#he killed it as val and to see people being rude toward him over the fact that he voiced an evil character makes my fucking blood boil

[inkykeiji]

blake + joel’s reactions to valentino’s voice in the poison remix is just,,, so fucking cute i am squealing n kicking my little footies ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

#joel getting all hot n bothered over his own voice had me giggling so bad #but also like can u blame him?????? #the ‘good boy~’ has always been so fucking hot #i babble to maisie about this all the time but like joel’s fucking range as an actor just blows me away #he killed it as val and to see people being rude toward him over the fact that he voiced an evil character makes my fucking blood boil #i swear to god the lack of media literacy and just general human decency is fucking ALARMING #the way people LOVE the fuck out of amir for alastor but viciously hate on joel is just;;;;; fucking baffling to me #sending literally all of my love to joel #but anyway~ #i like the remix!!! i saw a lot of people who didn’t??? which is fine ofc!! #different strokes n all that jazz #clari chatters

[weshallc]

Bern's Night (part of the Crown Jewels series, Call the Midwife AU)

(Previously published on A03 and FF.net nothing new, sorry.)

Chapter One: Fair Fa' Your Honest, Sonsie Face

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang’s my arm.” Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

"Will You Recognize Me? Call My Name Or Walk On By." Don't You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds 1985

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin’, rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the North Star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his late 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one, as the incision was violently made. No one dared to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet the ceremony is over, it’s time for eating and drinking something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. "Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the kind of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face that she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London, she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar’s daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well, sort of a queue. In London, a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored and anyone who called the barmaid by name being bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready, hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those exact words.

All her life, she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea. He had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. It was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend, Valerie. I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm, a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of..?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Famous Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash. And a pint of Buckles Best. And for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

"Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights. Or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name. Most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner. Most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double. It’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when me and the wife took over. She was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one and now there were just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way, under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry, most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I’ve met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don’t mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a…”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time, none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can’t imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now, who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realising the stranger was still watching her, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks and she suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realising her arse was in the air, and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion, don't you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that? God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me. I can feel it.

#call the midwife #crown jewels au revisited #for a special day #bless her if she only knew #bern's night chapter one

[trashcanfanfics]

Request from @zebra0909zebra

"I loved the Valentino fic you made about the actor may I request one about Val either getting jealous of the readers ex trying to get back together with them and if he would just shoot them"

First off, thank you! I really enjoyed writing that fic! I'm glad you liked it!! Second, I can already see where to take this! And I'm excited

It's gonna be in Val's pov

Valentino and Y/n were walking along the hallways to the recording studio when an out of breath intern ran up, carrying a bouquet of flowers.

"Ah, Mx. Y/n! Someone left these for you in the lobby!" They handed Y/n the flowers, acknowledged Valentino, and then ran off again. They looked at the flowers, their favorites. A note amongst the foliage. The continued walking, Val being concious of his steps so they wouldn't have to rush to keep up with his long legs.

"Did you get me flowers again, Boss?" They grabbed the note and opened it. Val felt his blood boil and chest tighten.

"If I did, I would have sent them to your home," he chuckled, slightly annoyed. What kind of rude do you have to be to send such things to a workplace. Shameless. They hummed and read the note aloud. At this point, they both had stopped outside the studio.

"'To my dearest love, holder of my heart, I love you, signed E/n.'" There was a heart drawn underneath the message, Val noticed as he leaned down to look at the note. He memorized the name for later. Y/n sighed in slight annoyance. "It's my ex, (pronoun) has been texting me nonstop and giving me little gifts and it's getting irritating." Val let out a chuckle, his smile growing impossibly wide with malice.

"I do those things, too, you know." His smile was strained but his voice was light and playful. Y/n opened the door and they both went inside. He wasn't mad at them, never, but rather the flowers. Those pissed him off. Who did this shithead think (pronoun) was?!

"Yes, but you're my boss. I can't refuse those." Their tone told him he was joking, but he couldn't help the slight sting at those words. Their boss...That's all he was to them. He shoved those thoughts aside, ignoring the ache in his chest.

"You could, if you wanted to." He leaned down at the waist to look them in the eye, putting on a facade of amusement. he wouldn't let them be upset before the shoot, it makes their expressions all wrong. No, he would stuff down these emotions so they could focus on their work.

"'If I wanted to' my ass, you don't take 'no' for an answer." They laughed as they waved their hand to dismiss the thought. His gut twisted at the sound of their laughter. How beautiful that sound was! He loved it. He hummed in response, still slightly distracted by their laugh.

"That's true, babycakes." He stood up straight again and moved over to the cameramen. He began telling them the angles he wanted to acheive with this. Val always did this before any of the actors' shoots, but mainly Y/n's. He needed them to look their best no matter what, any unflattering angles are cut from the final product. Once everyone had understood, the scene began, Val watching over the entire thing, making sure it was all perfect, and ignoring the strain in his pants.

~*~

The video ended and Y/n, having put their clothes back on, got a call. Valentino watched as they picked up and spoke into the phone.

"Yes, I got them...No...I know...I don't care." They rolled their eyes and looked at Valentino. Y/n mimicked shooting themselves and he smiled and laughed lowly. "Listen, I'm at work right now and need to get back to it. Bye." They hung up and tossed their phone into their bag before zipping it up.

"Was that your little admirer?" Val couldn't help the bit of venom his his question. This cheeky shit was walking all over Val's territory and he hated it. They nodded with another eyeroll.

"Yes, (pronoun)'s so annoying! Like, we broke up MONTHS ago, ya know, get over it already." They slung their bag over their shoulder. "And besides, (pronoun) broke up with ME, like, come on!" They shook their head in exasperation. Valentino remembers the day the break up happened.

He hated the asshole back then, too. Y/n dating shocked him into realizing he was in love with them. He carefully bided his time, however, patiently waiting for Y/n to eventually break up with the loser. Unfortunately, it was the other way around and Y/n had come into the studio with puffy eyes and tears running down their cheeks. He doesn't remember why he didn't kill the bitch then, but he does remember holding the crying sweetheart with three of his arms while the fourth brushed through their hair. How soft it felt and how the ache in his chest worsened when they looked up at him with tears and explained what happened. And now (pronoun) wants them back?

Not on Val's watch.

~*~

Valentino saw to it that Y/n got home safe (and to make sure there weren't anymore gifts waiting for them) before he rolls up the window on the limo and gives the driver the location of E/n.

Earlier, he had some people find out where this scumbag lived so he could pay the little shit a visit. His connections didn't disappoint.

The limo stopped outside a little house. Normal, quaint. A white picket fence around the place, and rose bushes planted under the windows. The house, he noticed on his way past the gate, was a pretty mauve color, not too dull, not too bright. Y/n must've enjoyed this house when they visited. It suits their dream of a peaceful living. The door was a creamy pink, the knob a lovely bronze. Maybe he would buy this piece of property and give it to Y/n after he had it cleaned of all the blood that was going to spill.

He could see it now, him coming in the front door, just like he was now, a smile on his face. Y/n would be reading one of their little thriller books on the couch over there, though it'd be a different one. The furniture in here was tacky, white couches? That's just inviting a mess. Valentino shook his head, continuing with his fantasy, walking into the place. He'd have the ceilings fixed higher so he wouldn't have to crouch, they would greet him with that pretty little smile. The book would be set aside as they stood to come give him a welcome home kiss. He sighed at the thought of their soft lips against his.

Yes, he decided, he would buy this house and give it to his little babycakes. They deserved to have a lovely house than that dingy apartment anyhow. He made his way towards the hallway, having little interest in the kitchen. The hallway, like the living room now that he thinks about it, was full of framed pictures of E/n and Y/n. None of the pictures have Y/n's real smile, just the one they use for their acting, real enough, but once you see the true one you can easily tell the difference.

The bathroom and guest rooms were overlooked in favor of the master bedroom. It had the same tackiness the livingroom had. White sheets to match the loveseat and arm chair. Awful. The wood was even a brightly polished makore wood that looked orange in the light. Yes, the furniture would have to go. He made his way over to the closet, maybe find a few skeletons? The opened door revealed a collage. They were all pictures of Y/n from various angles. Ah, he thought, a stalker. It was a good thing Val had decided to take (pronoun) out before things got out of hand.

Speak of the devil, the nusiance walked through the front door. Valentino smiled viciously as he made his way quietly back down the hall. E/n went to the kitchen, no matter, (pronoun)'ll be out soon. He sat down on the loveseat facing the front window, lifting his feet onto the coffee table, and pulled out a cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco must have alerted the stalker, as he walked out to see Valentino let out a puff of red smoke.

"What the fuck?!" (Pronoun) dropped (pronoun)'s items, which happened to be a glass of apple juice by the smell. How childish. Valentino stood, pulling the cigarette from his lips.

"Hello, E/n," he puffed out more smoke from his pink teeth, "nice to finally put a face to the name." His chuckle was anything but friendly. It intimidated the pathetic demon, Val could tell. Good. He took another puff.

"Uh, hey..." E/n trailed off while staring at the tall overlord, who blew out more red smoke. A visible gulp would have given his fear away if the look in his eyes didn't already. "Wh-what's up?" Val could almost respect the way (pronoun) tried to keep talking, as if (pronoun) did nothing wrong.

"Oh, Y/n sent me. They say you've been sending them flowers, little gifts." He stepped closer, threateningly, putting the cancer stick back between his teeth. "Apologies, phone calls, love notes, promises you couldn't possibly keep." Val stood in front of the creep, towering over the quaking being with a cruel smile, smoke still floating off the cigarette.

"O-oh? Uh..." The attempt was almost laughable. Val leaned down, his lower right hand reaching into his coat to pull out his pistol as he blew more smoke into E/n's face, causing him to cough and gag. The lower demon's eyes follow the movement and grow wide at the sight of the weapon.

"And," He pointed the gun at E/n's head, "not to mention that collage on the inside of your closet door, how charming." Val's smile became a sneer, ashes falling off the cigarette. (Pronoun) whimpered as the gun pressed into E/n's forehead.

"What are you-what are you gonna do to me?" The question was so stupid, Val almost burst into laughter right then.

"Normally, I wouldn't give a damn what you would do to my employees as long as they were able to still work. However, you chose to fuck with my favorite actor." He breathed out the last bit of smoke, putting out the butt on the asshole's arm, making (pronoun) yelp in pain. "So, I'm going to just kill you." and with that, he pulled the trigger. Blood, brain, and bone exploded from the back of the fucker's head , splattering across the wall and kitchen floor. Valentino stood up as much as he could. He really needed to fix these ceilings.

"No one fucks with my favorite."

#hazbin hotel x reader #valentino x reader #tw: gore #trashcan answers you #babycakes

[fic-al]

BERNS NIGHT

Call the Midwife AU (Crown Jewels/Paddy and Bernie/Poplar-on-Tweaven)

CHAPTER ONE: FAIR FA’ YOUR HONEST, SONSIE FACE

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang’s my arm.”  Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

“Will You Reconize me? Call My Name or Walk On By.” Don’t You (Forget About Me). Simple Minds 1985.

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin’, rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the north star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one as the incision was violently made. No one daring to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then, Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now, do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet, the ceremony is over. It’s time for eating and drinking, something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn-haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. "Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the sort of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior, and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar’s daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well sort of a queue. In London a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored, Anyone who called the barmaid by name was bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready, hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those words.

All her life, she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But, she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea. He had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. It was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend Valerie, I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter,

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash and a pint of Buckles Best and for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights. Or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name. Most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner, most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double, it’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when the wife and I took over. She was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now, all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one, and now there were just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way. Under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry, most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I’ve met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don’t mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a…”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can’t imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now, who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realizing the stranger was still watching her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. A heat rose in her cheeks. She suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realizing her arse was in the air and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion, don’t you dare look back and see if he is watching you. He is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that. God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me, I can feel it.

#call the midwife au fic #berns night #crown jewels series #paddy and bernie #tweavenside massive

[petitprincess1]

Good Evening Ch12 (Escalating)

AO3 Link Summary: Angelo gets a surprise visit at night by someone...who is not at all happy to see him. How rude... Words: 2,479 Warning: Gun violence, blood, and murder I'm so freaking sorry for the wait. I have no excuse other than starting up a new story called My Roommate's a Demonic Deer and laziness. I'm so, so sorry. Hope it's worth the wait. ~~~ Also, during that week, Angelo had been bed-ridden the entire time, going in and out of consciousness, due to the immense pain that he was in. Luckily, he was stable enough to do the more private tasks like using the bathroom and bathing himself, so that was a bit of relief for him. He really needed those moments because he was hardly ever alone.

If he wasn’t being checked up on by Baxter, then Cherri was worried about his well being and talking to him about her terrible job. Sir Pentious would also make sure to keep him up to speed about all the news going on in the world by reading the newspaper...fucking old man. Plus, his sister came by with Fat Nuggets, his little piggy, to cheer him up. Granted, his father and Arackniss also came by...so...yeah. Nothing better than you father and brother still questioning your fucking “decision” of “choosing homosexuality”. Angelo wished Vox just killed him...not really, but he was mad.

Also, Charlie and, surprisingly, Vaggie came over once or twice to just talk to Angelo about anything and just to check up on him. It felt both odd and nice that they were all just talking like nothing changed. As if the mob child wasn’t lying in bed with his arm and leg in a cast, a few broken ribs, bruised up body, busted gums and lip, and getting sick of eating soup.

Angelo knew that everyone, excluding his brother and father, were just looking after him, but it was just a bit much. Although, it did make him feel happy that people did care for him this much...but give him some fucking space...please. If anything, Angelo was lowkey wondering why Alastor had yet to show up. Seemed like he didn’t want to leave his side before, what gives?

Now, the mob-child was watching some Baywatch-like TV show and it was boring as all hell. He groaned as he tried to grab the remote, just for sharp pain to go up his side as he attempted to twist his body, causing his eyes to tear up. He flopped back onto the mattress lightly, sighed, and called out as best as he could, “Pennnnnnn! PENNNNNNNNN!! …...PeEeeEEEeeeeEeEeENNNNnNNN!!!!”

Pentious practically kicked the door open and screeched, “Blimey! Shut the fuck up, you bloody plonker!”

Angelo grinned, “Man, ya really went full British~”

Pentious rolled his eyes and gave a huff as he walked into the room, questioning, “What the hell do you want?”

The mob child whimpered like a sad puppy and reached out pathetically to the remote on the nightstand. Pen raised an eyebrow at him, still clearly pissed at Angie calling out to him like that, and walked over to the nightstand. He grabbed the remote...and then tossed it lightly at Angelo’s head. 

The boy flinched at the impact, even if it was barely enough to even cause pain. He pouted up at Pen, “Hey, what the hell!? I’m injured ‘ere!”

The older man sat down at the edge of the bed and huffed, “Clearly, you’re not too injured to scream at the top of your lungs. ….How are you feeling?”

Angelo couldn’t help but calm down at hearing his tone soften up a bit. He shifted as much as he could, wincing at a sharp pinch at his side, and replied, “Well...I’m doin’ as good as I can be, especially bein’ stuck in bed and, you know, bein’ broken...and all.”

Sir Pentious’ soft look immediately turned into a look of concern and possible pity. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say to try to alleviate the situation, and asked, “Uh…perhaps I can do something to help you? You do look really knackered. Do you want anything? Anything at all?”

