the police and ambulance to arrive.

They couldn't afford a funeral so his mother's body was taken and dealt with in whatever way they did when someone without money died. Mingi didn't ask what they'd do. Child services came round but he refused to go and, as he was 16, they didn't try to force him. The officer just left her card hoping he would go to them when he ran out of money and promising to check in every now and then. That was the last he saw of them, though.

Mingi realised then that no one really cares about the poor - they can't give them anything in return. He stopped going to school but his teachers never came looking for him, most likely courting the rich parents who could give the school money in return for good grades for their children. He had seen enough of those type of kids at school, never doing any work but passing alltheir classes, nonetheless. Everyone knew it was their parents bribing the school with expensive new books and equipment. Then once they graduate they'd get given a cushy job in their parents' company or with someone their parents know. They would never know what it was like to have a dream and have to work for it.

As far as social services went, Mingi didn't know if they didn't care or if they forgot about him. Maybe there were just too many other children in need. He was fine with that, though; the last thing he wanted was to be placed with some strangers or in an orphanage. He'd rather just be left alone.

Over the next couple of years Mingi barely survived. He picked up some of the jobs his mum had been doing but during the time she had been ill they had found other people to do it and now weren't convinced enough to give work to a teenager on his own. A few had taken pity on him and still sent work but it was sporadic. After he managed to pay the rent and bills he wasn't always left with enough for food. There was certainly no money left to follow his dreams and improve his life. Dreams were too lavish for someone as poor as he was.

As things in the house got worn or broken, he couldn't afford to replace them so he lived with what he had. His thin matress on the floor was old and uncomfortable now and the blankets had holes in them but he did the best he could, layering them in the winter when it was cold and he couldn't afford heating. It was hard to control the damp in the winter, as well. Without heating to dry out the walls, it kept spreading and opening the tiny window to air it out just made it colder so he tried his best to clean the black mould off the walls before it inevitably returned.

Of course, there were always ways to get money but Mingi couldn't bring himself to do them. He had too much pride to beg and too many morals to steal. That didn't stop the gangs from targeting him, though. He lived in a rather shady part of town and the gangs preyed on people in desperate situations so they kept trying to convince him to work for them - running drugs, that kind of thing - but Mingi wasn't a criminal. He wasn't like them and they got angry when he continually refused and often tried a more 'physical' way of convincing him. It was after one of their beatings, as he stumbled back towards his home, that he felt a hand reach out to him,

"Are you okay?" The voice sounded familiar but he couldn't place it.

"I'm fine." Mingi choked out, trying to pull away from the strangers hand that was holding his arm.

"You don't look fine, you look - Mingi? Is that you?"

Mingi looked to the good samaritan and was surprised to see his childhood best friend staring back at him with an equal measure of shock.

"Mingi! What happened? You disappeared and I never saw you again."

"Jongho?"

"Let me get you home, Min; you're a mess. Where do you live?"

Mingi directed Jongho to his semi-basement and let him help him in and down onto his couch. As Jongho looked around, Mingi couldn't help but feel embarrassed. This was exactly why he had never invited his friend back when they were at school together. He was always so grateful to his mum for how hard she worked to keep them fed and housed but he was still a teenager and didn't want Jongho to see all the pizza boxes and flyers that were a permanent fixture in their home.

"I tried to find you but I never knew where you lived. I wanted to reach out when I heard about your mum but I was too young, I didn't know how to find you." Jongho said with sympathy in his brown eyes.

"I'm sorry." Mingi said in his quiet, deep voice. "Things just...got bad, I guess."

With nothing in Mingi's home to treat his cuts, Jongho told him to wait while he ran to the store for supplies. He came back with food, as well. He didn't want Mingi to feel like he was pitying him but he couldn't ignore how thin he was and how there seemed to be no food in the house.

He put some ramen on and set about tending to his friend's wounds.

"I don't mean to interfere but you don't look like you've been eating well."

"It's fine." Mingi sighed; there was no point being prideful in front of Jongho when he could clearly see he was starving. "You look great, though."

Jongho laughed, "Well, you used to be my bodyguard, remember? You always protected me from the bullies. When you stopped coming to school I had to start defending myself so I began working out. After a while they stopped messing with me."

Jongho made sure Mingi ate and promised to come back again tomorrow. He'd found his lost friend now and he'd missed him so much there was no way he was letting him go again.

The next day Jongho returned as promised. It had been so long since Mingi had had someone to talk to like this, he was quite awkward but Jongho kept the conversation flowing.

