#so he adopts this Very Odd Young Man who almost certainly did Not Grow Up Akielon

[cpshit]

The next time Makedon sees Laurent he calls him “my boy” and claps him on the shoulder and Laurent keeps it together but BARELY

Like this is the first time since Auguste died that Laurent has been treated as is appropriate by an older man. Remember how he reacts when Damen says “you were just a boy”? He literally can’t handle being reminded of his age because it’s always been the reason (in his mind) that his Uncle took an ‘interest’ in him, and then the reason that he lost interest in him (his remark that he’s a little old to be considered atttractive), and even Torveld was WAY older than him still viewing him as this sexually appealing youth. Before that, Aleron was described as being largely uninterested in Laurent. Laurent has always associated youth with pain. But Makedon is the first older man in Laurent’s life that hasn’t associated Laurent’s youth with anything. He’s just young. Whereas the Regent used alcohol and the excuse of hunting trips as tools to abuse Laurent, Makedon just. Teaches him to drink. Wants to take him hunting. No catch, no ulterior motive. He’s young; that’s what you do with young men, right?

Makedon slams his hand into Laurent’s back and calls him things like “my boy” and “young man” but like. Laurent has never been safe enough to think of himself as just a “young man” and the first time he sees Makedon after the events of KR he has just been through unimaginable stress governing two very delicate countries and he gets called a “boy” by this man who doesn’t asssociate his youth with sexual appeal or weakness and it just hits him, like oh. Wow, yeah, that’s exactly what he is. He’s a young man.

#poor bby #Makedon on the other hand is like ‘what a bizarre young man. time to make him my drinking and hunting protégée’ #when Makedon passes Laurent weeps over his pyre and has be guided into Damen’s arms so they can light it #sorry about that #Laurent #Makedon #capri #captive prince #Makedon has no sons of his own #so he adopts this Very Odd Young Man who almost certainly did Not Grow Up Akielon #and teaches him the things that he never learned apparently??? what is Vere doing with their boys??? very odd indeed #Laurent hasn’t *felt* young in a while and just #breaks but like internally #‘you know Damianos your Laurent is a Good Kid but why does he look seconds away from crying every time I see him???’ #mine

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Something else I haven't seen before. What would the MC's parent from each background think of the ROs? Who would they approve of and who wouldn't they? I guess in the case of orphan MC, what would E's parents think? Since they kinda maybe vaguely adopted orphan MC?

Hmm, interesting! Since I did the opposite, I should have seen this one coming haha

-----------------------

Storm's comments:

E: "Rose has had that expectation for some time. This is preferable to the alternative. I know you will be in good hands. Rose raised them well."

R: Your father doesn't mince his words, a clear disdain evident, "Valleford. See that you don't take after your father, or there will be less than pleasantries next time we meet."

L: "Scio. I assume your father...?" Storm's lips pull in a small frown as L gives a small nod of confirmation, "I understand if you cannot forgive me. Your father is a significant asset to the Hospian war effort. If I find him, I will kill him."

V: "You've seen enough at your age," Storm says quietly, looking into the hollow glint in V's eyes, "I'm sorry. Those were battles that should have ended with my generation, not yours."

P: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, "I assume your father is well? He does not speak of his second child often, but you seem more spirited than the other. That will make the greater difference when it matters."

M: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, though there's little sentimentality in his voice, "I assume your father is well? He expresses confidence in your upbringing, but I can't say I share the sentiment. You lack something fundamental. Something to drive you to achieve more than what's expected of you."

Ra: Storm's eyes lock onto Raven with a harsh intensity, "Your eyes are filled with blood and you conceal weapons. Tell me your intentions or I will kill you right now."

S: "I admit I am unfamiliar with Orden. The conflict never reached that country, but I understand there are many hardships there already," Storm says, looking the brightly grinning student up and down before his lips pull back in small contentment, "You come out better than most. You have impressive strength."

F: Storm holds a frown as he takes in the vivid green hair, "Many allowed Frenza to claim their distance due to their significant contribution to Triaina's independence, but it doesn't absolve you of everything," he says in warning, "Don't step over the boundaries you've been afforded, or the military will have no choice but to respond."

------------------------------

Scurra's dialogue:

E: Scurra makes a grimace as he recognizes E, "Damnit, you've gone and done it now," he grumbles as he pulls out his wallet and hands a fold of bills to E, "Give that to your mom, will you? She's worse than a debt collector with bets..."