Angelo hummed, “Oh, yeah, can ya get me a fairy godmother to heal up my wounds, a hit list of everyone that works for Vox, and a M3? Thanks, sweetie~”

“....Uuuuuuhhhhh,” was Pen’s well-detailed and poetic response. Luckily, Cherri and a short latin man, who gave a warm smile to Pen before looking at Angelo worriedly, came walking in. Not necessarily to “save” him, since Cherri immediately punched Pen’s arm, causing him to let a manly yelp, while her face had a light pinkish red as she glared at him, shouting, “What the hell is wrong with you! Don’t yell at Angelo!”

Pentious glowered, “What’s wrong with me!? I’m not the one punching people randomly, you nutter!”

The short man pushed back his naturally, already slicked back, black hair with silver streak and went over to Angelo quickly. He practically shouted, just to assuage the tension, “So, uh, Anthony, how are you?”

The two looked over at Angelo and the mob child huffed, “I already answered this! When can I just get-augh!”

The three jumped at seeing Anthony grip at his ribs tightly and take a deep shuddering breath as his eyes teared up a bit, shutting his eyes tightly. The man mumbled, “I guess that answers my question.”

He fished some pills out from his pocket and was about to help him take the pills, even about to tell Pen to get some water. However, Angelo just snatched the capsules out of his hand and took them dry. He quickly snapped, “I can take my own pills, dammit!”

Pentious was going to yell again, but the doctor reassured, pushing up his glasses, “It’s alright, querido. He’s been stuck in bed for a whole week.” The long-haired man scoffed, “That doesn’t justify him being rude to you, Baxter. You should be more appreciative, Anthony!”

Angelo was about to yell to stop calling him Anthony, but Cherri clapped her hands and gave a soft sigh, “Alright, things are startin’ to escalate, so why don’t ya two maybe, uh, get the fuck out?”

Pen was going to argue more, but Baxter ended up calmly bringing his boyfriend out of the middle of things by taking his hand. He just didn’t wish to deal with a bunch of shouting. Well...more shouting. Pen eventually just huffed and decided to just go out the door, while carrying the bespectacled man in his arms. It caused a lovely rosy color to hit Baxter’s cheeks.

Cherri gagged at the two and then stared at Angelo, sighing, “So, uh, I guess ya ain’t doin’ that well, huh?”

Angelo shook his head and sat up slowly, wincing at the sharp pains wracking his body. The Australian girl wanted to help, but she knew that would just annoy Angie. He grunted, “I...I know that everyone is jus’ tryin’ ta help, but...god, it makes me feel useless. Not only that, but I bet Vox might send people ta finish the job, especially since I ain’t dead.”

“Did you escape or somethin’?”

“No...he let me go, but ya never just attack a mob boss and get out alive,” Angelo informed, causing him to let out a shuddering breath.

Cherri noticed it getting somber, causing her to change the subject and bring up, “Oh, uh, hey! I heard Alastor’s radio station. He talked about some woman’s husband missing and said that the hotel is doing well. I think it helps that Charlie’s dad is visiting more often, something about a helicopter and...uh...”

She trailed off when she noticed Angelo still looking incredibly distraught. She thought that she may have seen a glimmer of intrigue after mentioning Alastor’s name, but that was all. He barely seemed to pay attention to the status of the hotel. Cherri sighed as she reached into her short’s pocket and handed a folded up note to Angelo. She replied, “I found this letter outside your door way earlier. I think it was like 3 am, I heard some noise...uh...yeah. I’ll just leave it here…”

She placed it on the nightstand near his bed and then told him, “We all want ya to get better, Angie, and maybe even Vox to go through hell. Just...don’t do anything dumb, okay?”

Cherri then got up off of the bed and started walking towards the door, giving one glance over her shoulder at Angelo before leaving out of the room. Angelo sighed as he grabbed the letter, feeling awful for going silent on Cherri. He unfolded the paper and skimmed over the words.

When the mob-child got to the end of the letter, he felt both shocked, questionable, and worried. The letter was written by Alastor, who somehow snuck into Pen’s house, and...he was coming over tonight. ~~~ Angelo was slightly turning in bed, waiting for Alastor to come to the house. Granted, he wasn’t too excited to see what he was bringing back as a meal, but he was sure that he wouldn’t serve humans again. ...Well, he hoped so. It wasn’t like it was too much of a stretch considering what he saw in that gumbo. It still made him feel ill to this day. Plus, it didn’t help since Al seemed very excited.

Angelo just sighed as he placed his back on the pillow and was about to go to sleep, but stopped when he heard footsteps. He lifted his head up a little and groaned, “Hey, Al, can ya give me a hint as ta what yer makin’? I just don-”

He stopped when he saw a shadow in the hall of a woman that definitely didn’t look like Cherri’s. Before he could question, he heard the sound of a gun being cocked and then a revolver being aimed into the room. He saw a woman coming into view, but didn’t pay attention to anything but the shaky gun. Angie started, “Wh-Whoa! Hey, d-don’t do any-”

The woman whisper-shouted, “Shut up, just...shut up! You...You killed him!”

Angelo looked very confused and she sniffled, cheeks and nose a bright red, “Jonathan...he w-worked...a-at your ex-boss’ wareh-house. ...H-He was standing guard la-last week.”

Angelo barely had any memory of who all worked under Val and Vox, but it could have been a possibility. No one knows about the warehouse or that it’s Val’s. He gulped, “H-Hey, I’ve been st-stuck in bed an-”

“I told you-!” She took a deep breath as her finger went towards the trigger, making Angelo feel his heart jump to his throat. He looked around the place as he sat up in bed quite quickly, probably making it harder to believe that he was injured in the first place. 

The woman went on, stepping closer and aiming the gun at his head, “Th-They told m-me...they f-found remains i-in the fu-furnace. Vox said...th-they don’t kn-now if i-it’s his, but...he has-sn’t come back. O-Our kids...a-are so sc-scared...they don’t...th-they just w-want...him…” she trailed off as she placed a hand to her mouth to try to quiet her sobbing, turning away and lowering the revolver.

Angelo was trying to slowly slide out of bed to try and get some kind of weapon. Unfortunately, the gentle thud of his toes hitting the wooden floor. The woman immediately shot up and aimed the gun back at his head. Angie gulped and tried to calm her again, “Listen...I promise ya...I did not kill yer husband, alright? I-I’ve been stuck here. I mean...ya can clearly see that Vox did a number on me...right…?”

He got a bit distracted when he saw Cherri appear behind the woman, opened her eyes widely, and then quickly retreated to possibly find a weapon. Angelo continued, wanting to stall, “So....what’s your n-”

“I’m not telling you my goddamn-”

“Whoa-ho-ho! I’ve clearly come in a bad time!” 

The woman quickly turned around and aimed the gun at the person behind her. Angelo oddly felt relieved at seeing Alastor standing there with his perma-smile, but also had no idea where this was going to go. Al just calmly walked inside and stepped around the lady, humming a little tune. She whimpered, “H-How did you g-get in here!? Wh-Where did you come fr-from!? I...I heard y-your voice...the radio broadcast, right?”

Alastor nodded, walking in-between her and Angelo, “Yes...you’re Traci? The one that lost her husband, I suppose? ...Why are you going to shoot, Anthony?” Traci glared and sniffled, wiping her eyes, “Because he’s the one that killed him!”

Al raised an eyebrow and hummed, “And you know that...how?”

The lady looked around for a few seconds, messing with her hair and the scarf around her neck. She muttered, “I-I-I just kn-now about him g-getting hurt. Cl-Clearly, he ratted o-out to his batshit f-family! His sist-ter is just as f-fucking stupid a-as he is, so-”

“Now, now, no need to go throwing around insults. You’re already aiming a gun at a questionably innocent mad, don’t have to be even more callous,” Alastor chuckled, as if he was just having a normal conversation. It once again reminded Angelo that this man was not sound of mind. Cherri came back with a wooden field hockey stick and was slowly creeping on the lady. Traci started, “But he-”

Al walked closer to her, being calm and collected, “You...don’t know what he did. You’re just accusing him of something. I’m sure that the police are doing whatever they can, but...Traci...no need to get yourself in trouble. Your kids need you, correct? You do have kids, right?”

Traci was almost near sobbing again, causing Cherri to halt in her movements out of guilt, and she nodded. He walked closer, feeling the revolver press to his chest, and calmly asked, “Please, Traci, give the gun. ...We won’t press charges.”

She sniffled and whimpered, trembling where she stood. She let out a loud sob as she handed the gun to Alastor, who took the gun calmly. Angelo let out a breath and noticed that Pen and Baxter joined Cherri. The three looked calmer considering that everything had become quieter.

Alastor backed away from Traci, causing her to just break down and hugged herself. He looked down at the revolver and let out a long hum. Al then gave out quite a cute guilty as he informed, “Traci, don’t you know that when you threaten with a gun, you have to take the safety off! Silly!”

“Wha-” that was all that Traci said as she slowly lifted her head and a bullet went right through her head, causing a bit of blood splatter. Unfortunately, it got mostly onto Cherri and the wall, making the punk scream out in terror and Pen almost throw up. Her scream covered up the sound of Traci’s body falling onto the floor.

Alastor muttered, “I thought it would be messier than that...hmm…” He tossed the gun onto the bed and smiled at Angelo, who just muttered, “Nice shot...I guess…”

“I made grilled venison!”

“Oh...neat.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel au #human au #alastor #cherri bomb #sir pentious #angel dust #hazbin hotel baxter #baxter #baxter x pentious #pentious x baxter #one sided charlastor #radiodust #writing #fanfiction #my writing #writers on tumblr #tw gun violence #tw bood #tw murder

[arcxnumvitae]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.

NAME. His birth name is Rhys, however when he first was taken to the Moore family Luther Moore renamed him Val as part of a way to psychologically separate him from his past and make him feel more “theirs”. In a way, it worked. Rhys is now unfamiliar to him and “Val” feels like a product of the years and trauma caused by the Moores-- and a “him” that he can never escape.

NICKNAME(S). None really, both Rhys and Val are already short enough.

TITLE(S). Him and Alexa ended up having quite the reputation so they’re informally known by a lot of monikers in the underground due to their work for Luther Moore. The Moore’s two demons, the guard dogs of the Moore family, their lapdogs, etc. they ended up being viewed as harbingers of doom for the Moore family so having them show up at your doorstep is usually viewed as a very bad thing.

AGE. 23 at the beginning of things but after a canon four year time skip he is now 27.

SPECIES. Elf

GENDER. Male

ALIGNMENT. Woof. I’d go with true neutral. He’s aware and accepting that his actual actions because of his job trend more towards evil but Val himself has little care about doing any morally good or evil thing, only what will ensure the survival of him and those he cares about. And if it means staining his already blood-stained hands even further, then so be it.

INTERESTS. Free time wasn’t something he had a whole lot of growing up and so there wasn’t a lot of time to pursue any interests (and it was why he didn’t even fully realize until his late-ish teens (17/18) that he was gay). During his first real time away from that environment though that he spent with the Winged Marauders, he...still didn’t pursue any personal interests. Mainly because he didn’t know how to.

PROFESSION. Bodyguard, hitman, and generally whatever Luther, Alexander, and Felicity require of him at the moment.

BODY TYPE. 5′10″ and athletic. His body is physical evidence of the years he’s spent fighting, killing, and surviving, and there’s the scars to prove it. He gains a lot more over the four year timeskip due to a general disregard for his own wellbeing.

EYES. If it wasn’t for his generally disagreeing attitude and expressions, people would describe his eyes, and specifically their color, as hauntingly pretty. As Alexander Moore likes to describe them they “tread the thin line between beautiful and unnatural, lit by an oddly captivating light”. The colors already attracts attention as it’s a vivid persimmon, but they also, when looked at closer, have a tint to them that gleams and shimmers a luminescent gold when the light hits them. However, a patch now covers his left eye where (tw: eye injury discussion ahead) Alexa’s knife was forced to cut through. His left eyelid and eye proper now has a neat line that cleanly bisects through it down to just below his eye and the color of the iris is faded. Val can still see some from his injured eye but it’s extremely blurry to the point of being useless and trying to focus on anything with it for too long will give him a headache. 

HAIR. Dark blond and has that same odd sheen as his eye color. It usually has a tousled without effort look to it as Val makes sure it looks somewhat neat but otherwise doesn’t care. Because of that it has a habit of sneaking up on him and getting longer before he remembers to get it cut. It is a bit longer and messier after the four years, along with a portion growing long enough to partially cover his eye patch.

SKIN. Healthy, just a shade or two below what could be described as “tan”

FACE. Triangular and comes down to a pointed chin.

HEIGHT. 5'10″ average? 

VOICE. Biting, trending towards deeper, and easily carries his bad attitude within it. A lot of times his tone comes across more harsh or rude than he actually intends out of habit. For reference, it’s F.elix Hugo F.raldarius from 3.H (that’s a link right there to a sample but it doesn’t even look it’s showing up right on my end)

COMPANIONS. It’s changed a couple of times but the one constant has always been Alexa. His first real friend and their bond forged through the suffering they endured together for years with only each other as comfort. To call it merely “friendship” feels like doing the depths of their bond a disservice so I usually refer to them as soulmates. Now for a time him and Alexa also traveled with ( thewolfisawake‘s) Winged Marauders but other than their leader Bijou, Val had trouble actually growing close to any of them. During that time he also struck up a friendship with (shxtteredillusion’s) Zale and a something with his sister Laguna, though whatever he felt for Zale he now tries not to think about.

ANTAGONISTS. The entire Moore family. He’s stated before if he could kill them all and be done with them then he would have long ago. They’re his own personal boogeymen and Alexander Moore in particularly is the encapsulation of the hardship he’s gone through and his overall twisted view of the world and himself

COLOURS. Red and gold association by myself personally, though black is primarily the color that he wears. He’d say he has no favorite color really.

FRUITS. Apples? Bananas? He eats what he gets, he doesn’t really bother with “like” or “dislike” and would say he has no preference.

DRINKS. Same as before really;;

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? Nothing too strong, basically whatever his friend/boyfriend (depending on the time period) Zale makes for him he’ll say is his favorite. Won’t even know the name, would just wave and say whatever he had last that Zale gave him. Particularly though only drinks Zale himself makes.

SMOKES? He tried a cigarette once, hacked his lungs out, couldn’t get the smell of smoke out of his clothes for the longest thanks to sensitive elf nose, and said no thanks forever after

DRUGS? Nope.

DRIVERS LICENSE? Yeah, for the job and he’s a speed demon too. 

#{Val Headcanon #long post

[prairiesongserial]

10.6

Cody’s hands shook just a little, as he rounded the corner out of Val and Friday’s sight, and he curled his fingers into fists to try and make them still. He hadn’t expected to be dragged into such a hard conversation first thing in the morning. But it was fine. More than fine, actually, because John was apparently up and walking around outside of his room, which John hadn’t done since getting shot in the knee. That was something to be happy about, even if Cody was having trouble mustering the right amount of happiness at the moment.

Cody pushed his thoughts aside and let his feet steer him towards John’s room, a route he’d taken often enough by now that he could get there without really thinking. One of the sisters was hovering outside the door with a tray of toast and eggs, and looked both surprised and sheepish to see him as he drew closer.

“I don’t suppose he’s with you,” she said.

“John?” Cody asked, and felt his heart sink into his stomach. “I thought he was here.”

“He was,” the sister said, with heavy emphasis. “His cane is gone, so he must have...”

She trailed off, quietly gesturing at the convent around them.

“Val said he saw him walking around,” Cody offered, desperately trying to ignore the growing anxiety bubbling in his stomach, threatening to creep up and burn in the back of his throat if he let it. There was no need for that. Ethan was dead, and John was fine. Nothing could have happened to John in the convent.