"I told my mum I found you."

"I remember your mum, she was always nice." Mingi replied, remembering the times he spent at Jongho's after school.

"She wants you to come over for dinner - says she missed your smile."

"I don't think she'll be seeing much of that." Mingi mumbled, more to himself.

"You'll come, though, right?"

He couldn't refuse Jongho when he looked so hopeful; just as he remembered him.

"Yeah, I'll come."

"Great. Let's go!"

Jongho's family weren't well off but, to Mingi, their house was amazing. Bright and spacious, and so many rooms. It was familiar to him but he'd forgotten quite how nice it was over the years.

"Mingi, sweetheart!" Jongho's mum was such a warm person, enveloping him in a hug as soon as he was in the door. "I've missed you."

Mingi flushed with embarrassment, aware of his disheveled appearance, worn clothes, the bruises on his face and cut on his lip from yesterday's run in.

"It's nice to see you again, Mrs Choi." Mingi said , bowing politely.

"Come and sit down, dear. Tell me how you are."

Mingi sat on the couch chatting with Jongho and his mum but he was sketchy with the details of his life - he really didn't want to be pitied.

What he didn't know was that Mrs Choi could see it all anyway; his emaciated appearance, the way his eyes looked in awe at all the food - even though it was just a modest meal. His clothes were worn and tatty, and his hair looked like he'd been cutting it himself. Mostly she could see he just wasn't the Mingi she remembered Jongho bringing home after school. This Mingi was worn down and defeated. His big, bright smile was gone and it pained her to see him like that.

"Jongho...you didn't tell me it was this bad!" Mrs Choi loudly whispered to her son in the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Jongho...look at him. How long has it been since he ate any real food? He's clearly malnourished. He's even been assaulted - what has happened to him?"

Jongho leaned round the doorframe to take a closer look at Mingi; he had obviously noticed he was thin and can't have been eating much but he hadn't really taken in just how bad Mingi looked.

"What do we do?" He asked his mother who had tears in her eyes at seeing the once happy boy in this desperate state.

"I don't know...but I can't watch him suffer like this." Mrs Choi was interupted in her musings by the boy in question.

"Mrs Choi?" Mingi said quietly entering the kitchen.

"Yes, dear?"

"Thank you very much for dinner but I should be going now."

"Oh, you don't have to leave so soon, Mingi."

"It's fine; I don't want to impose any longer. Bye Jongho." Mingi bowed and made his way out of the Choi house.

Jongho and his mum looked helplessly after him,

"I think he may have heard us." Jongho said, sighing.

Mrs Choi didn't sleep well that night; thinking only about how she could help Mingi. She hoped she hadn't hurt his pride with her conversation with Jongho in the kitchen but she had been so shocked at the change in him and had to do something.

Mingi also hadn't slept well - not because of hunger this time, he had eaten more at the Choi household than he would normally get to eat in a week - but because he felt bad for making Mrs Choi worry about him. He had heard her conversation with Jongho and didn't want to have caused her upset; she was too kind a person.

Mingi was folding the pizza boxes when he heard the knock at the door next morning. He wasn't expecting anyone except the pizza company but they weren't collecting until later. He didn't expect the person who was on the other side when he opened the door.

"Mrs Choi? What are you doing here?"

"I hope you don't mind, dear...Jongho told me where you lived. May I come in?"

"Oh...yeah, of course."

As he led Jongho's mother through his tiny basement flat he felt embarrassed for her to see it; pizza boxes, flyers, black mould and the glaring sparseness of it all, devoid of any kind of homeliness. He could see Mrs Choi trying to discreetly look around but she didn't look judgemental, she looked...sad.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Choi, I only have water to offer you."

"That's okay, Mingi, dear. Water will be fine, thank you."

As Mingi filled a mug with water, Mrs Choi began talking,

"Mingi, I have wrestled all night with how to approach this without offending you or making you feel bad but I don't think there is a way so I'm just going to say it."

He set the mug down on the small table and sat on the floor, wondering what the lady had to say.

"When Jongho came home and told me he'd found you he was so excited but he also told me what had happened when he found you and how you were living." Mrs Choi, paused for a moment before continuing while Mingi sat silently listening.

"Despite what he told me I was very shocked when I saw you myself; I won't pretend to understand how hard it has been but it's clear you've been struggling significantly since your mother passed away and it pains me to think you've suffered all alone."