R: "Valleford! There's a name I haven't heard in a while. I knew they had a black sheep in the family, but I guess they couldn't take away the infamous good looks," Scurra chuckles, his eyes lightening reminiscently, "They've put me in a good bit of trouble on more than one occasion. I guess I should consider it a family curse now that MC is involved with you."

L: "Oh, I know those eyes," Scurra says wistfully, "Coming to find the world is a bigger place than you imagined, aren't you? It's even more expansive than that, too. I had that same look when I traveled overseas. I hope MC is being a good guide for you," he looks to you, and gives a knowing wink.

V: Scurra gives a meandering hum as he looks at V, "I've been all around, but I've only seen natural hair color like that a handful of times. They all had your same stare, too." He closes his eyes thoughtfully, "None as young as you though. I hope you're the last I have to see with those eyes. They're a bad omen."

P: "A fiery one, aren't you! Has no one ever told you not to say bad words in public?" Scurra laughs, "You should stop while you can. You're so transparent with your feelings that I almost mistook you for a window, so there's no point to pulling a tough act."

M: A small, genuine smile rises on Scurra's lips as he inspects M, "How interesting. You're so similar to your twin, but you're definitely the better actor. As I think about it, you remind me of MC's mother in many ways..."

Ra: "What are you doing here?" Scurra frowns, staring harshly at Raven. A silence passes and eventually he looks away, messaging his jaw, "Oops, guess I was mistaken. You looked a little like someone I know."

S: "You've got Orden written all over you, don't you?" Scurra says cheerily, "It's been a while since I've visited, but I have to say it gave me the most enjoyment. You all certainly know how to keep it lively."

F: "Your family has always been so hauty!" Scurra covers his mouth to suppress a chuckle, "But I think it would be a mistake to talk down to everyone you meet. I happen to be on great terms with your mother. If I took the opportunity, you two would have been siblings!"

------------------------

Xero's insight:

E: He smiles warmly to E, "It's good to see you again. I'm afraid there was little I could do for you: your mother has already found out about your relationship. I expect she'll make it as embarrassing for you as possible, if I know her well. I hope you're mentally prepared."

R: Xero studies R with a faint curiosity, "I'm afraid your father and I are on less than speaking terms due to some...past difficulties, but I understand you are more than simply your father's child. You may be villianized for your differing viewpoint, but aren't we all? I don't find it is so bad," Xero gives R a knowing small."

L: Xero's eyes widen upon seeing L, then falls into a soft smile, "To think history would repeat so aptly. To see you two now reminds me of my own school days," Xero closes his eyes and releases a light sigh, the smile still present, "I pray you'll also find the same happiness I did, and that it lasts longer."

V: Xero's grip tightens on an file in his hands as he sees V, his voice meticulous, "You are...Wolfe, correct? I'll admit the what I've heard and read of you is...less than appealing, but," he casts his gaze between you and the ex-Jagd member, a faint smile growing on his lips as V steps cautiously between you. "You seem to have a strong sense of duty. I hope you will be a good pillar for MC."

P: He looks disaprovingly, "In my field, words are paired with intention. To speak is to lay bare your thoughts. Why would you neglect your intent by forcing a negative connotation where it doesn't belong?"

M: He seems slightly more on edge than with P, "I don't believe I should offer my approval to someone unwilling to determine a focus. It's a testament to your negligence."

Ra: Xero crosses their arms, his face skeptical,"Marriage? Your lack of detailed forethought and hyperfixation gives me the impression of an unhealthy mind. As it stands now, I will refuse to give you my blessing."

S: "I'm afraid I'm ignorant to everything Orden related," Xero says sheepishly, "I am happy to learn all that I can, though. Perhaps you would like to bring your family at some point? I would be happy to host them here." Xero smiles warmly, clearly unknowing of the chaotic rabblerousing he's invited into his home.

F: "Ah, the royal line," Xero says in recognition of F, "Your own mother was a classmate of mine as well. To think one of her children would grow so closely with mine. Please give her my regards, would you? She has always kept herself closer than others, so I was happy when she took an interest in my friend. He's a lucky man."

---------------------

Mr. Razor's thoughts (if he was alive)

E: He bows his head gratefully, "Thank you for taking care of MC all this time. Your selflessness has saved me a lot of worry, and I doubt I'll have any more leaving them in your hands."