“Maybe he tired himself out and sat down somewhere,” the sister pointed out, instantly relieving some of Cody’s tension. Of course that was what had happened. It would be stupid to think otherwise.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Should we go look for him? I don’t want him to miss breakfast.”

“I think that would be a good idea,” the sister said, with a nod. She vanished inside John’s room briefly, and returned without the breakfast tray, flashing Cody a smile.

“Let’s split up, and meet back here,” she said, already beginning to head down one end of the hall. “I’m sure he can’t have gotten far.”

Apparently, John’s ability to walk was far greater than everyone had been assuming, because it had been an hour, now, and Cody hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. He thought it had been an hour, anyway - though maybe it had been longer. The sun had made steady progress across the sky when he’d caught a glimpse of it out a window. The anxiety in his stomach was boiling again, his chest a little tight as his feet carried him from hallway to hallway, retracing his steps all around the convent to make sure there wasn’t a room he’d missed.

It wasn’t like John to wander off. In all the time they’d been together, they’d only been apart when something had forcefully separated them - Whist’s goons at La Salle, Marc’s plan to steal the water from Las Realezas, Cody’s own plan to offer himself up to Ethan. I’ll go where you go, John had said by the river, and why would he have said that if he was just going to walk off and vanish at first opportunity? Did he feel differently now that the toll of being shot, almost killed, had worn on him week after week?

Cody was so preoccupied with the thought, and with scanning the hallway for John, that he nearly slammed bodily into someone emerging from a smaller hallway just to the right of him. He would have slammed into them had they not thrown an arm out to stop him, their open palm thumping against Cody’s chest and sharply yanking him back to reality.

“Oh - shit,” he said, before remembering that he probably wasn’t supposed to swear around the sisters. “I mean - sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

“It’s fine. You wouldn’t be the first person to almost crack my head open on this floor,” said the person he’d nearly run down, who was, upon second glance, definitely not one of the sisters. They were tall and angular in a way that reminded Cody of a scarecrow, with a long face, and unevenly cut hair that flopped into their eyes. They weren’t dressed like the sisters, but they didn’t wear a collar like Val did, either - instead, they were simply wearing a white, buttoned shirt, and jeans. Cody hadn’t heard anything about the convent having another priest around, but maybe they’d gotten one in Val’s absence.

“Father, have you seen -” he started, and the stranger barked out a laugh.

“Sorry. I don’t like ‘Father’,” they said. “Or ‘Sister’’,” they added hastily, before Cody could open his mouth again. “Reverend’s fine, if you have to do a title.”

“Sure,” Cody said. He eyed the stranger for a moment, taking in their appearance for a little longer. “Are you, uh, in-between, or…?”

The stranger laughed again - a little less harshly than they had before. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”

“My friend K.B. said they were in-between-gender. I don’t know any other word for it,” Cody said, grimacing a little. Surely there were better words for what he meant, that wouldn’t make him seem stupid in front of people who weren’t gang members. Young probably could have told him, if he’d ever thought to ask.

“Well, I’m not really in-between. I’m more like nothing at all,” the stranger said, a little proudly. “And that’s very old news, which means you must be one of Valerie’s guests. Unless we’re just letting any old man run loose inside the convent these days.” Their mouth curled in a funny little half-smile. “Are you lost?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Cody said, glancing around to get his bearings and realizing that, actually, he was a little lost. He was pretty sure he’d never been in this part of the convent before. Then again, most parts of the convent looked more or less the same.

“I’m Cody,” he said, belatedly, realizing he was being rude.

“Well, nice to meet you, Cody,” the stranger said, sticking out a bony hand to shake. “I’m Valentine.”

Cody shook their hand briefly, regaining his sense of humor just enough to force a grin. “Don’t tell me you also go by Val.”

“No, no, just Valentine. Like the saint,” they said, with a snort. “Exactly like the saint, actually. All the sisters get to be Mary Whatever, but I wasn’t feeling the whole Mary part, so I just stuck with Valentine.”

“Cool,” Cody said. Far be it for him to ask for the entire backstory behind someone’s name - he was still fairly unclear as to what K.B.’s initials stood for, and he’d known K.B. since he was twelve. “Have you seen another - uh, man? Around here? He’s a little taller than me, with blond hair and a walking stick.”

“Can’t say I have,” Valentine said, glancing back over their shoulder as if checking just to be sure. “Have you checked the chapel, though? Lots of people wander in there.”

“There’s a chapel?” Cody asked, feeling stupid. Of course the convent had a chapel.

Valentine gave him another funny little half-smile. “Valerie didn’t take you on a tour?”

“We’re not exactly friends,” Cody said, before he could stop himself, then frowned. “Well. He helped save my life, and he probably saved John’s, but we don’t really know anything about each other. And he also almost got us killed. But I just found that part out about an hour ago.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot to get off your chest,” Valentine said, eyebrows arched. They affected a slouching sort of lean, sliding their hands easily into their pockets. “Tell you what. I’ll show you to the chapel, if you tell me all about what’s going on with you. Because nobody around here knows anything, except that your friend got shot in the leg, and I have a lot of questions.”

Cody eyed them. “Is this going to be a confession thing?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” They shrugged. “But the confessional’s a pretty comfortable place to sit and gossip. And I am ordained.”

Cody considered this. He didn’t like the idea of talking to a stranger about his feelings, but wasn’t that what priests - or whatever Valentine was - were for? Someone you could talk to about your feelings, and they had to keep it a secret? Maybe that would be good. Maybe it would let him practice what he wanted to say to John about...well, everything, but especially the stuff that had happened right before John had gotten shot. There was a lot that Cody wanted to say about that, and a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but he had been waiting for John to get better before he said any of it. First because he was afraid John wouldn’t make it, and then because he couldn’t figure out how to have the conversation.

He wanted to talk about Ethan, too, but he didn’t know how to talk about that, either. And he didn’t have anyone he could talk to about it, because the Dead-Eyes were back in Oregon, and John would almost definitely want it to be a closed topic now that Ethan was dead. Cody wished it could be a closed topic for him, too, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He saw Ethan’s face on the inside of his eyelids when he tried to sleep at night, dreamt about Ethan crawling towards him in the tall grass, fingernails tearing up the wet ground.

Valentine wouldn’t understand any of it. But maybe it would help just to say it.

“Maybe your friend will be there, and you won’t have to tell me anything juicy,” Valentine added, as if only to placate him. Cody realized that maybe he’d been quiet for too long - he’d been doing that recently.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, though he sincerely doubted that John was going to be anywhere but the last place he looked.

10.5 || 10.7

#story

[varricmancer]

Written in the stars | 1

Pairing: Varric Tethras x Bethany Hawke

Word Count: 2,019 (A little short, but I’ve been super busy with work and I wanted to get this started. Hopefully it’s still good!)

Summary: When his best friend Garrett Hawke decides to follow his dream and open his own movie studio, Varric is more than happy to offer help in the form of a huge donation and ignore Garrett’s pleas for him to write them a script. Until he learns Garrett’s sister Bethany is meant to be their main actress. Varric may never feel worthy enough to act on his infatuation with the sweet girl, but he’ll do anything in his power to make her a star. 

Notes: A modern au! Obviously. Still set in Thedas, but it’s been fiddled with to adjust to my vision. Mages are still treated like crap. Val Royeaux is basically Hollywood and Garrett’s dream is to make his own studio right there in Kirkwall to rival theirs. This is only my second DA fic and my first time trying to capture the entire Kirkwall crew, so I’m a little terrified over how this will go. I’ll do my best! 

If there was one thing that he was certain all of Thedas knew about him, it would be never wake up Varric Tethras before noon. This is how he knew that whoever was knocking at his door at seven in the morning - only three hours after he’d finally gone to bed, mind you - was either an idiot or suicidal. 

He reluctantly left the warmth of his bed and threw on his favorite red silk robe before shuffling to the front door, where the soon to be dead person was now banging on it hard enough that he was surprised it hadn’t been smashed in yet. 

With a weary sigh, he flung open the door and the witty reproach he’d been preparing on the way there vanished from his head when he spotted the unrepentant grin of his best friend. 

“Hawke. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning?” he drawled, letting the much larger man stroll past him so he could shut the door. 

Garrett shrugged and started walking towards Varric’s office, having been here so often he knew exactly where everything was. 

“Can’t a guy come say hello to his bestie?” 

Garrett went straight to the spare coffee maker that Varric had set up in there for late night writing sessions. He hummed loudly while he scooped out coffee grounds and filled the machine with cold water. 

“Uh huh. And why didn’t you use your key?” 

Varric settled into his highback brown leather chair that was starting to crinkle with age. His friend was up to something. He’d normally have it all figured out by now, but he was still only half awake. 

“That would have been rude.” 

“I see,” Varric snorts. Garrett throws a look behind him that said he knew perfectly well what he’d done wrong and wasn’t sorry in the least. 

“You realize, of course, that by waking me up mere hours after we last saw each other I am now honor-bound to kill you and everything you love.” 

“Then I hope you’re ready to die today, my friend.” 

“Damn that was smooth,” Varric grumbled aloud. 

Garrett chuckled as he started up the machine and pulled out a couple of mugs from the bottom cupboard. He was still humming obnoxiously loud, but Varric was too tired to protest. Instead, he slumped into his chair and closed his eyes, listening to the gurgling of the ancient machine as it began to fill the carafe.

Just when he was beginning to nod off, a steaming cup of black coffee was shoved under his nose. He supposed it was too much to hope Hawke would have mercy on him. He sighs sleepily and accepts the mug, slurping down the hot brew with practiced ease. Garrett pulls a chair closer to the desk and settles in with his own drink, studying Varric over the rim like he’s waiting for the caffeine to take effect before he strikes. 

“So,” Varric finally rumbles after the coffee had settled in his stomach a little. “What do you need? Money? Contacts? An alibi and an extra shovel?” 

“No to all of those, but I’ll keep that last offer in mind for the future,” Garrett grins. “I’ve done it, Varric.” 

Varric’s foggy mind couldn’t quite grasp what he’d supposedly done. Knowing his friend, it could be anything. He quirked an eyebrow in question, leading Garrett to lean forward with maniacally bright eyes. 

“My dream. I finally found the perfect place to open my own movie studio. I’d done a favor for the owner of the building and they lowered the price for me so I was able to afford it. It needs a little work, but it’s a start.” 

Garrett’s face is practically glowing with joy, and Varric couldn’t be happier for his friend. Ever since they’d met back in their college days he’d had to sit through so many rants during movies nights. “That’s the problem with those big studios in Val Royeaux, Varric. Everyone is too afraid to take risks anymore. It’s all about the money. When I get behind the camera, I plan to change the world.” 

“Shit, that’s great! I’m happy for you, Hawke. Anything you need, just ask. I can help fix up the place and buy equipment to get you started. It’s going to be a lot of work to get it up and running.” 

“Actually,” Garrett started slyly, “I had hoped to ask you to help with something specific.” 

“Which brings us to why you’re really here,” Varric grunted with a smirk. 

“Indeed. How would you like to be the first official employee of Hawke Filmworks? 

Varric chuckles. “I’m happy to slip you some cash or recommend some talented workers, Hawke, but I’m rather fond of being self-employed.” 

“Don’t worry! You can still work from home in your underwear most of the time! I need a scriptwriter, Varric. Who better to help me turn the entertainment industry on its ear than my best friend?” 

Varric scrunched his nose and huffed. “I don’t know about that, Hawke. I write adventure tales and stuff that’s basically shitty erotica. I don’t know the first thing about writing a script.” 

“Please! I will kneel and grovel. There’s no one else I would entrust my dream to. Varric, my dearest friend. My love for you has - “ 

“Andraste’s tits, shut up. And get up, you idiot,” Varric rumbled at Garrett, who had fallen dramatically at Varric’s feet, grasping his ankle like the drama queen he was. 

Varric sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’ll think about it. I’d have to do some research. Are you sure you don’t just want some money? What would I even write about?” 

“I have some ideas! Don’t worry about that. We can work on it together. Beth is going to be a mage that overthrows the monarchy and becomes the country’s first elected leader. Imagine that! A mage in power! It will be a little more complicated than that, of course, and lots of political subtext. And there will be a love story with the former Prince...and DRAGONS!” 

Garrett had lost him after the name he’d mentioned, Varric’s chest aching as it usually did when her name was mentioned. 

Bethany Hawke, Garrett’s little sister. A beautiful and kind woman that was so far out of Varric’s league - though it didn’t prevent him from daydreaming occasionally. 

“Bethany is going to be in on it?” 

“Of course. The whole gang is. Bethany is going to be our lead actress, Marion is going to do her stunts. Carver is our sound engineer and whatever else we need. Issy says she’ll help with costumes. Aveline has agreed to come in and help too. I was thinking of calling her our Executive Producer. Meaning she gets to do all the boring sitting at a desk and making phone calls to hire people and secure locations, make sure we’re all doing our jobs. The lot mom.” Garrett chuckles. 

Varric’s fingers began to twitch with the need to grab his pen. His mind was suddenly filled with images of Bethany as a warrior mage, her silken black hair flowing in the wind as she gazed deep into the viewer's soul with her striking amber eyes. She’d strike down her foes with her powerful magic, and give the people hope with her gentle smile. 

And...Hawke said a romance. Would she giggle over stolen moments? Stare up at her lover passionately as they towered over her? Would she sigh or moan when the Prince- who looked remarkably like Varric in his mind - pressed kisses to the little mole on her collarbone? 

Varric gulped and forced himself to focus, feeling guilty for thinking such things about his friend's sister right in front of him. 

“Bethany does realize that a role like that, especially with the way mages are still treated even here in Kirkwall, would bring a lot of attention to her? And not all of it good. She could be in danger.” 

Garrett nods. “We thought of that. I was going to hire an actress, but she said she wants to do it. She thinks if we can tell the right story, it might help change the way people treat mages. Aveline is going to hire someone for security.” 

Varric sighs. “If she’s going to put herself in the public eye like that and basically draw a target on her forehead, I’ll do it. I’ll feel better if I know I have some control over how she’s portrayed.” 

Garrett reaches over actually pulls him into a hug, slapping his back harshly in excitement. 

“You’re the best, my friend. I feel much more confident knowing we have you in our corner. And I know Beth will be happier knowing you’re helping too. She would have been sad if I’d had to tell her you’d said no. And you know that Bethany Hawke sad is a bad thing. Flowers wilt, crops perish, stars fall from the sky.” 

Varric scoffs. “Like you didn’t know you’d get me to agree eventually.” 

Garrett smirks and stands up. “I’ll leave you to your rest then. Come by later to check out the building. I’d appreciate your opinion on where to start.” 

“Oh, now that he’s caffeinated me he’ll let me sleep,” Varric grumbles as he follows his friend to the door. Garrett laughs and pats his head. 

“You know you love me.” 

Varric shrugs and grins as he opens his front door and kicks Garrett’s ass outside, literally. 

“Yeah, yeah. Send me the address. I’ll take a quick nap and come by with some food. Sound good?” 

“Perfect! Later, Tethras!” 

Varric waits until his friend has safely driven away before he closes his door with a sigh. What he’d actually agreed to was finally soaking in. He’d avoided interacting with the extended Hawke family as much as possible the past few years. They’d questioned it a few times, especially considering he’d once practically lived in the Hawke home he’d been there so much. 

However, being tempted so often by someone he could never have had gotten too hard to deal with. There were so many reasons he could think of for Bethany to never even consider him an option. He was older than her, with an often bitter and jaded outlook on life and relationships. She was literal sunshine and was so kind and gentle that it was like she’d walked right out of a fairy tale. She was stunningly beautiful, tall and shapely. He was...well, a dwarf. Though he admittedly took more care with his appearance than many of his kind. They were complete opposites in so many ways that there was literally no reason for them to ever be together beyond one - That Varric adored her and would do anything to make her happy. 