Mingi watched as Mrs Choi wiped a tear from her cheek, clearly very upset by his situation. Mingi had been used to it for so long now but he couldn't deny it must be shocking to other people.

"I remember when you used to come home with Jongho after school and you boys would spend hours in his room playing games before joining us for dinner. I was always so fond of you and you were so important to Jongho. When I heard about your mother I wanted to check on you but Jongho said he'd never been to your house and the school wouldn't give me your details. When Jongho said you were no longer coming to school I hoped it meant you'd gone to live with relatives - I never could have imagined you were here all alone, struggling to even eat." Another tear escaped her and she fished a tissue out of her bag.

"Mrs Choi, I appreciate your concern but -"

"Please, let me finish, dear." She cut Mingi off gently. "I can't continue knowing you are living like this. I don't mean that to cause offence and I'm sure your mother would be very proud of how strong you've been but, as a mother myself, I know it would cause her great pain to see you this way."

It was Mingi's turn to cry now that he was reminded of his mother; he would never want her to be hurting over him.

"I thought to help you financially but I just don't feel it's enough. I want you to come home with me - I can't bear to leave you here."

Mingi was stunned. Did he hear her right? She had always been a very kind and caring person but was she really offering him a home?

"Mrs Choi...it's very kind of you but it's too much. I can't impose on your family like that."

"Mingi, do you think anyone of us could sleep at night or enjoy a meal knowing what Jongho's best friend is going through?"

"I've hardly been a good best friend to him; I disappeared without a word." Mingi said ashamed.

"Sweetheart, you went through a situation no young child should have to experience. Jongho understands that - we all do. You didn't see how upset Jongho was to have lost you...he didn't know what to do with himself. When he came home to tell me he found you again, he was just so delighted. He more than anyone wants you to come home; he's missed you so much."

"I really do appreciate it but I wouldn't feel right living off someone else's kindness and I can hardly offer you much in return."

"You can contribute what you can if you want but this isn't a conditional offer, we don't want anything more from you but to be a part of our family. Please, let us help you."

Mingi didn't know what to do. Was there any point letting his pride get in the way of the chance to have a family again? Of being warm and fed.

"Okay, I'll come with you...if you're really sure." He said feeling quite awkward.

"Oh, Mingi, darling, you've made me very happy and Jongho will be delighted."

"I'll work hard to contribute, though, I won't let you do this for nothing."

"Mingi, I used to think of you as another son, just having you around again is more than enough but I understand. Your mother would be so proud of you." She said hugging him tight.

As Mingi settled in to his new room later that night, laying on his soft, cosy bed he thought for the first time in years of what his future might hold instead of whether he would even have one. Maybe it was possible for him to dream again one day.

#song mingi angst #song mingi #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #choi jongho #ateez angst #ateez choi jongho #ateez song mingi #ateez writing competiition

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nyacromancey · 4 years

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Killing Stalking and Hannibal

TW: abuse, violence

I thought I’d take a closer look at these two pieces of media, Killing Stalking and the Hannibal franchise (TV show centered, with parts from the books). Under the cut if you’d like to read on. This will probably reach, like, two people who’ve read/watched these works lol.

First, let’s start off with the main antagonists around which our protagonists revolve. Hannibal Lecter and Oh Sangwoo. The two have equally distressing and traumatic childhoods that leave a large imprint upon their adult lives. These imprints are fixations on female relatives (Mischa and Eunseo respectively) and a need to almost reenact these traumatic events in the form of serial killing.

World War II occurred during Hannibal Lecter’s childhood, causing them to remove themselves from their home to escape to an isolated area to avoid the Germans. However, later, the Soviets make their way to the lodge only to be bombed; the bomb killed everyone but the children. With Mischa and Hannibal Lecter captured, six deserters leave them in a barn. After running out of food, the deserters take Mischa to kill her and eat her. Hannibal fails in his attempt to save her, and later, is unknowingly fed parts of her. From this moment onward, Hannibal’s perception of reality is altered. He becomes violent and vengeful, seeking the deserters’ deaths. His fascination with killing those offensive to him escalates until he begins eating them, creating a cycle for his adult life. He meticulously cultivates a “person suit” to wear in America, becoming the cannibal psychiatrist, doctor, and chef whom we all know.