R: Razor's eyes bore a hole through R, "To defy your father was a considerable risk. And not knowing what the academy had planned for you, you still allowed yourself to be incarcerated for an indeterminate amount of time," Razor taps his fingers to his chin, a smile spreading over his lips, "I enjoy those that stick to their principles, but what say we work on your jailbreaking?"

L: "Your father's quite an important man. He's lucky I was never contracted to kill him," Razor says matter-of-factly. A chilling air of silence deafens the room until Razor holds up his palms, "Just kidding. I've never killed anyone. They all died mysteriously."

V: "How's Jagd doing?" Razor narrows his eyes keenly on V, "I'm surprised they were able to bounce back after what I did to them. I guess they filled the empty spaces with whoever was able...or moldable."

P: Razor smiles sadly, "It must be difficult to be given another person's expectations and do well with them. You're like a fish trying to climb a tree. But I enjoy how far up you've climbed despite that. Would you like a reward? I know, how about...your father's weakness?"

M: Razor seems disinterested, "You're not worth the words, Crater. You're nothing more than what your father made you to be: a simple shadow to live vicariously through."

Ra: Razor's eyes have an approving glint, "The one that slipped through the cracks. How very odd. MC's mother was quite odd too. It's an endearing quality, isn't it? Yes, I think you'll make a perfect companion for MC. You've already been looking over them all this time, haven't you?"

S: "Earnestness is one of the first qualities people tend to throw away when faced with hardship. It is impressive to see how you've progressed through your poverty and discrimination so aptly. Perhaps you have a hope that things will get better?" Razor's mouth spreads in a wicked smile, "I do enjoy seeing how people struggle for such a small glimmer of light. I think I'll offer my aid."

F: "Ah, it's always cute to see people play at royalty," Razor smiles at F's exasperated face, "Why do you seem so angry? Do you actually believe your position has meaning? I'll assure you it doesn't," Razor casts a darkening stare towards the royal, "To me, you're no harder to kill than a beggar on the street. The power you attempt to flaunt means nothing, because in the end it does nothing to elevate you beyond a simple street urchin."

----------------------

End

Thank ya for the ask!

#romance options #triaina academy #parents #mc background

[crit20art]

fuck it. jmart kid fic preview

Somewhere Else, 2027

The walk between work and home is always longer going than it is coming. Maybe it’s the fatigue. Maybe it’s some subtle undulation of space. There are things like that here, shimmering at the edges of Jon’s perception, dewdrop-spangled webs catching stray slips of this reality’s sunlight. They aren’t Hilltop tears, just threadbare stretches, places where this world rubs up against the next. Made it a prime candidate for the invasion of Fear, Jon supposes.

The thought sends a shudder through the tension of his upper back, and his jaw clenches, and-- fuck, he’s bitten the goddamn cigarette in half. “Blast it,” he hisses, and spits unceremoniously into the street. He gets a look from a passerby, and has to swallow back the urge to return a much eviler eye. 

He lights up as soon as he gets home. Leans out the window on his aching elbows, closes his eyes, and lets the smoke roll through him. The nicotine glitters around the crown of his skull, stimulating neural pathways that don’t get much exercise outside of this ritual. What did he used to do to feel alive?

Live, probably. 

He’s just tipping a second cig into his palm when knocking begins to resound through his flat. He stands straight and frowns at the dead-bolted door. While he (understandably, he thinks) has some unpleasant associations with knocking, this is not the ominous sort that he might have once feared; it’s light and fast and won’t give it a rest. Monsters have more restraint than that, he thinks. Probably some kid harassing him.

Grumbling like the old man he’s quickly becoming, he grabs his cane and snaps, “Alright, alright,” as he approaches the door. The knocking falters. He opens the door.

His own eyes blink back at him.

Jon drops his cane. It clatters to his faux-wood floor. He’s swaying, then; he goes proper dizzy, and only snaps back to full lucidity when his shoulder crumples into the door frame. He leans there, mouth agape, and blinks stupidly as the child on his doorstep stoops to pick up his cane. She holds it out to him. He stares at her.

She’s tall for her age. (Nine, he knows without Knowing.) Her warm brown cheeks are still soft with baby fat, and freckles crowd her nose. Wild hair wreaths her head and shoulders, controlled only by glittery barrettes tucked into the curly black jungle.

“Uh hi,” she says, and then she smiles. It’s a smile he knows better than his own, captured somehow on this child’s lips. Jon’s knees waver.

“Holy fuck,” he says.