Unfortunately for him, what would make the entire Hawke clan happy was for him to apparently attempt writing a script for the ages. 

Varric yawns and scratches his belly as he trudges back to his bedroom and the comfort of his blankets, visions of warrior mages with gentle amber eyes floating through his head. 

#dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #da2 #varric tethras #bethany hawke #varric x bethany #au #movie studio!au

[vashchoo]

Not snz, but I really wanted to write about good ol’ Rowan Green-Brown’s background. 

I just love Rowan and @fever-ish‘s Valen so much!

Warning: A little angsty.

edit: i am a fool

Small hands gripped his father’s leg as he watched terrified as the door to their small home began to splinter from the force of the weight being rammed into it. “Henry, run!” He couldn’t move. Why didn’t he move? If he had moved would his dad of ran too? Wide eyes stared up at this father. Please turn. He wanted to see the face one more time, but he didn’t get a chance as the door broke and 3 elves made their way in. His father grabbed an ax off the wall and swung.

An arrow flew through the air and pierced the broad human in the chest, but he kept going. “Go, Henry! Run!” No! He didn’t want to leave! Not again. He wanted to save him. He wanted to fight! But he was so small. So scared. His father took out one elf. Gravely injured another, but the remaining one shot a spell. It was so close range it wouldn’t miss it’s mark! It would kill the man instantly! The spell shot out. The human fell to the ground with a thud, and the child he was seeing this vision through ran towards a window. Valen sat up in a panic! Cold sweat clinging to his body. He had to warn the man of the spell! He had to fight back! He had to save him! He shouldn’t have run! ... .... Valen steadied his breathing. He didn’t know of the people in this dream. He didn’t know the broad human male, but the tone of his skin was familiar, and so were the curls in the human’s dark hair. Rowan next to him let out a yell and was thrashing against his blanket. A nightmare too? Val shook Rowan, but the contact sent such a strong wave of emotion Valen was forced to let go. That’s when he realized the dream he had was not his own, but Rowan’s. The half-elf shot up. Golden eyes scanning the dark wildly. His chest rising and falling as if he couldn’t catch enough breath. Finally, they stopped on Valen. “I always run,” His voice caught with a sob. “Why do I always run away? Why can’t I save him?” Rowan curled himself around his knees and softly cried. Valen wasn’t sure what to do. He felt a wave of immeasurable sadness coming from the normally sunny Rowan, and it left a pain, either shared or from pure empathy, in Valen’s chest. “I saw...” Valen wasn’t sure if he should be speaking,  but he had to do something to break this heavy silence. “I saw three elves and a human man.” This seemed to pull Rowan back into reality somewhat as he moved his head enough to look at Valen.    “There was a child he called Henry.” Val continued as it seemed to be doing something. Rowan uncurled and sat himself up straighter. Tears still streaming, but Rowan always had a hard time stopping himself from crying once he started. Rowan glanced around again. More slowly this time. His mind finally waking up. He wasn’t a small child anymore. He was a grown man. Valen was here next to him. He was safe. “Sorry, Val. Kind of lost myself for a second” A small sob escaped, but he was trying hard to get his breathing under control. Rowan then let out a small laugh as a smile ghost his features. “This bond is really annoying sometimes. I can’t believe you saw my dream.” He wiped at the tears falling from his eyes. “I normally only see it when I have a fever.” Valen reminded himself to check Rowan’s temperature later. “Want to talk about it?” Rowan seemed to perk up a bit more. “Normally you want me to shut up! You must be the one with a fever.” Rowan ruffled Valen’s black hair. Contact revealing Val was extremely concerned. Rowan sighed, “I guess I should explain.” Rowan looked to the stars in the sky, contemplating where to start. He must have shivered since Valen was pulling Rowan’s blanket up over his shoulders. “It was a memory from my childhood. The three elves were looking for me, and my father gave his life to protect me.” Rowan’s lip quivered at the memory as he fell silent.

“Henry.” Val stated, pulling Rowan once again from his depression. He just wanted to keep Rowan talking. “Henry.” Another small smile on Rowan’s face. “That’s me. My other name, the one my dad gave me, is Henry Smith the Third. My moms found me after I... I left. I wouldn’t talk, I know don’t have heart attack Val, so they gave me another name.” Valen watched Rowan as he talked. It was hard to believe he went through something so traumatizing. That someone so bright could cast such a dark, dark shadow. Another question lingered, but Valen didn’t want to pry. “Whatcha worrying about, Val?” Rowan looked intently. The tears in his eyes finally ceasing. “Are you in danger? Is anyone still after you?” Valen wanted to protect Rowan, but was he strong enough? Rowan shrugged, which was not an answer Valen liked. “My mother was a high elf, so when she had a romance behind her husband’s back with my father, well a scandal like that is not something you want out. My mom’s husband sent his subordinates out to kill me... I’ve only run into them a few times. Don’t worry now! It’s been so long they probably wouldn’t recognize me.” Valen still worried, which Rowan could read clear as day in the dark. “Aww is Val going to rescue me? Am I like a princess in a story?” Rowan pitched his voice. “Oh prince Val, save me! Save me from the dragon’s den! True loves kiss will set me free!” Rowan hugged Valen, who felt so much appreciation radiating from Rowan he couldn’t help but smile as well. Valen reaches his arm around Rowan as a way of returning the hug. “You’re too annoying to be a princess. I’d leave you with the dragon.” “Rude! Valen! I hope the dragon gets you with its fire breath!” Rowan went to pull away, but Valen put a hand to Rowan’s forehead. Then, after a few seconds. “Rowan, I’m almost positive you do have a fever.” Rowan sighed, “dammit.”

#rowan #valen #original oc #ocs #good bois

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

POI - Intel

I’m keeping the birthday train rolling, y’all. This time it’s for @dalish-farther-roam, whose monk Amon could only ever inspire me to write something so rowdy and ridiculous. He’s bringing out the neutral in Val’s neutral good.

2,702 words, set in a fictional scenario in which the idiots need some information on some purposefully vague thing, and have different ideas on how to go about it. Val attempts diplomacy, and then realizes that’s a 4e skill and her charisma is garbage. Amon saves the day and is right a lot. Enjoy!

“Can I at least try talking to them first?”

Val and Amon stood about halfway down the length of a long, darkened stairwell, huddled together and arguing in hushed tones that Val hoped were being covered by the low rumble of conversation drifting up from the door below. Behind them, two guards that had been posted at the door lay sprawled out on the landing, unconscious.

“You can try,” Amon said with a resigned sigh, “but I don’t think they are going to listen. This is a gang, not a party hall.”

“Gang’s a very strong word,” Val muttered, glancing over her shoulder towards the guards. They had been half-drunk on their watch, and as easy to sneak up on as they were to knock out. “This isn’t even enough of a shithole town for me to think there isn’t a thieves’ guild outpost somewhere. You’d think the local underground would have some propriety too.”

“You have a lot of faith in petty criminals.”

Val snorted. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have let you drag me into infiltrating their safe houses on the hope they might be able to help, would I?”

Amon shrugged agreeably, and turned his attention back towards the door. “Do you want to go first then, or should I?”

“No, no, I’ll take the lead on this one.” Val slipped past him, shoving at him playfully as she passed. “You have an air about you that constantly screams ‘fight me,’ and I’d like to give them something of a sporting chance first.”

She could practically feel the way Amon’s grin curled in the darkness, and only just managed to stifle her own as they began to creep slowly down the rest of the stairs towards the open doorway.

For all that the gang had thought to put guards on the street, they had apparently not felt the need to station them anywhere else; most notably, at the entrance of their hideout proper, which Val strode through without so much as a moment of hesitation.

“Evening ‘gents!” she called as she pushed into the circle of low candlelight. “A moment of your time, please.”

The conversation and clinking of glass ground to an instant halt. All across the room, heads began to swivel towards her, until Val found herself at the attention of a few dozen wide, unfocused stares. She watched them flit between her and Amon - taking in their armor, their weapons, the horns on their heads - and made sure to raise her hands slowly, palms out, as she stepped forward.

“Easy, now. We’re not here to start any shit. We just have a few -”

Something shifted quickly in her periphery, and Val glanced up just in time to catch a bottle whizzing out of the crowd towards her. Her hand went instinctively for her shield, but as usual, Amon was faster; he appeared at her side in an instant and snatched it straight out of the air, wheeling with a terrifying speed before hurling the little vessel back into the crowd the way it came. It landed somewhere near the back of the room with a sickeningly wet shatter of glass, and a wail of pain from some unfortunate soul huddled among the tables. Amon just shook out his hand with a delicate huff that Val would have sworn on her life was an imitation of Sarula’s. 

“Don’t you know it is rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking?”

Only the broken sobs of the poor idiot that had thrown the bottle and the twenty-odd people reaching for table knives kept Val from snickering. Instead, she took another quick step forward, hands still outstretched.

“Hey, hey, no need for that. We’re just here to ask some questions, then we’ll be on our merry way. No fights, no bloodshed...well, no more, anyway -”

A gnome sitting at one of the closest rows of tables suddenly scrambled on top of it, producing a serrated bread knife from somewhere beneath the folds of his ratty clothing and jabbing it towards her.

“Piss off!” he sneered. “This ain’t no fuckin’ library! We got no answers for you, ya pissant devil’s brood!”

There was a chorus of agreement through the crowd, and a renewed vigor in sweeping knives off of tables. Out of the corner of her eye, Val saw Amon fielding her a very smug, very knowing little smirk, and just barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes.

“Gods, fine,” she hissed, glaring, “we'll do it your way.”

This time when Val stepped forward, she did so with a hand on the trident hooked onto her belt, and a scowl that sent the thieves in the first row skittering backwards.

“Only one question, then,” she cried out over the din. Her voice boomed in the narrow, earthen space, helped on only slightly by the faint tickle of magic cooling in her throat. “Who’s the biggest, meanest brawler of the lot of you? Who here makes a living better with their fists than with their good sense, eh?”

She watched as the whole room stilled to exchange suspicious glances, and carefully reconsider the grips they had on their knives now that the armored tieflings in front of them were calling for a bruiser. Eventually, though, something stirred near the makeshift bar on the far wall, and Val turned her attention to the figure slowly weaving its way forward. It was a dragonborn, towering a good few inches over the top of even her horns and clutching a pair of nasty looking hand axes. The red scales around his face were patchy, like some had been ripped off a few too many times, and when he grinned, she could see two long rows of crooked bruiser’s teeth.

He stopped a few feet away and settled his bulk against a table, arms folded over his chest.

“That'd be me,” he rumbled, with a wide, humorless grin. Val gave him a quick once over; he had every ounce of her size, and even more height than Tara, with a grip on his weapons that said that he had definitely used them as proper weapons before. But he lumbered when he walked, and swayed on his feet from some nasty combination of long term balance issues and a gut full of drink, and she knew well enough where that would leave him in a proper fight. Sighing, she turned back towards Amon and dropped her hand from where it rested against her trident.

“This one’s yours,” she said, and jerked a thumb towards the dragonborn. “Just don’t kill him, alright? We need to get something out of this little outing, and I’d prefer that something not be us getting thrown in jail.”

“Kill me?” The dragonborn cut in with humorless laugh. He turned over his shoulder to address the crowd behind him, sneering. “They think that this ugly little son of a goat-fucker could actually kill me -”

An enormous fist of hewn earth suddenly burst up from the ground below him, cracking against his jaw with the sound of a few more teeth going crooked. He staggered back against the table behind him with a muffled groan, scattering the front row of gang members as he tried to steady himself on the wood. Amon didn’t wait for that, though; he shifted his stance and the fist shot forward again, this time latching onto the dragonborn with such tremendous force that Val heard the breath whoosh out of his lungs.

He barely had a chance to recover it before Amon set upon him again, covering the distance between them in the span of a second. He made some indiscernible gesture with his hands and the fist’s earthen fingers suddenly shifted into a set of crude stairs, which Amon sprinted up without so much as breaking his stride. He leapt onto the edge of the fist in one smooth motion and sank into a crouch, hissing something in Infernal as he reared back and swung for the dragonborn’s much-abused jaw -

Val saw the bright light burning behind the scales of the dragonborn’s throat too late to call a warning, and suddenly, the whole room erupted in a bright orange cone of flame.

She threw up an arm to blunt the little tongues of fire that curled her way, shielding her eyes from the brightness with the hide-tough skin she knew wouldn’t burn. Through the shadow, she saw Amon redirect himself in midair and swing around behind the dragonborn’s head, entirely unscathed; then she saw nothing, except a flash of dull metal in the brightness. The sound of painful retching and the abrupt stop to the fire painted a clear enough picture though, and she peeked around her arm just in time to catch the sight of Amon towering up from behind the dragonborn’s head, his fist cocked back a second time.

And then, the fight was over. The room, which had just started to get whipped into a frenzy, fell into a sudden, deadly quiet as the dragonborn’s limp body slumped to the ground, coated in a thick slurry of earth that Amon rode back to the floor. He plucked a little mote of lingering fire out of the air as he stepped down onto flat earth again, and began rolling it lazily across his knuckles like a thief with a coin trick, channeling so much casual disinterest into the gesture that Val only barely managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes as she turned back to address the crowd.

“Now,” she said, with a grand flourish towards the unconscious form of the dragonborn, “we could spend all night beating the everloving shit out of each and every one of you. As you can see, it would be fucking easy. Or you could sit down and let us ask a couple of simple questions so that we can let you get back to your evening, and - ”

“Get ‘em!”

Val let her words buckle into in a heavy sigh as the room burst into action, and she shrugged her shield onto her arm. Beside her, Amon let the mote of fire roll into his palm and flare up to his wrist like a gauntlet.

“I told you,” he said in quiet sing-song, grinning. Val tugged the belaying pin strapped to her hip free of its tie with a grunt.

“I know,” she said, twirling it one hand. “I hate it when you’re right.”

------

Barely five minutes later, Val found herself bent over a small writing chest that they had found in the back room, shuffling through paperwork at a table strewn with the slumped and unconscious forms of the gang’s entire payroll. She set a folded piece of parchment covered with scribbled tithe amounts onto the table, and brushed a skinny human woman’s hand aside as she did.

“I can’t believe you didn't leave anyone conscious,” she said over her shoulder, glancing down to where Amon was crouched among the figures strewn around the room.

“You didn’t either,” he pointed out, pushing stiffly to his feet. Val rolled her eyes.

“That’s because I thought you were going to! You know, the person who can stop people in their tracks by punching them in the face. Two birds, one stone and all of that.”

“Well,” said Amon with a dramatic huff, “I didn’t see you trying to hold back at all either. You used that gnome as a table runner!”

He pointed off towards a table a few feet away, which had been swiped clean of its contents in a strip clear down its center. Val eyed the scene for a moment, then shrugged.

“Little asshole tried to pour acid on me. What was I supposed to do?” She turned over another few handfuls of paper and sighed, shutting the chest with a heavy thud. “In any case, I don't think they knew anything anyway. The best kept log here is of when shops in the market quarter open and close. Not exactly anything we couldn’t figure out in a few -”

She broke off at the sound of metal jingling against metal, and turned just in time to catch Amon slip a purse off of the waist of a rather portly looking dwarf and into his hand. Her brow furrowed as he moved on to the female gnome beside him, gingerly peeling back her grimy coat and going for the little leather satchel tied on her hip.