Oh Sangwoo’s childhood was turbulent. Having a mentally ill mother attempt to smother him with a pillow when he was a toddler certainly isn’t good parenting skills. His mother coddles him throughout childhood, cheating on her husband repeatedly. It is unknown when the switch occurs, but eventually Sangwoo’s father turns violent towards his son and wife. It’s the perfect situation for Sangwoo’s mother to create an “us vs him” relationship with her son, lavishing affection upon him up until the moment she poisons his father and blames the act on him. She then begins to attempt to poison her son. Sangwoo, believing the relationship between his mother and him to be strong and loving, soon becomes obsessed with counting the pills she used to kill his father. The story escalates with his mother snapping and holding him hostage to abuse him, eventually killing herself and claiming he will die a “most painful death.” After her death, Sangwoo becomes paranoid and delusional, believing that any woman he encounters will attack and hurt him the same as his mother, and so he kills them first.

The complete failure of proper authorities to ensure mental health issues were not present leads to these characters becoming serial killers in their own rights. They keep up charming and likable fronts to the public eye. Then they meet characters and learn they don’t have to be alone. Both Hannibal and Sangwoo, in my opinion, strived to be understood and known by another person, but they weren’t aware of this longing until they meet people who they do want to share with. In Hannibal’s case, Will Graham becomes the person who he wants to share with. For Sangwoo, Yoon Bum essentially crashes into his life with an obsession with his person suit, and gradually, with him as he truly is.

Yoon Bum already “knew” Sangwoo by the time he broke into his house and found the girl in his basement. He believed himself to be in love with him, and when Sangwoo returns to find him there, he confesses his feelings for him. Sangwoo is shocked by this, but with Bum being there and seeing his true self to a degree, he sees Bum as a threat. So he breaks his ankles and chains him up to take the girl’s place. Yet with Hannibal meeting Will, a stranger to him, he sees in them qualities that he wants to exploit for his own benefit. He, in a way, forces his beliefs and manipulations upon him to make him dance for his own pleasure. He wants to see his brains in action.

Sangwoo and Yoon Bum and Hannibal and Will’s arcs follow similar paths in regards to Hannibal and Sangwoo’s manipulations of them. They see similarities in their chosen partners with themselves and want to “test” them in certain ways. When they fail to complete the tests or react in a certain way, both characters punish them for it. Sangwoo’s abuse is more physical and recoverable (hitting, hanging, choking) and later apologizing for acting in such a way and becoming more affectionate. Hannibal, on the other hand, puts himself on more of a pedestal. He isn’t capable of mistakes, and if he punishes Will, Will deserves it. This is shown in the mental manipulations of Will to frame him as a murderer and, later, stabbing him.

While neither relationships express a healthy version of love, the characters develop an unhealthy codependency on each other--the closest form to love they can reach, as damaged as they are. Sangwoo and Bum have extreme highs and lows in their relationship because Sangwoo and Bum’s unchecked mental illnesses frequently interfere with their visions of each other. Sangwoo is extremely reluctant to acknowledge his feelings for Bum and even dislikes Bum mentioning his own (shown by Bum crying out “I like you” during sex and Sangwoo responding with “Shut up”). However, the “sweet” middle part of both relationships is centered on these moments, but they are prevented from being truly together because of deceptions. Will makes Hannibal believe he killed Freddie Lounds, when all he is trying to do is get revenge on Hannibal for his past misdeeds. Sangwoo is still refusing to acknowledge his past and how it affects his relationship with Bum. Hannibal and Bum are blissful in their newfound love for their partner, unknowing of the hidden truths they’re hiding.

Their arcs come full circle, with Hannibal and Sangwoo eventually realizing that their root cause for acting the way they do is grounded in their chosen partners. Hannibal realizes he loves Will, and by loving Will, he should complete the circle as done before and eat him. In comparison, Sangwoo’s mental illness spirals downward when he realizes Bum and his mother fill the same roles in different ways. While Hannibal places Mischa on a pedestal higher than himself, Sangwoo is haunted by his mother in drastic forms of love and hate. He expresses regret for not killing Bum earlier; his paranoia is taking over him as his belief that Bum is trying to poison him solidifies. However, while Hannibal and Will frequently communicate, Bum is oblivious to Sangwoo’s deteriorating self. Because they do not properly communicate, Sangwoo’s final snap leads to the permanent separation of Bum and him. Sangwoo reverts to the cold, unfeeling person we saw in the first episode; any progress on him wanting to be “different” is lost in his delusion of Bum trying to kill him and, in the end, the belief that Bum does not truly love him. For a character that frequently communicated his need to be loved for who he was, Bum betrayed him by failing to acknowledge it. Sangwoo dies without receiving any communication with Bum despite crying out for him until he was suffocated. Bum takes Sangwoo’s ashes back to his house, to the place where it all began, and hallucinates their good times until he imagines Sangwoo leading him out onto a busy road. I choose to believe Bum was hit by a car at this point, echoing their promise to die together or, at least, close to each other.