Her smile falls, and she scrunches her nose at him. The gesture is so familiar that Jon thinks he might pass out.

“Uh--” Jon tries to stand upright, but he just staggers and sinks back against the door jamb. “You-- How-- you’re--”

“Are you gonna fall down?” she asks.

“A-almost certainly,” says Jon. She stretches her arm and shakes it a bit, bringing his attention to the cane she’s still offering him. Finally, he makes himself take it. “You’re. I, uh. Um.”

“I’m Aamal,” she says. 

Ah. There it is. Jon’s knees give.

He slumps to the floor, startling the child’s brown eyes saucer-large. Before she can react further, Jon gasps, “How- h-how are you here?”

“I followed the black ribbons,” she says. 

Flashes of magnetic tape tangle across Jon’s memory, as clear to him today as they were nine years ago, when the noose of them cinched tight around everything he loved. 

“They… ah. Right.” Jon lifts a shaking hand to his face, as if touching something real will steady him, and stares at his guest. His--

His daughter.

“Yes, um,” he whispers, shaking, “H-hello… Aamal.” Her name feels small and sacred on his tongue, fragile as a dissolving wafer. How unworthy he is, to say it. “You’re, uh. Y-you’re- you’re here.” His hand skitters up through his hair, displacing combed-back licks of grey over his forehead. “H-how- how- how did you find me?”

And Aamal says, very matter-of-factly, “I saw you in my dream.”

Jon inhales so sharply that he almost chokes. “Your--?”

“My dream,” Aamal confirms, and bounces on her heels. “I have it every night. I thought it was a bad dream at first, because it was so scary? Like, the world was angry and hungry and I knew it wanted to eat me up while the sky watched. But then I realised that wasn’t gonna happen, because my daddies were there with me, and they’d keep me safe.”

Jon covers his mouth again. Teardrops slip over his fingers.

“You are my daddy, right?” Aamal asks, her cheeriness shrinking to something timid, little hands fluttering together nervously. “That’s how it felt in the dreams.”

“Uh- y-yes? I-- yeah. Yeah.” Fingertips still trembling against his lips, it occurs distantly to Jon that it’s probably time for him to pull himself together and try to offer some kind of comfort to the child who, regardless of whatever uncertainties surround her, has definitely hopped dimensions to be here. Gritting his teeth, he gets his cane under him and forces himself to slide back up the doorframe, then takes a few moments to catch his breath.

“Yes,” he says, finally, when he knows the words will come out steadily. “I, uh. I-I’m your father. My name is, uh, it’s Jon. Jonathan Sims. Um. You can- just- you can call me that.”

“Okay, That.” Aamal grins very widely and looks at him with expectant eyes.

“Oh,” says Jon, after an embarrassingly long pause. “Ha. Yes, uh. Call me ‘That,’ right. Um.” He takes a deep breath, and it punches back out of him in a nervous, awkward chuckle that would make most adults uncomfortable. Aamal just beams, and seems proud to have got a laugh out of him. “Well- no sense having this discussion in the hall, is there? Uh, do- do come in.” He stands aside and gestures at the dim, sparse interior of his flat. He does not blame Aamal for the hesitation that precedes her entering. Reflexively, Jon leans out into the hall and squints one way, then the other. Satisfied, at least, that no one is lying in wait, he shuts and bolts the door. 

He turns, and finds for the first time since he signed for this flat that he is not alone in it. His daughter stands in the middle of his thrifted rug, her hands buried in the pockets of her dungarees and her freckles pinched together by her scrunched nose.

She’s here. She’s right here.

“It stinks in here,” she says.

Jon laughs. It’s hoarse and stale, bitten back the moment he realises how wrong it sounds. He clears his throat. “Yes, ah. Smoking’s a nasty habit.” He glances at the pack of cigarettes abandoned on his windowsill, and feels an odd twinge of guilt in his longing for a puff to steady himself. He looks back at Aamal, who has begun to make a circle of the room, touching his shelves, poking at the clutter that always builds up despite his best efforts.

“Um,” says Jon. Aamal doesn’t look at him. She’s shuffling through his books, the little divot between her brows settling deeper as she considers each second-hand paperback. 

Jon clears his throat. “Do you, uh, like to read?”

Aamal turns her frown on him, mouth a squiggle of confusion. “Did you cut out all the eyes?”

Ah. 