“Are you looting these people?” she asked incredulously. Amon paused to glance up towards her, one eyebrow raised.

“Are you not?”

“No!” Val stepped back and gestured in a wide arc towards the room. “I, personally, think we've done enough to them by knocking every single one of them unconscious!”

“And I think that we deserve a reward for keeping this menace from terrorizing the townsfolk again tonight!” Amon replied. He tugged the purse strings free of the woman’s belt with a decisive pop and slipped it into his bag. Val snorted incredulously.

“And who exactly is going around calling these idiots a menace?”

“Plenty of people!” said Amon. He extracted his fingers from the pockets of the gnome woman and began ticking off names on them. “The guard captain, the mayor, about five different storekeepers…”

“And that pretty little elven girl we met today,” Val hummed, with sudden, dawning realization. A grin curled across her face as she swatted gently at Amon with her tail. “Should’ve guessed you fancied her by the way you were making eyes all afternoon. You intend to go back to her the hero, eh?”

“You misunderstand,” said Amon grimly, “I am simply a concerned traveler who happens to be able to help -"

“Uh-huh.” Val swatted at him again, and snickered when he ducked easily out of the way. “Well, if she happens to ask what happened to this thoroughly roughed up little menace of hers, I won't be heartbroken if you leave my name out of it.”

Amon stroked his chin, considering. “Can I take credit for the thing you did with the half elves between the tables?”

Val snorted. “That, and all of the things you actually did, sure,” she said with a grin. “But leave their pockets alone, alright? Stolen purses might encourage them to take it out on the townsfolk, which is the last thing we…”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on a bottle standing on a table just behind the makeshift bar. It was a squat vessel made of dark brown glass, still corked despite the fact that its wax seal had been entirely shredded, and even from a few feet away, Val could make out the the thick layer of dust coating the surface. Squinting in the dim light, she stepped carefully over the carpet of limp forms and reached over the bar to pluck it off the table, scrubbing at the surface with her thumb. Her finger came away clean; the dust was packed so tightly against it that only her claw scratching at it a few times seemed to make any sort of dent in it at all.

The label had long since faded and been torn away, but Val had stolen enough high quality booze from the longer-lived races to know exactly what she had found.

“Now how did you get this, exactly?” she muttered, glancing over to where the barkeep was tangled in a stool a few feet away. He, predictably, did not answer, so she tugged back the opening of her pack and began to slip the bottle inside.

“That looks nice.”

Val froze, glancing up to find Amon still crouched among the fallen, looking suddenly, unbearably smug. She cleared her throat and shrugged delicately.

“Well, it certainly doesn’t belong to them,” she said, trying to play at nonchalance. “Thought it’d be better if I confiscated it. For now.”

“For now,” Amon echoed skeptically. Val gave a good-natured roll of her eyes and swatted at him again.

“Alright, fine. Take what you’ve got, but don’t overload your pockets,” She slipped the bottle the rest of the way into her pack and slung it over her shoulder. “We still have three more hideouts to hit.”

#my writing #other people's ocs #d&d #d&d shenanigans #oc crap #valtish #this is actually the longest thing i've ever written for the idiots so that's pretty neat #i also had so much fun writing these two just gently heckling each other it's SO MUCH FUN #fortune's favor

[captainderyn]

Cipher Five (A Real Introduction)

Because I never formally introduced him, and I’m having fun with this character sheet. 

Again, it was done by @therron-shan​, gotta give credit where credit is due :D

(**Old drawing, think no scar..)

Preliminary Info:

Name: Valetyn Slovoko

Nicknames: Val, Vicky, Five

Alias(es): Cipher Five, Viktor Aulis (most used cover name, he introduced himself this way to people after he’s out of Intelligence as he doesn’t like giving his “real” name. 

Age: 32

Born: 19  BTC? Maybe? Years work how?

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Affiliations:

Empire, Imperial Intelligence

Occupation:

Imperial Intelligence Agent--Cipher division, instructor at the Imperial Intelligence Academy (unwillingly at first) when he was on leave, mostly full time once he leaves Intelligence. 

Physical:

General Description:

"Five...first time I met him I thought he was an ass, but intimidating. He practically had the agents in my training class falling at his feet, he’s got that whole ‘tall, dark’ thing going for him. I just wanted to fight the fabled Cipher Five. But he’s intimidating, cold and distant like he could kill you with his eyes only until you see him out of uniform *glares off camera* no not like that. When you see him outside of being an agent you get a softer person. Not different, not entirely, but like the harsh edges are softened...” --Erabelle Torven “Cipher Nine”

Height: 6′0

Weight: Somewhere in the 170lbs range

Hair: Dark dark brown, probably slicked back out of his face if he’s working, his wife would rather it be ruffled because then cowlicks start to form and she finds them adorable. 

Eyes: Hazel eyes, leaning more on the brown end than green.

Skin/Fur: His skin has a naturally more tan tone, despite being stuck on Dromund Kaas most of his life. 

Scars/Birthmarks/Etc.: He has a line of double scars going down his spine from between his shoulder blades all the way down his back with some larger scars crisscrossing over those from the accident that ended his agent days. 

Tattoos/Markings: ---

Cybernetics: He has cybernetic implants along his spine after an accident in the field that caused severe injuries to his spine. Those cybernetics allow him to walk and function pretty normally, though they aren’t a solve all and he still suffers some on and off pain from the injury.

Handedness:

He’s left handed 

Style:

Intelligence: In the field his favored uniform is black/very dark grey (unlike SOME agents, he says, glaring at Era, preening in her white/light grey uniform). He wears gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints everywhere in the field, and his uniform is lightly armored. The less bulky the better. 

Civilian: He dresses classy, he dresses nice okay. I blame him growing up in Kaas City, where everything is high fashion. It’s easier for me to just post a picture than explaining: 

Other:

He has a thick Imperial, Kaasian accent that comes through when he’s tired or very amped up/angry/whatever. His voice is very nice to listen to, it’s relatively deep and just has a soothing cadence to it. Unless he’s angry and then its sharp as a dagger and you better get ready to dodge. 

Mental/Emotional:

Background/Backstory:

Five grew up under two military bred parents, his father from the Imperial Army, his mother from the Imperial Navy, in Kaas City. He led a pretty easy life and excelled in his schooling, finding a passion in history. He knew he wanted to go military-esc to serve the Empire, but when applying to a program initially for the Imperial Navy he was directed towards Imperial Intelligence as a best fit instead. He worked as an agent for ten years before being forced to retire.

Personality: Five is very logical, very analytical, and horrible with numbers. He’s highly intelligent and can read people quite well, something that has allowed him to do well in his field as opposed to somewhere like a Fixer or a Minder. Five has a passion for history and the habit of being able to remember random facts that he can pull at a single trigger. When he’s nervous he’ll start talking if it’s someone he’s comfortable with--like when he was going to propose to his now wife, he started talking about the art history of the resturant they were at. 

Due to his time in Intelligence he’s developed quite a suspicion of people and is very much someone you can get the wrong first impression of. You need to work to get him to trust you and open up to you, otherwise he just comes across as a very quiet, rather rude and cold asshole. However, when you do unlock the actual man behind the agent mask he’s quite nice to be around, if you can handle the highly intelligent sort that always have a habit of guessing the twist on a holonet show before it actually happens. 

Quirks: He doesn’t sleep much during his agent days and even after, he refuses to give his birth name to anyone but his wife--as she’s the one who realy gave it meaning again, he almost never will have his back to a door and will flinch if you surprise him from behind--ie, hand on his shoulder. 

Disorders: Most likely some manner of PTSD after all he’s been through and seen, haven’t thought enough on it to expand comfortably. 

Addictions:

Not a full blown addiction but for awhile he had a heavy reliance/quasi addiction to adrenaline stims so that he didn’t need to sleep and face what he’d see in his dreams. Eventually it becomes easier to be awake than it is to sleep. 

Strengths:

He sees the Empire as what it could be, not venerating it for what it is, he’s quite methodical and careful in his work, he’s good at what he does. 

Weaknesses:

He’s got a fricken attitude towards his superiors, but it’s all veiled jabs and insults, his old injury means he could seriously fuck himself up if not careful, he got too attached to his small gaggle of agent ducklings. 

Likes: Helping his fellow ciphers, the idea of a better Empire, people who aren’t blind to the Empire’s flaws. 

Dislikes: Sith, whoever in Intelligence thought it was a good idea to keyword Ciphers, people who are blind to the Empire’s flaws, ect. 

Phobias/Fears: Losing control of his mind/body, hurting his wife or anyone close to him, his own mind in some sense, a suppressed one is losing his ability to walk. 

Hobbies: Reading military texts and strategy books, good natured debating, learning all the history things he can, patting his cat.  

Interests: History--both general and military, other cultures. 

Favorite movies: He sleeps through more movies than he watches. Things that are either fairly lighthearted or related to historical events/retellings. His daughters have warmed him up to Space!Disney animated movies though he’ll roll his eyes at their cheesy messages. 

Favorite music: Again, not much a music listener. If he had to choose it’d be of the classical type, or at least instrumental. Music soundtracks, orchestral movements, ect. 

Favorite books: Shoot I already covered this (*smacks self* overzealous!). Hm, military histories, some historical fiction, some fantasy, though he’s picky. 

Favorite TV shows: Whatever his wife will watch with him. Also things that make him think, with twists and stories and characters that are interesting.

Skills/Talents:

Habits: Being hyperaware of his surroundings, always checking the people around him, always being on high alert outside of the safety of his home. 

Morality/Ethics:

I have these goals I need to meet and I follow my own morale code, if you cross the line of what I deem is right and you don’t have a valid reason for it then I have no problem doing what I have to do to you. There are things I need to do in my line of work that I am not okay with, such as needless killing, and if I can’t avoid it then I am deeply sorry.

Don’t hurt people who don’t need to be hurt, don’t make people needlessly suffer. Always be honest to what you do and accept the mistakes you make. Faction doesn’t justify wrong things that you do. 

Goals:

Short Term: Survive raising two twin girls who are very energetic and enthusiastic about life, see that Daughter #1 (see family) makes it out of her own career alive and well and that she’s happy, build a normal life and adjust to a normal life with his family. Finish his own recovery from his injury/linger effects from Intelligence years and be there for said family.

Long Term: Survive raising two twin girls. That doesn’t go away. Reconnect with his own family on a better level, be happy.  

Motivations:

His own drive for a long time, his passion for the Empire he knows can be born, then it shifts and its his wife, then his family as a whole. 

Other:

He’s an introvert by nature and isn’t the most outgoing of people, he’s honestly rather reserved. But among a select few people he will open up a bit to show his sense of humor and be a little less quiet. 

Relationships:

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Bi/demi

Relationship History: Not good. He’s been in a few relationships and until his wife they’ve always crashed and burned as the people he was with couldn’t handle the intensity of his career and how he would be traveling more often than not. 

Reputation: He doesn’t have a reputation relationship wise. As far as anyone in Intelligence knows he’s single and has been single. He’s usually known to be successful in missions where seduction is a key element, does that count? Gossip in the Academy when they learn about Cipher Five is that he’s hot??

Family:

Vitaliya Slovoko: Five’s younger sister. Four years his junior, a major in the Imperial Army by the time they reunite. She’s just as intelligent as he is but finds it best put to use in the context of strategic analysis in the Army. She’s run several successful operations in her time. The last time Five had direct contact with her before resuming it was when he was nineteen just before he became a Cipher Agent. He was close with her growing up, very much a protective older brother Now their relationship is rather cordial until they finally break through the ice and then they’re close af again. Tries to see some of her old brother shining through and sometimes presses a bit too much for it. 

Anton Slovoko: Five’s father, retired from the Imperial Army where he was highly successful in support and leadership positions instead of combat positions. Regrets ever allowing his son to go into Imperial Intelligence, worries about Five even after they’ve reunited. He and Five have always had a pretty good relationship, he was the fastest to warm up to Five (Five as a person, not Valetyn, the son that left for the Academy) as he is when he returns. Probably the one that understands and respects Five’s nature the best and is the only one who just nods and accepts his request to not go by Valetyn (He goes by Viktor to everyone outside of his wife and to an extent Era).

Stasya Slovoko (nee Roksana): Five’s mother, ex Imperial Navy where she was a successful combatant/pilot. Thought for the longest time after Five cut off contact (rather unintentionally, he was stripped of most memories of familial ties upon his entrance into Intelligence) that her only son was dead. Hasn’t quite forgiven him or Intelligence for making him/self disappear, hasn’t entirely warmed back up to him. Part of her expects and wants her pre-Intelligence son back, the one who didn’t hold his blood family at an arms length, the one who wasn’t a little bent and broken whenever she looks at him. However she and Five are working on it, they’ve always had a slight tendency to knock heads after all, but they’re trying to work through it for her granddaughters/his daughters’ sake. 

Erin and Claire Slovoko: Five and Thea (his wife)’s daughters, twins and too intelligent for their own good. The mirialan in their blood shows through more than the human, which sometimes doesn’t work in their favor in the Empire. They wrangle their father into princess parties and beg Auntie Era to paint his face into funny creatures. He let’s them, he loved his daughters more than anything and would do anything to protect them. 

Erabelle Torven: Yup, she gets lumped in with family. Because she’s technically Daughter #1. Because Five took her under his wing when she was a wee little field agent first coming into the Cipher program and well, oops, now he’s stuck with her. Thea jokes that Era is their first child and she’s honestly a part of the family without question. She and Five are extremely close and have a lot more of a father-daughter relationship than say, a sibling-like bond or something. 

Agent: He and Thea have a loth cat that they found as a kitten on the streets of Kaas that was jokingly called Agent until he started to respond to it and well..not the cat’s name is Agent. He’s like a big maine coon mixed with a loth cat and is a smug, cuddly bastard. He and Five get are best friends and Five loves his cat dearly. When Five came home injured, almost two weeks after he was supposed to come home the cat sat on his bed and belittled him in meows as cats tend to do for ten standard minutes. 

Friends:

Noa: ...who belongs to @delavairesslegacy, obv, basically gets lumped into family as well considering she’s Era’s girlfriend and Five and Thea love her too. But they’re also friends, so to speak. They get along, he’s about as friendly as he can get. They meet officially through Era, but he nows her through Intelligence as Fixer Twenty-Four. He’s probably worked on a mission with her once or twice. 

Most of the agents in the Cipher program: I headcanon them to be a fairly small, tightly knit group and he’s grown pretty close to the ones that have been around consistently. Of course, he’s been in the cipher program for close to 10 years, compared to the 5 that most get before they’re killed or disappear and with the ever revolving nature of the cipher program a lot of the agents by the time he retires are young. And since he’s usually tossed into teaching training classes at the Academy he’s had a hand in most of their training. So he’s like the mother duck of the cipher agents, hence the gaggle of agents mention. They’re all pretty close and support each other. The agent puppy pile is a thing, and when Five is being tested after his injury to assess that he really can’t serve the ones that are home at the time are there to support him and are sad (but also glad) that he’s released out of Intelligence. 

Enemies:

There are too many to name, and none that have names that stand out to me rn. 

Love Interest:

He’s married to @delavairesslegacy‘s Thea Xern. They met when they were both working (she’s an ex SIS agent), and she was interfering with his assassination mission. They infuriated each other, getting in the way of each other’s missions and such. TBH he antagonized her a bit, played games with the SIS agent. He got in trouble for a) letting her see his face by accident and b) doing an unsanctioned search for information on her (where he found mundane jobs listed that he called bullshit on) and was sent to a non combat posting to tie up loose ends and eliminate her, as a loose end. They met, she surrendered and said he could kill her as long as he helped her tie up her own loose ends. Being stuck on a ship for x amount of time later he couldn’t bring himself to kill her and offered to help her start a new life with a new name, no ties to the Republic, on a neutral world. No strings attached. She accepted and from time to time he would check on her, make sure that his connections were sound in what they’d provide for her. And from there they grew closer until they became involved, and eventually she moved to Dromund Kaas to live with him. Which means he may or may not have committed treason in bringing an ex SIS agent into the heart of the Empire. Oops. 