On the other hand, Hannibal realizing his arc coming full circle is not the way he intends his life to go. After long periods of time, Hannibal and Will are reunited and kill together, and as Hannibal says, “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us” and Will responding with, “It’s beautiful” shows their growth, yet Will pulling them off the cliff also gives them a definitive ending (if that is indeed the ending).

Hannibal and Will were allowed to grow; Sangwoo and Bum were not. Hannibal and Will end the story together; Sangwoo and Bum’s story ends as it began: with Bum chasing after Sangwoo. Personally, I would have loved to see Sangwoo and Bum’s relationship end on a more Hannibal-esque note, and that’s where I believed the story was going when Sangwoo had Bum kill Jieun, but I have to acknowledge Koogi’s excellent writing in not going that route. Yes, the ending hurt. However, ending the story at the beginning, so to speak, was definitely strong.

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #killing stalking #oh sangwoo #tw abuse #tw violence

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paulieshore · 4 years

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Obey Me / SCM Au Series

Warnings: conflict of interest, triggers, drama, angst

Words 3176

I do not own the rights to these characters, characters belong to:

· Obey me! Shall we date

· Star crossed myth - Voltage

Note: The beginning of this story is flashback to an earlier time, to aid the series.

Chapter 9: You Already Have

An event happened shortly after Fates passing, when the departments were first established.

The warlocks of earth rallied against the heavens, demanding more then what they were owed. After the fight against the dark ones, they threatened to raise chaos once again. This threat was taken seriously, considering what had previously transpired. Many believed this was the perfect time to speak their demands and strike. All the realms were in a healing process after the great battle, one warlock in particular (Mordred) led a violent protest against the heavens. Many were angry at the gods for not aiding soon enough, or not being compensated enough for all that was lost.

Mordred in specific; despised the gods, he who was once a faithful and devoted mage. His wife and two of his three children were killed in the slaughters, leaving him and his son behind. Grief led to anger, anger to hate, he wanted nothing more than revenge against the heavens. So badly, that he sold his soul to a disciple who had escaped from the battle of the dark ages, in exchange for darker magic.

One enough, to challenge a god.

Mordred caused quite the stir on earth, he felt humiliated and mocked by the gods. He thought the more ‘darkness’ he unleashed, sooner or later, the gods would have to meet his demands. He was arrogant, the magic he wielded fed false confidence to his soul.

Said darkness consumed him, leaving alone his son; orphaned. (will come back to this part another time)

Zyglavis and Leon as newly established Ministers were the ones who were to deal with the situation, the warlocks were ruthless; Mordred was a strong tyrant. However, because the confrontation was ongoing in the human realm neither Leon nor Zyg were able to truly realise their powers.

* It is forbidden for gods to do so, limiting them to using lesser power. Due to the fact; taking into their god forms and using their true potential could ultimately destroy the human realm. *

They were heavily outnumbered as it raged on, the fight looked as though the warlocks had the upper hand. The dragged fight took its toll on Leon and Zyglavis, without rest; they were exhausted beyond measure. Until, the darkest hour, a bright light shined, a young angel in a suit of armour appeared. Swooping down with six pure white wings to aid, with one massive flap from his wings he sent numbers of the warlocks back. The situation turned and Leon, Zyg and this angel fought side by side dwindling the forces.

* Angels are able to use their power without unbalancing the human realm. This angel, who was not asked nor told to help. Came and assisted, selflessly. When most angels preferred nonviolent ways, or not to involve themselves at all in ‘dirtying’ their hands. *

The battle was over, the angel subdued Mordred with great effort.

“Boy, what is your name?” Leon was breathless, eyeing up the young stranger.

He ran his fingers through his raven black hair, fixing it to one side “My name is Lucifer, sir.”

“Your Fate’s boy, correct?” Zyglavis approaches Lucifer, who was nearly as tall as him.

He looked off in thought and smiled, cheeks tinting pink when he nodded to Zyg’s question.

“I will be sure you are greatly rewarded for your bravery, Lucifer. Your mother would have been proud.”