“I, uh. Well- uh.” He picks at the ragged grip of his cane. “That’s-- it- it hardly matters right now,” he manages, exhaling raggedly. Aamal opens her mouth, but he seizes what momentum he’s collected and asks, “Are you here alone? Where’s- do you still know Georgie and Melanie?”

Aamal forgets the books instantly, her face lighting up at the names. “You know Mummy and Mellie?”

“Mum- and--? Oh! Oh, they.” His throat feels like it might close up. “They raised you, then.”

“Yeah, they’re my mums.” Aamal wanders past Jon and drops onto his couch, gasping a squeak when the cushion sinks lower than she was apparently expecting. She wriggles for a moment as if trying to get comfortable. “Do you have any snacks?”

Whiplash-stricken, Jon flounders for a few moments before saying, “Maybe?”

Aamal’s brow drops like she doesn’t find that very promising, but she hops up from the couch and makes a beeline for his tiny kitchen. She’s sticking her head into his fridge before he plucks up enough lucidity to follow her.

“Do you like, ah--” What do kids like? What did he like as a kid? “Uh, how about a sandwich?”

“Sure,” says Aamal. She pulls her preferred makings, then rests her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, and watches Jon assemble. A long-lost hope flutters at the edge of Jon’s memory, a future he’d once imagined: a little face looking up at him, a meal to be prepared, a solid presence at his side, stolen kisses that might make their daughter stick out her tongue and make gross-out noises in the way of children too young to know how rare and precious it is for their parents to love each other so easily.

“Does your hand hurt?” Aamal asks.

Jon comes back to himself. He blinks down at his hands; habitually, he’s only using the one, letting the other rest half-curled on the counter. “Ah. No, n-not today.”

Aamal stares for a moment, then draws a sharp breath and looks Jon in the eye. “Sorry!”

Jon lifts a brow. “What? Why?”

“It’s rude to ask about scars,” Aamal informs him, and something in her intonation sounds so like Georgie that it twists up Jon’s stomach in an odd amalgamation of fondness and loss. 

“Ah- well, as a general rule, maybe. But it’s alright.” He clears his throat, then stretches his burned hand with a small wince at its stiffness. Aamal watches his shaky fingers unfurl, and her eyes are intent, and maybe he’s imagining it, but… there’s a kindness there, he thinks. He tries not to think of other kind brown eyes, of other gazes falling so gently on his scars. “It hurts less than it used to,” he says softly. “I’ve had it since… lord, about a year before you were born, actually. Eleven months, almost to the day.”

At that, Aamal’s eyes grow wide. “Oh! Did you have me? Like, when I was born?”

“Oh! Uh, n-no, that wasn’t me.” Jon pulls his hand back, feeling very suddenly out of his depth. “Your, uh- did Geo-- did your mums tell you about that?” 

“Yeah. They told me that before they adopted me, my parents were two boys, but I wasn’t confused or anything. I know all about genders,” she says, with all the confidence of a tenured professor. Then she looks around, as if suddenly noticing an absence. “Wait, where’s my other daddy?” She turns back to Jon, and he’s struck by the worst urge to look away. “Will he be back soon?”

Jon meets her hopeful eyes, and for the first time in years, actually feels the wound yawning wide in his chest, deeper and bloodier than the scar through his heart has ever been. 

“No,” he says, very softly. Aamal’s face falls, her brows drawn in question. Jon can’t look at her. He stares at his good hand, knuckles yellowed by his grip on the edge of the counter. 

“He, uh.” He swallows. It goes down like rocks. “He’s not coming back.”

“Why?” Her voice is high, pinched with a note of anger. Unbidden, Jon chokes out a small, miserable laugh.

She sounds just like Martin.

“Because,” he says, raw, both hands shaking now, “I messed up very, very badly.”

thanks for reading this lil preview!! i’m almost finished with ch 1 and planning to publish on ao3 next week. it’s gonna alternate between the present and the past, told through Jon’s POV post-200, and Martin’s POV throughout season 4/5. 

#tma fic #jonmartin #jonmartin fic #the magnus archives fic #tma #the magnus archives #i promise i'm not abandoning my gbbo fic (or my zukka one for that matter) i'm just fucking possessed by this idea #trying to write other stuff has been torment and. yknow fanfiction is supposed to be fun so. i'm switching active projects lmao

[jaskiersvalley]

I'm in ur inbox solely for purposes of crying about the latest shifter au installment, holy shit it's so good!!!!!! I love the narrative style and how soft everyone is, whilst still also being protective af!!! Lambert's cone of shame was the funniest thing ever lmaoooo In short I would die for you thank you have a good day

Please don’t die! Nobody is worth dying for. (I know you meant it in a very nice way but I much prefer people living - especially if they are friend shaped!) While you’ve got the shifter au on your mind, may I offer you a little bonus as thanks for your super sweet message?

Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.

With their secret out, Jaskier found that he was having to fight for the limelight when out and about with his wolves. He encountered not just his own fanbase but the steadily growing numbers of those who dubbed themselves The Wolf Pack. It was both nice to know that his wolves were so popular but also infuriating because they were Jaskier’s wolves, he adopted them first. Things only got worse as more details filtered out about how they met, sleeping on the streets and helping each other out.

“Aren’t you frustrated that you can’t keep up with them?” A voice, silky and soft whispered from by Jaskier’s shoulder in a coffee shop. “I could help you with that.”

“Not interested,” Jaskier growled. For once, he was without his wolves because he had only wanted a coffee and if they went out together, they would get mobbed. The shop was only down the road anyway.

A business card was thrust towards him. “Call me when you change your mind. We can discuss payment then too.”

The problem was, the idea lingered. Jaskier never did see himself as much of a wolf, he lacked the regal majesty of one. Plus he was much more vibrant. Knowing his luck, he would get turned into a cockatoo. At least he could still appreciate music in that form, headbanging along to decent tunes. But that was beside the point. He threw the card down onto the table and ignored it until Geralt picked it up.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning at the simple design. The other wolves, as if summoned by his unease, crowded in.

“Some creep wanted to help me “keep up” with you lot. I told him where to shove it. Seemed like a weird old man.”

Vesemir looked the most troubled. “Stregebor is bad news. If you want something, I would suggest Vilgefortz. A much more honest sorcerer.”

It was the first time Jaskier even entertained to notion. He would have loved to be able to keep up with his wolves who seemed to never run out of energy. So he asked Vesemir to set up an appointment.

“How much will this cost me?” he asked, sat opposite the sorcerer.

“It’s not an issue of money. It’s about sacrifice.” Vilgerfortz was looking at him seriously. Outside, the four wolves shifted nervously, wanting to barge in but the privacy spell was keeping them at bay.

Jaskier nodded and thought about what he had to offer. “My singing? My career? Looks? I mean, I’d look rather dashing with a facial scar and at least I’d truly be part of the pack then.”

That drew a laugh from Vilgefortz and he shook his head. “Shifters are dangerous. If they ever had children, they would be unpredictable, maybe even beastly. Even if you’re not a wolf, whatever your inner animal, even if it is a sweet, fluffy moth, you will be infertile.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to laugh. “Take it. I don’t think Geralt ever was the type I could impregnate, even before his mutations.”

In a way, Jaskier couldn’t believe that the price of keeping up was that. He had been prepared to give up fame and fortune for his wolves and now he was being asked for something he never wanted in the first place.

The potions tasted vile and Vilgefortz’s spells grated on his ears but Jaskier weathered it. There was no dramatic wind, no lightning, no quaking of the earth as the spell took hold. At most, it tickled Jaskier’s bones as he felt something shift in him. It was like there was a part of him that had been locked away until that very moment. He certainly didn’t feel like a fluffy moth.

“Concentrate, let your new form come forward.”

The world twisted in the blink of an eye. Everything looked bigger and Jaskier looked down at sandy coloured paws and the swish of a thick, bushy tail. He barked in excitement which settled into an odd purr.

Behind him, the doors opened and four wolves pushed in, curious and worried. They stared down at Jaskier, blinking dumbly until Geralt stepped forward and gave his new form a delicate sniff. The excitement was too much and Jaskier launched himself, trying to play with Geralt before running away, making loops of the room. It was Lambert who first joined in with the chase, heedless of pushing tables over as he chased Jaskier. After two laps, Vesemir stood on two legs next to Vilgefortz and watched the three idiot wolves chasing a fennec fox, nipping and tumbling as if they were young pups.

Once the whole room was a mess, Jaskier stopped by their feet, knowing he was safe from being bowled over in their vicinty.

“How about trying to shift back?” Vesemir asked. There was a knowing smirk on his lips.

Concentrating, Jaskier almost toppled over at the sudden shift and he had a new appreciation for how effortless the others made it look. A snicker from behind him had him twirling. Three pairs of yellow, human eyes were fixed on the top of his head. Reaching up, he patted around and found two large ears nestled in his hair and the bushy tail swished behind him.