Affiliations:

Imperial Agent:

Rank:

Cipher Agent

Known Aliases: Viktor Aulis, Daniil Antonov, Emil Nichevo

Weapons/Specs:

He’s well versed in both stealth/knife fighting like Era prefers, but his strength and preference has always been sniping. He prefers to shoot with a rifle. 

Methods of getting information:

Five prefers to go for seduction and befriending rather than torture. He finds torture unnecessary and gruesome. If it comes down to it his veiled, elegant threats will put a blade to your throat but no torture. 

Thoughts on the Republic:

He is loyal to the Empire, serves Intelligence to a point unless it conflicts with his own beliefs, but does not hate the Republic. He thinks they do some things wrong and that their supposed morale high ground isn’t as true as they’d like to convince themselves it is but being married to an ex Republic citizen has given him a new perspective, even if she’s not really a Republic patriot anymore. 

Other Info:

He’s gone undercover on many occasions but has a general distaste for deep undercover missions. Especially deep undercover missions in the Republic, he thinks they’re tedious and often don’t gain the information they hope. That being said, he’s best suited for solo or pair missions (he and Era are a popular partnership) that involve being undercover to an extent or getting in and out without fuss. He does not enjoy desk work, he gets restless and much prefers to be out in the field. 

Other Biographical Info:

Birthworld: Dromund Kaas

Homeworld: ...Dromund Kaas

Where is/are their stronghold(s) located?  Where do they consider home?

His home is a modest now family sized apartment (they probably had to move once they realized they’d have two girls)  on Dromund Kaas that’s filled with personality and life compared to his old apartment when it was just him, where it was furnished with the basic necessities and was only used as a brief check in point. 

Familial Background:

He comes from a military family, and a successful one at that. He’s the first one in a few generations to go into Intelligence however. 

Other Info:

A fun little fact; I’ve already mentioned this but Five is particular about names, just as Era is. So he introduces himself as Viktor to people, and Thea, Era and Noa are the only ones (outside his blood family) that know his real name. However Era refers to him as Five still and Noa probably calls him Viktor, as they both understand far to well how much names mean and how special they are for agents like Five and Era. Likewise, Era doesn’t tell Thea and Five her full name (Erabelle) until after the end of the canon story. Even then Thea calls her Belle and Five still has a habit of calling her Nine, though he’s started to call her Erabelle/Belle as well. Only Noa calls her Erabelle. 

#swtor #imperial agent #oc: Five #oc: Era #other people's ocs: Thea #other people's ocs: noa #if we can't tell I have more about Five figured out than Tacka #I love Five #so much #like waaay too much #my lovely grumpy agent man #sorry @mobile user's dashes

[weshallc]

Happy St. Andrew’s Day. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading Bonfire Night! I haven’t put it on the usual fic sites as I knew I would mess about, and Tumblr folk are a patient bunch. I am going to rejig it so it stretches from Bonfire Night to Christmas (probably New Year at this rate) looking back over 2020.

Thank you for the lovely comments and support from @h4t08 @fourteen-teacups @thatginchygal  @bbcshipper @roguesnitch @lovetheturners and new regular @aimee-jessica and @olafur-neal

I really don’t know what I have been doing with my time apart from washing my hands, measuring distances of 2 metres, sewing masks, swearing at the news, collecting Scotch egg and pasty recipes and building a pantry to hoard all my Brexshit preparation supplies.

Enough about me, so as it’s St. Andrew’s Day I thought I might give this another spin. 

BERNS NIGHT (Revisited, just for fun)

Call the Midwife AU (Crown Jewels/Paddy and Bernie/Poplar-on-Tweaven)

CHAPTER ONE: FAIR FA’ YOUR HONEST, SONSIE FACE

“Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang's my arm.”  Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

“Will You Reconize me? Call My Name or Walk On By.” Don’t You (Forget About Me). Simple Minds 1985.

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the north star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one as the incision was violently made. No one daring to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then, Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now, do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet, the ceremony is over. It’s time for eating and drinking, something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn-haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition.  It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. ”Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the sort of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior, and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar's daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well sort of a queue. In London a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored, Anyone who called the barmaid by name was bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those words.

All her life she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But, she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea, he had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable she hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts, it was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend Valerie, I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter,

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash and a pint of Buckles Best and for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights, or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner, most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double it’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when the wife and I took over she was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now, all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one, and now there was just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way. Under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I've met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don't mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More's the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a...”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can't imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realizing the stranger was still watching her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks. She suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realizing her arse was in the air and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion don’t you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that. God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me, I can feel it.

#call the midwife #wee reblog #berns night #chapter one #more to follow llater #as in llama #not alpaca #desk top doesn't do flag emoji #found a saltire #and remembered to add extra song

[kaywritesthings]

Bruce: Bruce was, more or less, glad to be back on Earth.  It wasn't something he anticipated every happening- in fact after becoming the Hulk on Asgard, he thought that was it for him, and he's just be this monster forever.  Being back, and being himself- almost exclusively it seemed, for all that the Hulk had disappeared.  He busied himself in some of Tony's old labs, trying to figure out something, or anything to help.   He didn't know how to exist in this world anymore, and found himself in some ways, longing for the ease of life back on Sakkar, where he was trapped but knew how to live in a way he didn't here.  Bruce found he missed her too, though he didn't really know her in the way the Hulk had.  He had no idea what had happened to the Valkyrie after he'd been sent to earth, or if she was among the deaths or disappeared.  There was no way to know either, so he bent himself to his work and tried not to think about it.

Valkyrie joined the chat

Valkyrie: She didnt understand Earth, no not really. No one had real order in this city of New York. Not that Sakkar had much law, but it had fear. People here mocked their leadership. Which to her looked weak. People were not allowed to scream at other people, for it was rude.. There was no killing either. She longed for some comfort of sorts, and found herself where that Thor god was. She still was a bit bitter towards him for her people, but she was warming up. He was not like his sister. She went into the facility, she didnt know anyone and found herself in a lab. She picked up bottles and for fun tossed them against the wall. She had rage in her, that was not welcome here on Earth. She saw someone sitting at a table. "You there." She said. "bruce is it?" She said. "Remember me? From Sakkar.. They put me in fleece fabric so you might not remember."

Bruce: Bruce had been bent over one of Tony's more intuitive flat paneled screens, flipping through diagrams and trying to deconstrcut what he knew about infinty stones as if that would be of any help without any actual stones to study.  But he felt like he had to do something.  He was startled when he heard another voice and his eyes wided when he saw who it belonged to.  "Wow.  It's you," he said and had to work hard not to try and stumble over his words.  Valkyrie was like the kind of warrior woman you read about in comic books- beautiful, strong, could kill you with a look if she wanted- and he still had a hard time believing that they existed.  "Of course I remember you," Bruce said, anxiously adjusting his glasses.  "I thought we'd lost you back on the ship.  When Thanos and his men attacked."

Valkyrie: "You did for a bit" She said and jumped on the counter. She sat there looking over his work. Those eyes were so familiar. "But I am not that easy to kill." She chuckled picking up his reasearch paper and looking it over. "What are you doing?" She asked. She set the book down, feeling sad for all she had to leave behind. "This is where you and hulk are from ?Newest York?" She said, looking at him. She had heard the hulk was afraid. She had alwasy been there to comfort him in time of uncertainty.

Bruce: Bruce did love the easy way that Valkyrie moved, taking ownership over every space she was in.  Evenif a small part of him wanted to reach out and make sure she didn't knock sensitive equipment off of the table.  He leaned around her and straightened a beaker that was in danger of falling.  "No, no, you wouldn't be," he said and choked a little, looking up into Val's eyes for a moment before looking away.  "But yes, this is where we're from.  Me, now mostly.  The Hulk won't come.  I think he's happy you're here though," Bruce said.  "From waht I can tell."

Valkyrie: She smiled and looked into bruces eyes. "Hey Hulk!" She said and waved. She put her hand on Bruce's arm. "I miss you big boy!" She said. She had taught hulk how to speak better and to read.. She had been his care taker and loved every moment with him. When he wasnt made to kill, he was playful and fun. "Give him time, he'll come around. I believe in you" she said into Bruces eyes. "Can he hear me?"

Bruce: Bruce let out a surprised laugh when Valkrie waved at him like that and ducked his head.  "I know it's weird to say, but I miss him too.  I could have used his help." He looked Valkyrie over and sighed, just a little.  "I know I don't really know you, but he does.  So well.  It feels like I know you."  He pursed his lips.  "He's not talking much, he's still...scared I think.  But I feel warmth from him.  His own kind of happiness."

Valkyrie: She smiled an lean over to kiss his cheek. Giving it to the hulk. She touched his cheek. He still felt like the hulk was here with him seeing bruce. "I'm starving." She said and jumped off the counter. "What does bruce eat?" She asked.

Bruce: Bruce flsuhed when Val kissed his cheek and felt himself stuttering over his next few words.  "I...uh...is that how it was with you two?" he asked, still trying to peice some things together.  He pushed back from the lab table.  "I can show you the kitchen, Bruce eats what most humans do.  How does pizza sound? I have some leftover."

Valkyrie: "We were close, not like that." She teased. "He isn't sexual if that's what you wonder. At least not with me. He loved me like a mother i think." She said. "But maybe... you dont see me as one?" She laughed. "Pee sha? That is food? I want to try it, it cant be that bad if you like it, right?"

Bruce: Bruce flushed brightly and laughed, then shook his head.  "No, no, I didn't mean like that," he said.  "I meant more like...romantic.  Not sexual," he said and then flushed even considering it.  "A mother?  No," Bruce said and laughed, leading the way to the kitchen. "No, deifnitely not.  You're...gorgeous and fierce and there is nothing motherly in what I'm thinking," he babbled and busied himself pulling out the pizza.  "Yes, it's bread and cheese and tomato sauce and like five different kinds of meat.  You'll like it.  I'm sure," he said handing her a slice.

Valkyrie: "Sounds interesting. Are you ok" She teased, she seemed to notice he was nervous. A rapid heart beat. "Tah tah tah, calm down my friend." She rubbed his head the way she rubbed Hulks when he was getting frustrated. "We need to think of fishes, red fish, blue fish, angel fish." She said. "Sorry it use to work on hulk." She teased. "can i help prepare the pizza?" She asked. "What calms you down, Banner, what does banner love to do?" She asked

Bruce: Bruce gave Valkyrie a slightly confused look and then swallowed hard when she started to rub his head.  "I'm calm," he said which was a very big lie.  "You're just a very beautiful woman, and they don't usually touch me.  Ever," Bruce said and smiled just a little.  "It's perpared," he said, "thats kind of the beauty of it," he said and offered her a slice.  "It's cold, but some people think it's better that way."  He smirked.  "I like..uh..science.  Equations.  Research.  I'm really kind of boring compared to my counterpart."

Valkyrie: "You arent boring. You have PhDs." She said. "And I think you are cute. I usually like women. If you want to join me with women one day, that's ok. I think it's call a threesome." She smiled and pet his cheek innocently. "I like research too."She said. "This place, this earth, its more peaceful but more dumb, minus you. Your leader, trump? Hes not so good?"

Bruce: Bruce laughed a little, looking Valkyrie over.  "Do you even know what a PhD is?" he asked, lifting an amaused eyebrow.  "I uh. Well." Bruce said, not sure what to do with that invitation.  "I've heard of them, yes," he said and binked, trying to wrap his head around that.  Natasha being involved was the first thing that came to mind and it just made him flush more.  "It's not always peaceful here.  I promise that.  And don't even get me started on that."

Valkyrie: She laughed when his cheeks were pink and not green. "Bruce." She wondered why he was so lonely. Sometimes the hulk expressed feeling lonely. She took the pizza and held it to her lips. She took  a bit and let out a hapy moan. "It taste so different, texture so soft and spices so blended! It's better tan a bug!" She said. "What do you think of piza"

Bruce: Bruce felt like Val was trying to kill him here, with her little sounds, that moan, and the way she was so open to touch him.  Most people avoided getting close to him, and he avoided getting close to them.  He smiled though and took a bite of his own pizza.  "This is pretty much earth's delicacy," he said and smirked.  "It's one of the few things I really missed from here."  He took another bite and winked at her. "How did you even make your way here?  Why did you come?"

Valkyrie: "I dont know. I just landed here. Tony brought me in. " She ate the pizza quickly and grabbed another slice. It was delicious. She licked each one of her fingers. She loved how the cheese stretched. She giggled and held up a pepporoni. "Everything on this piza is already dead, it makes it easy to digest." She said. "Did you like our space food? I think I heard you SCREAM when you ate the squidish pasta."

Bruce: "So you've met Tony," Bruce said and smirked.  "That must have been fun for you," he said and watched as Val licked her fingers, feeling that almost phantom but very real part of him that was still a man react.   "Yeah, you'll find that about earth.  We like our food to be dead when we eat it," he teased lightly.  "I uh.  I'm glad that my food doesn't wiggle at me here."

Valkyrie: "Yeah, it can be a bit of a pain when yo uhave to fight your food in your mouth." She said with a laugh. she ate anotehr slice and then some of Bruces because he looked done. She downed a coke too. "Thsi food is good." she wa suse to eating a lot with Hulk.They both put it away. "do you have a partner?" She asked. "Hulk said you might be into iron man ." She blinked. Hulk sometimes tried to tell jokes, sometimes.. But they could sound like reality.

Bruce: Bruce laughed softly and went to the bar.  "I think you're probably an alcoholic to rival Tony, but I don't think there's any harm in having some," he said, reaching out to grab a bottle and poure them both a glass.  "A partner?" He laughed when Val mentioned Tony and shook his head.  "In the lab, sure, but not like that," he said and cleared his throat awkwardly.  "I'm not really.  Attached to anyone like that."

[rocky-alex]

Motels Won’t Cut It Anymore

Word count: 1798

Warnings: language

Pairing: Reader x Sam

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Chapter twenty six: In The Garden Of Eden, Beware The Snake

“Gaia’s resurrection.”

“Well, look at that. I knew you knew some things, but that’s not exactly common knowledge, even in my own circles.”

“Why would you hide it?”

“I don’t like the idea of any opposition to my cause.”

“I would figure the monsters would be all for this venture.” “My darling Y/N, that might not be the case at all. See, while Gaia is the mother of many monsters, she’s not the mother of them all.” “And what does that mean?” Your dad stood from his seat and walked over to the window, looking for all the world like it wasn’t just miles of open landscape and woods outside.

“Let me ask you, have you ever heard of purgatory?” “I’ve heard different versions.”

“Would you like to know the real one?” You snorted.

“At this point, ‘real’ feels like a relative term.” Laughter. It seemed like this whole thing had put him in a good mood. “Quite right.” He looked at you. “By now you probably know that when humans die, we either go to heaven or hell. The question is, where does a monster’s soul go when the creature dies?” Huh.

“… Purgatory.” He nodded, and turned back to the view.

“Precisely. But monsters, like humans, had to come from somewhere. As I said before, Gaia is not the mother of them all. The monsters that go to purgatory were birthed by someone else. Her name was Eve.” “Eve? As in… Adam and Eve? And what do you mean ‘was’?” “The Winchesters killed her a quite a few years ago now. However, her children remain. As for the name, I actually don’t know.”