The pride of the heavens, was indeed worthy of his name.

Lucifer was appointed to serving both Ministers of each department, not even the messengers of heaven had the privilege to serve both departments.

Now, back to our story time line…

Mammon had you thrown over his shoulder, the pain in your head was too much; passing out. Asmo carried an unconscious Solomon too, they rushed to get as far away as possible from the building.

“Where now?” He turns to Asmo, catching his breath.

Asmo gasps for air, and looks at him unsure.

…

“I will have you two strung up for a thousand years for this!”

Lucifer and the others appear, barrelling down the side walk towards them.

Even though they knew there was going to be hell to pay, they were relieved the others showed up.

“What’s wrong with them?” Belphie asks with a look of concern

Setting eyes on two mundane individuals slung over their brothers’ shoulders, each seemingly out; limp.

“We don’t have time for this, we gotta goooooo!” Mammon tries to get everyone moving.

Similar black mist that surrounded the suite, starts closing in on all of them, like a whirl pool. The warm dawn light thrashed out by the black cold mist, spinning.

“What in the hell?!” Satan turns around watching the mist spiralling crazily.

“Like I said, we need to go!”

“I don’t think ssssoo”

Another body takes form not far, sick colour hair, and another marking on this one’s cheek. He was draped in a blood red cloak, “You have sssomething that belongsss to uss” He hisses pointing to the unconscious girl. His eyes void, hazed over with a look of murder.

“That marking...” Lucifer’s eyebrows pinch together. Another one? He thinks, considering this wasn’t the one they ran into the other day. He immediately had his guard up, Diavolo warned them… DAMMIT! He was right, they led them right to Y/N! He was cursing himself.

A moment later, a bolt of light shot through the crowd with great speed. Like the rays set off the sun, inserting between the brothers from the disciple.

Leon appears from the light; blocking, “If you want her, come and get her!” He challenges; confidently.

The disciple’s eyes widen and darken even more, without warning he throws black balls of light towards Leon.

!!!

As Leon prepared to counter…

Lucifer swoops next to him, in demon form; wings stretched back. One single flap of his wings and it sends the balls right back with a wave of force.

“Youuuuuuuu!” The fiend spits, dodging his own attack; ricocheting back.

Lucifer and Leon momentarily make side eye contact, side by side; ready for this fight. No words were needed, a memory arises in Leon’s mind.

He can’t help but feel angry and …. What is this feeling? His heart slightly aches.

Heaven

He folds his arms and tilts his head to the side.

“Crow...”

The King watched as Leon and Karno battle Crow, throwing black and white lights at each other; destroying things inside the suite.

“I wonder which path this one will take...”

Karno aims and makes a crucial hit to Crow, causing him to drop to his knees holding his chest. “This isn’t over yet!” He mutters and disappears.

Leon then taking off just as quickly as Crow did.

Kivy watched for a moment longer, Karno fixing the devastation inside. Then he waves his slim and delicate looking hand over the water, another scene begins to unfold.

“It seems old habits die hard…. Lucifer…”

Zyglavis approaches, “My king, should we aid?”

Kivy shakes his head, “No, I see no cause too. No-one is to interfere, understand.” Tapping the stone around the reflecting pool. His eye’s never leaving from his once favourite creation.

“The curtain rises, the stage is set. How fascinating, so many possibilities…? But only few endings, our very actions; set course. The end is nigh…...”

Zyglavis face scrunches in confusion as he watches the King talking, and smiling to himself.

Devildom

Diavolo stands on the balcony, hands behind his back.

“Barbatos, did they go to her?”

Nodding, “Yes, there is only two outcomes to this…”

Diavolo turns to face Barbatos, both seemed to have been thinking of something.

He faces away again and looks out to the outskirts of Devildom, observing the change up above. The sky darkening and swirling, denser than usual “We could have ended this before it started, but father refuses to do anything other than sleep!” Slamming his fists down to the banister, shaking it with unfathomable force.

“Perhaps it’s time for your coronation, my lord” Barbatos says with a smile, bowing his head.

Back in the Human Realm

Leon stands next to Lucifer, blocking the attacks.

Lucifer orders his siblings, “Move and go quickly!” as he counters attacks back.

The disciple did not let up, flailing his arms, with each; more black balls flying into range.

Lucifer was blocking and winging them back, Leon was throwing gold lights of his own. A gust of wind begins to blow, stopping anyone from leaving the area.