“So why would the monsters be against Gaia’s resurrection?”

“Because they most likely believe that she might not be too kind to them, being that they’re not her creations.” Meaning she might end up killing them.

“But you don’t know that for sure.”

“Exactly, and I prefer my clientele stay loyal to me.” You huffed a laugh.

“Well? Would she kill them?” you asked. He seemed to think about it for a moment.

“I don’t think so. Actually, I don’t think she will care all that much.” Well, okay then.

“Okay so if the ‘children of Eve’ go to purgatory, where do Gaia’s creations go when they die?”

“Someplace deeper, and in a way, older, than purgatory.” You waited. “… Does this place have a name?” He huffed and rolled his eyes.

“No need to get smart.” You just waited. “It’s called tartarus.”

“Like greek mythology tartarus?”

“Yes.”

This was rich. You dad was lying through his teeth to his… clients? Customers? Whatever.

“There are several things I still don’t understand.”

“And you need to understand everything about what I’m doing?”

“If you want my help, then yes.” “What makes you think I won’t just force you?”

“Because you would’ve done it already.” Your dad turned back to you, looking… Was he impressed? He smirked and walked back to the armchair, leaning against the back of it.

“Touché. Ask.”

“Why wake her up?” “Gaia’s power is unimaginable. Mother Earth herself. With her awake, everything can be set right.” “Set right?”

“Look at this world, Y/N. You can’t honestly say it’s a good one.” No, you couldn’t.

“Does that give you the right to try to ‘fix’ it?

“It’s meant to be.” You looked your father in the eye. There was a gleam in them, something that told you he wouldn’t allow anyone to stop him. It scared you.

“So what exactly is it that you need from me?” Your voice had dropped to a whisper. His face broke out in a smile.

“Not much, my daughter. As the effigy that binds the goddess is tied to our family, our blood, that is what I will need from you. Your blood.” Without breaking eye contact you stood from you seat. You tried to hold back the tears in that suddenly threatened to fall, because you’d finally understood something you’d been wondering for the past two years.

“Okay. But first answer one thing.” “Of course.”

“Did you kill my sister for this?”

He didn’t say anything for a long time.

“Y/N, you won’t have to die…” “That’s not what I asked.” He turned his back to you.

“… It had to be done.” The dam broke and the tears started slipping down your face. He killed Leah for… For what? Power? A fucking perfect world?

“Where’s mom in all this?”

“Right here, just upstairs.”

“How much does she know?” “Everything.” Hah!

So that’s how it was. Leah was dead, and if you didn’t do what he wanted, your father would kill the only two people who mattered to you anymore. By now they would be back at the bunker and know you were gone. You hoped, against all odds, that they would let you go and understand what had made you leave. Hard headed they may be, but not stupid. They had to know you had to choose this.

Your father suddenly looked down at his watch.

“My, look at the time.” You shook your head and hastily wiped your tears before he could see them. “Come along, there’s something I’d like to show you, and someone I think it’s time you finally met.”

“What and who?” Without answering, your father started walking out of the room, and you were quick to follow him. To your great annoyance, Arnold was standing guard right outside the room you’d just been in. You caught up to your father and walked alongside him.

“Why are we even here?”

“Y/N, you may be my child, but after two years I felt a little caution was just common sense. To make sure no one who might be following you could later follow me, I had guards placed all along the road leading from the town to this house.” Makes sense.  

“Just so you know, you’re gonna get my bike cleaned up,” you muttered under your breath. Letting yourself get angry at your dad wasn’t an option. You needed time, and staying on his good side was the best way to get it.

He led the way up the stairs and into another kind of living room. Standing looking out the window with her back to the door was a woman. Tall, slim and dressed to the nines, you’d recognise your mother anywhere. When she heard you and your father come in she turned around.

“Y/N, my baby girl.” She started walking toward you but you held your hands up.

“Please don’t. I’ve had about as much as I can take of family reunions today.”

“Then I guess you won’t be too happy to meet me as well,” a voice spoke up from a corner of the room. With your mother taking all your focus you hadn’t even noticed the man who was also in the room. Once again your hand went to your gun, but was grabbed and held tightly behind your back. Fuck! You hadn’t even noticed Arnold following you, the man was deadly silent.

“Now, Y/N. We’ve already been over this. Please behave.”

“Fine.” Arnold let you go, but didn’t take your gun. Smart guy. “If you tell me who the hell that is,” you said, pointing to the man. Before your father could answer, the man stood up.

“How rude of me.” He straightened his suit and buttoned it before walking forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m William Ritchie, but you, Y/N, can call me uncle Bill.” He held his hand out with a smile. You stood frozen for a few seconds before turning to you parents.

“An uncle? You never told me I had a fucking uncle.” Uncle Bill answered for them.

“You mother didn’t know until recently, and it was best for your whole family that only your father knew about me.”

“How recent is recently?” You saw him exchange a quick glance with your father before answering.

“About a year and a half ago.” Okay, you’d buy into their bullshit. You turned to your mom and dad.

“Dad, I mean this in the most sincere way possible. You’re full of shit.” Maybe not buy into it completely. He took it in stride, though. “So what’s uncle Bill’s role in all this?”

“Bill is the intermediary and negotiator during transactions between our family’s organisation and the head’s of the monsters. He also provides legal counsel and aid.” Uncle Bill had a somewhat arrogant look on his face. Ew.

After a few moments of everyone just standing around looking at each other you decided to just ask.

“There was something you wanted to show me?” Your father sprung into motion like someone had poked him.

“Ah, yes. Come over by the window.” You moved slowly through the room, keeping your eyes on everyone there, hoping that you wouldn’t do anything that might get you accidentally terminated.

Your father pointed out the window, to a point beyond the flat lands surrounding the mansion, deep in the woods.

“Do you see that hill among the trees?” You nodded.

“What’s up there?” you asked. He handed you a pair of binoculars and you raised them to get a closer look at the hill. On the top of it you could make out a collection of standing stones. Three circles, the innermost made of the tallest stones that came together at the top, creating a kind of spire. Even from here, just seeing it gave you the feeling that something was off about it.

“What is that?” you asked, although by now you damn near knew the answer.

“It’s where she will rise…” There was a kind of reverence in his voice. You lowered the binoculars and looked at your father. He was staring out the window toward the hill. His belief in this was astounding. He already worshipped the goddess, he’d do anything to raise her. But seeing that place… It felt so wrong. What your dad had described, Gaia saving the earth… He’d made it out to be something good, but being here you knew Mother Earth was anything but good. If she were, she would never have been put to rest in the first place.

“Dad.” He looked at you, a look of faith and pure joy on his face. “Why was the effigy tied to our family?”

“So that there would be hope for the goddess one day.”

“Are you sure about that?” Your dad took your hands in his.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life, my Y/N. She was meant to be raised to the surface, fully awake.” No, she isn’t, you thought. You took back what you’d thought earlier. You hoped to fucking god that Sam and Dean figured out where the fuck you were, because you couldn’t do this alone.

@bookchic20

@carryonmyswansong

@hey-bxtch

@winchesterxtwo

Note: My schedule for this weekend is work work work, closing shifts. I will do my best my darlings, but I dare not make promises. I will write as often as I can, and I will see Motels through to the end. On the plus side, I am learning the job so fast and I love it (even though it’s a fast food burger place). I have several ideas for news fics once Motels is wrapped up, possibly one or two crossovers, if it works out... Any requests? :P

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural reader insert #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester reader #sam winchester and reader #dean winchester and reader #dean winchester and you #motels won't cut it anymore

[neverbeenbroken]

[IDEAS/FACTS] SPELLBOUND 5.0? | to be updated

This is going to be a long list, so I’ll put under a read more. If you have anything to add, let me know!

BROOKE ADAMS

was not a supporter of lohen

did not trust juliette and felt like something was off about her

called spencer babybear

was a fan of jesse

was one of the people that called emily mini keler

was super close to james

was close to valerie

was close to tyler

almost seemed like she had a thing for sam, but that could just be playful!brooke

seemed close with cordelia

the aunt she’s close with is named jemma

thought blake without alcohol is boring

convinced that brooke is bi

she broke up aaron and melanie

used tyler’s crush on melanie for him to do it

was the one that audrey that wyatt slept with alison

had or has feelings for aaron ( this never happened in any rp)

has feelings for wyatt

sort of resented audrey (during the og rp)

was pissed because she either overheard audrey tell wyatt that brooke liked/loved him or wyatt confronted her

she kind of drove a rift in wydrey’s relationship because the two didn’t want to cause her any more pain

this was during the time in the hospital when she overdosed on vervain

wyatt blamed himself

can’t tell if she’s closer to audrey or alison, probably loves samantha more than both of them honestly

kissed aaron during a movie “date”

discovered she had feelings for wyatt when she kissed him during truth or dare

hates ashlee

super close to blake

my dilemma is brodrey’s theme song

had a headcanon that brooke kept sabotaging audrey’s relationships because she had a crush on her

AARON ANDERSON

broke up with his girlfriend because someone else told him too (can you say FAKE)( should probably figure out why he did that)

grew closer to spencer after saving her from some bad college guys

didn’t think she would like him

made audrey apologize to brooke cause he knew brooke wouldn’t have

calls audrey doll

was close to valerie

was close to erica

close to emily

considers wyatt his bestest best friend

considers brayden his boyfriend and will fight tyler for him

really caring towards others

calls emily emsi

calls melanie melly g or melly bear

trying/tried to get melanie back

wanted to be friends with melanie

close to brooke then audrey then alison

doesn’t quite get along with samantha

liked the fact that samantha owned up to being a bitch

knew of brayden’s feelings for audrey and thought he should’ve squashed them

was probably more of a wydrey fan then a braudrey fan

melron is my otp and i considered them locked but now i knind of want melanie with brayden (this is an idea, but they could’ve happened once upon a time)

ever since i thought about it, i can’t stop thinking of why audrey and aaron never crossed my mind. like not in a romantic way, but a rip your clothes off way. like i think they’d have some pretty hot sex. i think that’s why.

used to hook up with rose, stopped when he began dating melanie, did it again once he broke up with her

isn’t sure if he likes brooke more than a friend due to their shared kiss

would date wyatt if he could

SOPHIE BARNES

never had a sophie long enough

CORDELIA BENJAMIN

lost all of my cordelia blogs

when she first arrived, she was slightly cold

i think sam (?) cracked her shell first

is close to melissa

is close to maddison

doesn’t quite get along with blake

is close to samantha

is close to audrey

is close to tyler

is close to carson

had a fling or something with simon

changed during her junior year, must’ve been because she dyed her hair

turns into a vixen when she’s drunk

otherwise nervous to have sex with people cause she can’t control her powers

CARSON BENSON

had sex with a teacher

would probably only stay for that teacher

super close to blake

close to juliette

closer to brooke

did not like audrey at first

audrey accused her of having issues so carson called her rude and said that she didn’t like her

close to cordelia

close to samantha

is a part of the evil genius club

likes erica

is really forward, blunt

ASHLEE BOURNE

ashlee found out she had sisters when she was 12?

she didn’t understand why audrey didn’t like her

but reciprocated the feelings

can’t control the evil in her

misses her father

sees ben as her second father

started a fwb rel. with tyler

grew feelings for him

doesn’t like emily

stopped liking cordelia

hates brooke

considers wyatt a close friend

thinks audrey broke wyatt’s heart

knows that juliette and her tend to bring out the worse in each other but still loves her and wants to be her freind

took april uner wing

took nick under her wing

closer to brayden

doesn’t particularly care for alison

close to rose

likes blake

DIANA BROWN

didn’t have her long enough

ELIZA BURTON

used to be jennifer burton

is a (junior) ronan’s knight

blake tried to drink her blood when they first met

one nickname for blake is psycho

one nickname for blake is monster

eliza wasn’t the nicest

no matter what, she alwasys ends up on blake’s list

it never fails

blake took her off once

had feelings for blake

made out with blake like three times?

prefers allie to julia

is usually caught in the middle of them

is eden’s best friend

has/had feelings for jesse?

was called little bird by blake

was called shorty by blake

used to called blake mr. nerd

was never scared of blake for some reason

this is lowkey all about blake

called tyler mr. dude

hated kailey

tyler showed her how to get other people to do their homework for them

had like 4 friends

DYLAN CARVER

only came to spellbound because of julia

was simon’s mentor

didn’t really like simon at first

told audrey to give simon a chance

hated chloe

found valerie annoying and too talkative 

soon grew fond of chloe

they bonded over their crushes hanging out with each other

came to stop julia from doing something stupid

did not expect his sister to come too

always gives girls hickies after dates?

prefers to be invisible rather than noticeable

would probably go back to new york for college

valerie called him mean but said that she likes it

when i say val i’m talking about skye

wanted audrey to ber his campagin member and would run for school or student council president

LILLIAN CARVER

tagged along

would most likely stay at spellbound

DARREN CHEN

feels pressure from his family

can choose his own mate

would probably return to spellbound

loves dancing

is close to audrey

grows close to april

is close to julian

JULIAN COHEN

is dating or dated natasha

these might just be old headcanons from anna

cares for tasha but sometimes feels like giving up on their relationship

was not happy when he found out about blake & tasha

JULIETTE COHEN

super close to julian

went to therapy for her anger management 

was cheated on by jesse

grew close to blake and started dating him

had no idea that she fought with tasha over another boy

sam told her about the love pentagon (sam, jules, blake, lindsay, tasha)

secretly hates that blake still cares about lindsay

super close to tyler

close to samantha

CHASE COLLINS

idek

ANNA-ROSE COOKE

has a dark side

refers to adurey as her mom

refers to april as her sister

calls simon chimpunk

REID COOPER

came to  

NAOMI DALTON

almost had a thing with tyler 

ALEXANDRIA DANIELS

feels superior to julia

JACOB FLETCHER

has a crush on rose

BRITTANY FULLER

used to flirt with audrey

gives no fucks

may grow feelings for rachel?

should definitely have sex with blake

doesn’t know that linds and blake dated

AUDREY GANNER

broke up with wyatt because of what brooke told her

he still doesn’t know exactly why

he thinks it was the rose kiss

finds drinking blood gross

super close to blake

MELANIE GANNER

could’ve had a thing with brayden

was in love with aaron

wonders why tyler doesn’t like her

calls audrey audbo

aaron calls her melly bear, g-money

NICHOLAS GARCIA

was sent to spellbound to spy on april and her pack

ended up growing close to april

things ended cause she found out

now the two avoid each other

dated valerie

still has feelings for her?

doesn’t like james?

sam hates him

close to audrey

close to jake

sam wants to punch him in the face

figured out that val has a daughter?

almost told sam something about val and james

told sam that val had a kid and the father was james

sam did not believe

PAIGE GARNIER

tried to kill a teacher

JENNIFER GRANT

used to be jennifer burton

VALERIE HALE

has a kid with james

melanie considers her her favorite blonde

is dating samantha

used to almost have a thing with brooke?

SETH HAMILTON

idek

don’t think he did much in the other rps

SAMUEL HARRIS

anya is his childhood friend

had a crush on her

MEAGAN HART

likes valerie?

DANIELLA HASTINGS

idek

MAXWELL HASTINGS

probably left

VANESSA HENRIE

thought brent was pretty cool

JAMES HUNTER

has a kid with valerie

has feelings for valerie?