Leon couldn’t allow the girl to leave with them, not when he was so close.

Behind the disciple, Karno appears with a snap and throws an arrow of light into the back of the assailant. He screams an ear bleeding pitch before disappearing into mist, gone with the wind.

…

The air goes still, like the calm before the storm.

Lucifer and Leon take steps back from one another, fiercely staring each other down. One on guard, the other fighting the urge to teach the traitorous boy a lesson.

Karno; cautious as he approaches, placing himself between the two “Is she alright?” Looking to Mammon with anxious eyes.

Mammon hesitates for a moment, unsure how to respond, when he feels her slowly start fidgeting on his shoulder. Carefully placing her on the ground, holding her arms for support as she sits on the pavement.

Your eyes flutter, “Whoa, what the heck happened?” Your head felt of static, one minute you were in pain, then nothing. Waking up outside, face to face with Mammon.

Mammon looks to Karno, “Yea, I think she’s good.” Releasing your arms and standing up straight.

…

Leon, without taking his eyes off Lucifer, “You’re coming with us little girl and that’s an order”

‘Was that Leon’s voice?’ Your head spins around and you take it all in; all the brothers were here and Karno and Leon. – Uh oh

“I think it’s clear Y/N doesn’t want to be at that house any longer, or she wouldn’t have left it to begin with” Satan simply states.

Leon’s face turns, glaring from Lucifer’s, to him.

When their eyes met, Satan for the first time ever felt the sheer meaning of ‘if looks could kill’. He instinctively took a step back, biting his cheeks from continuing. Not even Lucifer gave him this feeling when he got angry, this one was truly powerful and very dangerous.

Karno slowly side steps towards Leon, ready to stop him “Settle down, I think there’s been enough violence for one day…”

…

While everyone’s attention was centred, behind Mammon; Crow appeared without noise.

Your head whipped back, when you felt his presence spring up. Pointing, you tried to warn him but before anyone could react in time.

Crow threw a massive black orb; into Mammon’s back “DIEEEEE!!”

Mammon jerked forward, clenching his hands tightly. Knuckles gone completely white “Urg!!!!!!!”

!!!!!

“MAMMON!”

Far from Devildom, in ruins of an old fortress

The Dark King raised his chin and smiled, the chaos feeding his soul.

“Crow, Servillah, I will be sure to reward you beyond measure for your hard work”

*SNAP*

A cloaked figure appears before him.

“So, you’ve returned, my son.”

He pulls down his hood, and kneels down on one knee “I have, my lord” Raising his head, smirking.

“Tell me Partheno, do they suspect you?” The Dark King rises from the crumbling throne.

“No, I am the god of love and beauty after all” rising as he glides his fingers down his face “they consider me like one of them. Can you believe the insolence of them!?” His face twists into a repulsive frown.

Partheno quickly regains face; shrugging his shoulders, “What a pity though, such a pretty little thing she was...”

‘I would have liked to have had her as my little pet, she seems to have charmed those demons. I wonder how she could have pleased me’ He thought to himself

“Do not stray from our goal now! We have come so close after so long; we will make them all pay. We will rise from the shadows and conquer all the realms; you may have what you want then. The mortals have lost their ways of surviving, they’ve grown too comfortable in times of peace. Their deaths will breed life to a new age!” He stumbled back and sank down into the throne.

Partheno carefully watched his lords weakened state.

A part of him felt conflicted, to be born of darkness; wishing to be out in the light. Did he really want to betray those gods, who seemed to believe in him?

Did he really want to see her die? This mortal, who treated demons like friends, and showed promise. He didn’t have many interactions with you but he didn’t feel angry at you like the rest of the world. A part of him actually wanted to be closer to you, but alas; you were merely a lamb being led to slaughter.

Heaven

Kivy was still staring at the pool, like a cat watching fish swim.

“Oooh, so it’s this one. How amusing…”

He watches as Satan steps away from Leon’s stare, and smiles wide.

“To be feared and loved, what I would expect from the next King.”

He watched as Crow stabbed Mammon in the back, he nearly laughed.

“What irony hmm”

His face darkened, thinking back to how they turned their backs on him. On the laws of their people, because their little sister loved a mortal.

Broke his sacred law to save that mortal, and then when he punished her, they betrayed him.

His own creations, HIS children, for what?

To fall from grace, and live a pointless existence. Lucifer’s anger towards him birthed Wrath, replacing Lilith with what, another brother? Then that young prince Diavolo, aided Lilith, giving her a happy ever after.