SPENCER HYLTON

is blake’s little sister

was adopted by supernatural parents

RACHEL JAMES

hooked up with wyatt

DANIEL JUNG

we’ll see

JASON KANG

we’ll see

EMILY KEELER

mini keeler

loves coffee

has a crush on aaron?

has a crush on tyler?

hates ashlee

close to audrey

totally steals her clothes

danced with blake at a dance

a version of emily gave no fucks

the only other person that calls blake, blakey bear

was not scared of blake

hates when blake calls her sweetpea

almost shipped them

SAMANTHA KEELER

troublemaker

creator of the EGC

BONA KIM

idek

BLAKE LAWSON

refers to Robbie’s friend group as the “Miller Posse”

didn’t like rachel in a more-than-friend way and found her annoying

everyone thinks that he broke her heart

but he only told her the truth regarding him and her

very blunt

protective of those he truly cares about

slightly scared of carson

thought samantha was really prety

had a fwb with natasha

was in a relathionship with lindsay

still has lingering feelings

audrey was the only other person he told about his relationship

carson knew while it was happening 

audrey knew after it ended

only kills people who truly pisses him off

MIN-JOON LEE

idek

JOHANNAH LEWIS

idek

CHLOE MALAWER

had a crush on reid

had a crush on dylan

used to date simon

MADDISON MARTINEZ

idek

ALEXANDER MCHALE

idek

LINDSAY MCKENZIE

used to date blake

SCOTT MENDLER

used to date april

ROBERT MILLER

tbd

ALISON MITCHEL

tbd

ANYA MOORE

tbd

NATASHA MOORE

tbd

KIRSTEN MORGAN

tbd

EDEN NEWMAN

tbd

SIMON NOVA

went on a date with audrey

kissed her

kissed april

was roommates with chloe due to a mistake

dated chloe

is in a love/hate relationship with april

dylan was his mentor

had a thing with cordelia

maybe went after brittany

likes older girls

APRIL PICKETT

no one knew she was also half-demon until her sophomore year

hates simon

likes simon

hates chloe

likes chloe

loved nick

dislikes nick

enemies with melissa

enemies with brooke

thought she was straight until she met julia

close to jennifer

close to mal and jojo

grew close to darren

started trusting scott again

kissed simon

was nicknamed wolfy by sam

calls sam witchy

JESSE PIERCE

prefers natasha to jules

was nosy about blake and jules relationship

kept provoking blake

thinks julian sucks and that he would be a better boyfriend to tasha

was close to brayden

KAILEY PORTER

brooke’s cousin

gives no fucks

once got drunk and made a sex tape with valerie

caused samantha and valerie to grow apart

audrey supported the val and kailey ship

grew close to robbie

BRENT PRESCOTT

one of the ronan’s knights

CHRISTOPHER REED

was changed by alexandria

has a crush on anya

WYATT REED

used to date audrey

she broke his heart

was heartbroken when she started dating brayden

slept with valerie

slept with rachel

NICOLE ROSENBERG

idek

TYLER SMITH

is a player

feels like everyone will leave him

has a little sister

dated erica

dated brooke

almost had a thing with naomi

went on a date with chloe

is rose’s husband

likes melanie or liked her

conspired with brooke to end melron

ROSEANNA STEVENSON

kissed wyatt

used to have sex with aaron

has feelings for jake

doesn’t like alison

didn’t really get along with audrey

considers tyler her husband

was one of the firsts to find out that spencer was blake’s sister

was willing to help her 

KYLIE SUMMERS

idek

ERICA TODD

dated tyler

addicted to candy

close to carson

close to juliette

close to audrey

close to aaron

close to samantha

close to brooke

close to spencer

dated noel jones

ISABELLA VEGA

got attacked by robbie

MALLORY VINCENT

idek

CHELSEA WARD

doesn’t want to be invisible anymore

BRAYDEN WESTERLY

could’ve had feelings for wither melanie or ashlee

been in love with audrey

ignored audrey during the first rp

was a great boyfriend during the second one and etc

audrey is his oldest friend

died and became a whitelighter

aaron’s boyfriend

but also tyler’s

used to be called apples by samantha

NATALIE WOOD

idek

JULIA WOODS

was the “ghost” that paige saw

STEVEN WU

idek

CALEB YOUNG

idek

#ref: spellbound #neverbeenbroken #out of magic #this helps me weed out those that dont' have plots

[ragetouched]

How they are recruited: 

While still in Haven, word will arrive through one of Leliana’s contacts that there seems to be someone in the Hinterlands killing both mages and Templars for some sort of sport. Upon investigation, Vaharel is found finishing off a group of both, turning over to the Inquisitor and asking what it is they want. After a bit of conversation, Vaharel will say that he was hunting down mages and Templars alike in an attempt to run into the Inquisitor themselves–he wants to join them, he says, because he wants to fight demons. If asked why, Vaharel will decline to say why specifically, but that he can be counted on in a tough fight. If recruited, Val will be pleased and meet the Inquisitor back at Skyhold. If refused, he seemed unfazed–he merely shrugs and leaves.

Where they are in Skyhold: Outside the tavern, people watching

Things they Generally Approve of: Violence and aggressive actions, executions, being rude to nobles, not being taken to the Winter Palace, loyalty to companions, Inquisitor drinking from the Well of Sorrows

Things they Generally Disapprove of: Being taken to the Winter Palace, negociating to avoid violence or confrontation, going out of their way to be kind or charitable, agreeing with nobles, betraying companions in favor of politics

Mages, Templars, Other?: Doesn’t really care one way or another about the mage/templar battle. Both sides present a challenging opponent. 

Friends in the Inquisition: Notable people Val gets along with: Sera and Iron Bull. Most others he’s uninterested in or not on good terms with. Very much dependant on RP interactions. 

Romanceable?: Yes. Details tba

Small Side Mission — 

After the events of Wicked Eyes & Wicked Hearts, Vaharel will recieve a letter from an old friend in Halamshiral. The Inquisitor will have the opportunity to encourage Val to go see what this is about, or agree with him about ignoring the past. If they choose to visit, they’ll find one of the elders, Balmorea, who helped nurse Val back to health after the recieving the burns on his chest. Balmorea asks for a small favor–the guards have been cracking down on them too hard recently, making it hard to trade their goods in the better parts of the city where nobles might stop for purchases. She requests that Val and the Inquisitor speak with the Captain of the Guard to see if they could ease up just a little. Agreeing sends the party to the guards’ barracks. If the Inquisitor passes the negotiation checks, the Guard Captain agrees to lighten up some, as things have been rather calm recently and they want to work with the citizens, not against them. If the Inquisitor fails, negotiations dissolve into a brawl, resulting in even worse sanctions for the elves. If the Inquisitor decides to let Vaharel handle it, he intimdiates the guard into revealing the reason why the restrictions are worse–a nearby Baron bribed the guards to keep some of the “riffraff” out of the marketplace. After having his hand cut off by Val, the Guard Captain gives up the name and says that the sanctions will be lifted immediately. After reporting back to Balmorea the good or bad news, the events can be discussed with Val back in Skyhold, though he quickly shuts the Inquisitor down: “Now’s not the time to talk about this. Get your own house in order before worrying about mine.”

Companion Quest — 

Sometime after his side mission, Vaharel approaches the Inquisitor ready to talk about what had happened in Halamshiral. The Baron that the Guard Captain had named was Baron Babineaux, his mother’s old employer. He blames the Baron for Lenna’s–his mother’s–death, for if she hadn’t been fired from her position, they wouldn’t have been in the slums the winter that it was purged. There’s more reasons, but Val is evasive about it: “I don’t need to talk about how horrible he is. You either trust me, or you don’t. You either help me, or you help him.”

In any case, Val requests the Inquisitor’s aid in standing up to Babineaux. The Baron is currently at his summer house in the Dales, far away from other Orlesian Lords as the Baron liked his privacy. An area then appears on the map, and upon arriving, the Inquisitor is welcomed into his home. They are to meet directly with the Baron. The longer Babineaux and the Inquisitor talk, the more aggitated Val becomes until he interrupts them with an outburst: “You lying viper! You sent my mother away because she had the audacity to go to the guards! She was going to tell them everything and you had her fired, threw her good name in the mud so no other noble would dare hire her! You caused her death, and now I will be yours.”

And with that, he decapitates Baron Babineaux in one single swing of his blade. The Inquisitor is shocked, and upon asking Val for an explanation, they recive none: “As I said before–you either trust me, or you don’t. Put me on trial if you must, but I did what’s right. We can settle this after we fight our way out of here and are back at Skyhold." Upon looting several dressers at the mansion, a ring can be found. Val takes the ring for the Inquisitor, shocked to see it and clearly upset, but urges them to get back to Skyhold quickly.

Option 1: Upon returning to Skyhold, the Inquisitor has the option of putting Vaharel on trial. If the Inquisitor chooses to put Vaharel on trial, he does not defend himself, reiterating that the Inquisitor either trusts him or doesn’t, and that his actions, regardless of their motivation, speak for themselves. They can then choose to execute Val himself, give him to Orlais to face another trial and likely hanging, banish him, or let him stay with the Inquisition under strict observation. If Vaharel is put on trial at all, the quest ends there. Val never explains his reasons, even if he stays with the Inquisition. Any romance is ended and most approval lost–he will stay at neutral approval regardless of any further decisions for the rest of their time together and will not reappear for Tresspasser. 

Option 2a: (TW FOR MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE) If  Vaharel is not put on trial but the ring is not found, Vaharel eventually approaches the Inquisitor to explain his actions. Babineaux was a vile man–while he never laid hands on the servants, as he deemed them below himself, he had eyes for all of his son’s noble friends when they were children. Val himself had seen the way Babineaux looked at some of the children, but it was Lenna who walked in on him and threatened him at knifepoint until he released the child. Not wanting to risk killing her in an obvious manner, Babineaux had his mother fired and refused to rehire her on the following season, making sure that no other noble did as well. He even went so far as to suggest that the slums needed purging to the guards, in the hopes that Lenna would be killed. Years later when Val tried finding a job on his own at Babineaux’s mansion, he tried to blackmail him into getting a position, only to be chased out of town.

Val then thanks the Inquisitor for supporting him and trusting him to act as he saw fit. He admits that the Inquisitor is the first person in a long time that he’s truly trusted, and would die for the friendship that they’ve created. If in a romance, he says, "I love you,” for the first time, smiling a little shyly but appearing more at ease and open.

Ultimately, Vaharel’s attitude towards nobles remains much the same, though a romanced or high approval Inquisitor can influence where Val directs his anger at the upper class. He will stay with the Inquisitor post-Inquisition, and will have never left their side.

Note: As a default, events taking place post-Inquisition or post-companion quest have this ending.

Option 2b: If Vaharel is not put on trial at all and the ring was found, he approaches the Inquisitor some time later with the same information as in option 2a, but the Inquisitor also has the option to ask about the ring they found. After hesitating, Val admits that the ring was his mothers. He’d always thought that his mother had just lost it, but now he supposes that Babineaux took it at some point. It’s a very expensive looking ring, very different from the silver one he wears that his mother loved–it’s delicate with an emerald stone with diamonds encrusted into the gold band. It appears to be some sort of engagement ring–which is why Val is surprised, as his mother had never mentioned his father, let alone getting married. The Inquisitor can ask what Val intends on doing with it–Val muses that he could hawk it for quite a bit of gold, or maybe try and track down who made it. Encouraging him either way ends with Vaharel shrugging, saying that time will decide what he does.

The next time Val is spoken with, he’s clearly aggitated. Upon further questioning, he reveals that he went to get it appraised in Orlais, but the jewler recognized the mark on the inside of the ring and identified who made it. The ring was made by a jeweler in Tevinter and is most definitely an engagement ring–and for quite the rich noble, given the craftsmenship. Val isn’t sure what to do with this information, as he has no way of pursuing the contacts. Three options are then available: A war table mission with either Josephine or Leliana offering to dig into the ring’s history, or suggesting that Val talk with Dorian to see if he has any connections that could help.

Option 1: The war table missions result in nothing but confusion–Josephine recieves no straight answers, as the jeweler refuses to discuss his clients and no noble of hers recognizes the ring. Leliana doesn’t get much further, as her spies are able to break into the jeweler’s records and find the order, but are unable to trace it much further, as it was placed under a very thorough false identity. Frustrated, Val decides to simply sell the ring–it’s too much of a hassle, and he’d rather not think of the mystery each time he looks at it.

Option 2: If the Inquisitor approaches Dorian, a cutscene will trigger where Vaharel is trying to get him to agree to investigate the ring. As Val and Dorian (by default), do not have the best relationship, Dorian has no reason to help him and refuses. The Inquisitor can step in and tell Dorian that this is important, which Val follows up that he’ll owe Dorian any favor he wishes. Reluctantly he agrees to send a few letters to his contacts, though he makes no promises of getting any news has he hasn’t spoken to several of these people in ages.

After leaving and returning to Skyhold twice, Dorian and Val can be seen talking in the library. When the Inquisitor approaches, Val quickly tries to shove the letters back to Dorian and leaves. Dorian then tells the Inquisitor that he got some rather surprising responses, but that it’s not his place to air Vaharel’s issues. Chasing down Vaharel, he reluctantly admits the truth of the letters: his mother’s ring is an engagement ring made for Magister Kryllios Karas, a human Lateans mage and land owner outside the city of Marothius. One of Dorian’s contacts was a friend of Magister Karas, and remembered being shown the ring, but had never heard who Karas had given it to. Val isn’t sure on how to proceed–he cannot just ignore what he knows, but he also can’t imagine facing such a man alone. The Inquisitor then can offer to support Vaharel if he wishes to meet his father, agreeing to use Inquisiton resources to get a letter to him.

Vaharel meets Magister Karas, who decided to accept his invitation to see the Inquisition for himself. The meeting is awkward at first, with Val simply staring and the Inquisitor filling the silence. After a blatant prompting from Karas, Val produces the engagement ring, giving it over and saying it was his mothers. Karas looks from the ring to Vaharel before tearing up. The Inquisitor then excuses themselves and lets Val and Karas talk in the Inquisition gardens below, though they notice that while Val seems uncomfortable, there is quite a bit of curiosity there as well.

Later, if asked how things went with his father, Vaharel replies that they’re still getting to know each other, but that Karas–not quite yet close enough to bring himself to call him father–has returned to Tevinter in the hopes of finding a way to make Val his legitimate heir. Apparently Kryllios had fallen in love with Lenna and the pair were to be wed, despite the fact that it was against all laws and customs. But Kryllios’ father and oldest brother were brutally murdered by mage-killers, leaving Kryllios to inherit his family’s estates and his father’s seat in the Magisterium. Lenna decided on her own accord to leave, as Kryllios didn’t need the kind of negative attention brought to him by an elven wife, nor the distraction of having a child around when he was dealing with assassins and murderers. She fled south, and Kryllios had never seen or heard from her again.

Vaharel decides to give his father a chance, though the fact that it might make him nobility–and half human–causes him to reassess his beliefs and views of nobles as a whole.

At the end of Inquisition, Vaharel leaves with Dorian to go to Tevinter, where he plans to get to know his father better. As it turns out, Karas is interested in joining Dorian’s effort to change Tevinter for the better, hoping that what happened to him and Lenna doesn’t have to happen for the next generation, and that his son might find some acceptance in the future. Vaharel returns in Tresspasser, having taken up his father’s last name and has a warmer personality–apparently, having family does wonders to his temperment, and he finds himself at ease with his new role of caring for the farmers on his father’s fields and making sure all their needs are met. “It’s hard work, but it’s honest–my father’s honest. It’s more than I could’ve ever expected for a noble. They’re not all like that, but… well, I suppose some can be. More should be.”

#headcanons;