He clicked his tongue and stared down with disgust.

That was when he established the law, that no-one was to monopolise any of those that served the heavens. No mortals, no demons, no filth.

Their loyalty belonged to me!

“Altair, come to me!” He said with anger in his command.

Altair materializes before him “Yes, my king!”

“Send for Scorpio, immediately. I’ve grown bored of watching this.”

Watching Lucifer below festered feelings inside him he did not like, feelings he hadn’t felt in eons. He would call upon his new favourite and vanquish these feelings.

Altair scurried away quickly, shaking his head... ‘He really is a twisted king’

Human Realm

Your ears were pounding and your stomach dropped.

Mammon yelped in pain; his lips began to fade blue, almost instantly upon impact. You watched so many emotions flash in his eyes, fear, sadness and relief as he locked onto yours.

It was as though time slowed down, Mammon’s eyes widened slightly, before his own tears fell. Crumbling to the ground, he whispered your name, over and over again. You quickly scrambled to him, carefully cradling him in your arms. You were afraid, hand shaking as you touched his face like it was made of porcelain. One wrong move and you would shatter him into a million pieces.

As chaos broke out around, all your focus was on Mammon.

Flashbacks started flooding your mind.

The day you made a pact with him.

That time he made you eat Beel’s custard, how easily he forgave you about Belphie’s situation. The oath you, Levi and Mammon pledged together.

All his crazy text messages and demanding phone calls, your tsundere. All the laughs you shared, the jokes and the banter. A years’ worth of memories avalanched into your mind and flowed tears forth from your eyes.

“H-hey b-buddy?” You whispered, trying not to sob loudly; keep calm for his sake.

He slowly blinked his eyes, tears also escaping; fighting to keep them open.

“Y-you’re going to be o-okay, y-you have too! You’re the GREAT M-Mammon after all!” your lip quivered

His lips moved but no more sounds came out, only cool air.

It wasn’t hard to see he was fighting to breathe; his chest rising and jerking before each exhale. You felt the warm blood oozing from his back, like a river of red slipping through your fingers as one hand compressed the wound. Drenching your lap, and pooling around the two of you.

Little to either of your attentions, figures and lights of all sorts were flying around. When Crow appeared and assaulted Mammon, Levi, Satan, Belphie and Beel launched into attack. Servillah appeared not long after, with other shadows and creatures. Hell broke loose, Asmo did what he could as he held on to a still unconscious human. Karno and Leon back to back flinging powerful strikes, protecting you as you held your friend close.

Lucifer flew into a fit of rage just after he watched his little brother drop.

Mammon the idiot, Mammon; his first sibling. His troublesome; adorable, idiot. Who constantly found ways of entertaining him with his little schemes.

While he watched his brother fall, two memories flashed; before rage blinded him.

Remembering the first-time little Mammon smiled and praised him, genuinely.

“Of course, MY brother is so strong and so cool. Lucifer, brother, you’re the bestest!” Mammon’s big doe eyes gleamed with admiration, as he placed a hand atop of Mammon’s head and ruffled his hair. “I’m going to be just like you when I get bigger, just you see big brother!”

…

“You’re serving both the departments!? MY brother?! You truly are amazing Lucifer!” A not so little Mammon yells “I can’t wait to tell everyone!” his brother beamed with pride as jumped with celebration.

The look on his face only moments ago, when he was struck; was just like Lilith’s. He failed again, his worst nightmare; rage took hold.

“Mammon just hold on; I’m going to save you, okay!” You tore your eyes from him briefly, to a busy Karno.

Cold finger tips touched the tears on your chin, trying to pull your gaze back down; Mammon smiling weakly. His lips moved and even though he didn’t say anything you made out clearly what he was trying to say.

‘You already have, thank you’

He gave you a half smug smile before his hand dropped; his eyes still open. Time truly did stop, the moment you realised so too did his heart.

“M-Mammon?”

“MAMMON!?!”

The House of Gods

Everyone was watching, Huedaut was using Leon’s private pool to observe what was happening.

The King had directly ordered all to stand guard and not to intervene. He tried to emotionally; un-attach himself from the scene below, until...

“Mammon!” He didn’t think it possible; to feel his heart break even more so.

Like his very soul was being chewed and spit out relentlessly, again and again.

*SNAP*

Hue disappeared from the mansion.

To be continued

Stay tuned Ch10: I’ll do anything

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