“It’s okay, it takes a little while,” Vesemir reassured him. “Geralt had his ears and tail for a good three weeks before he learned to shift fully.”

Lambert reached up to tug at the ears. “They suit you, foxy,” he teased. Immediately, Jaskier was shifting back and jumping at him, barking in excitement as Lambert took on his wolf form once again and the game was back on.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #vilgefortz #shifter au #witcher wolf pack #tldr: jaskier becomes a shifter and is a fennec fox

[dasphinxone]

I hope I'm not too late and asks are still open. But I wondered if you had any more thoughts/ideas/scenes/etc for the Mummy au? I totally love your contribution of Booker and Nicky as brothers and what that dynamic would look like. BAMF!Nile and Librarian!Booker give me life. Thanks for all your wonderful au ideas and fic!

Oh man, you are NEVER too late for Asks and they are currently open! In the meantime, allow me to ramble about my PURE AND UTTER LOVE FOR THE FRASER/WEISZ VERSIONS OF “THE MUMMY.” 

You see, I had a mad HUGE crush on Brendan Fraser when the first one came out. Except it turned out that the entire damn cast was so beautiful (OMG, the Oded Fehr hotness. So glad they brought him back for the sequel). They all have wonderful chemistry too, and rather similar to the group dynamics of The Old Guard. 

On top of that, I have always maintained that it’s Evie who is the real protagonist of the movie. Everyone else stays pretty much the same to their characters as when we’re introduced to them. Meanwhile, it’s Evie who goes from librarian to adventuress. She is thrown into all sorts of situations where she can prove to the world that librarians are just as damn smart and necessary as the brawns of Rick, the cunning of her brother Johnathan and the honorable warrior of Ardeth Bay.

It’s also Evie who comes out of the other end of the wild-ass adventure a changed person. It’s even more obvious in the sequel, where she takes a level in badassery. The best part about that? Rick adores her for it and they are clearly in a happy marriage versus the tired trope of married couples being all bitter. 

(I pretend the third movie NEVER HAPPENED, you hear me?!)

ANYWAYS, As Evie and Jonathan grew up rich (the museum curator clearly says to Evie that the only reason he puts up with her is that her parents were the largest donors to the museum), I figure Booker can grow up pretty wealthy too.

Sébastien le Livre is an only child who spends his life around his Action and Adventure!French Parents who have moved to Egypt to be archeologists. While they are world famous archeologists? They’re not the best parents. For they drag Sébastien along on their archeological excursions because they don’t know any better. So Sébastien spends all of his childhood time around his parents and their eccentric adult friends. Yes, they should have sent Sébastien to boarding school, like other rich folks of their time. But what kind of boring-ass education is that as compared to going out into the real world for field study?  

Sébastien’s field experience makes him brilliant child. Yet it also turns him into a socially awkward little boy. He’s rarely around other kids or attending school since he out on digs with his parents. On top of that, when his parents can’t bring him on digs, they leave him home in their great big house with his nanny, tutor and the servants for company. Since Sébastien doesn’t have kid friends, he’s always taking in stray animals, rescuing birds that fell out of their nests and doing precious sorts of things like that. He also LOVES reading. He’s fluent in French, English, Latin, Greek  and conversational Arabic. Oh, and he can also read hieroglyphs with ease.

Again, Sébastien is a weird kid.

When Sébastien is around say, nine or so, he catches seven year-old orphan Nicky in the parlor of his and his parent’s grand house breaking in and trying to steal things. His parents are out of town on yet another dig, so Sébastien’s randomly wandering around the house by himself. Instead of panicking, Sébastien just invites spooked Nicky to kitchen for tea and sandwiches out of the sheer delight of having another child to talk to. Thoroughly used to Sébastien and his soft spot for strays, the kitchen staff sits the two boys in the corner and lets Nicky wolf down whatever he wants. Nicky eventually leaves after Sébastien swears he won’t tell his parents about the stealing. But only if Nicky promises to come back tomorrow to hang out with Booker.

Nicky actually shows up the next day. Mostly due to the promise of food. While he thinks Sébastien is clearly odd, he also realizes he’s just as lonely as he is (after all, street kid orphan Nicky hasn’t survived this long on his own without being able to see people for what they truly are). But whereas Nicky is aggressive with acting out due to his abandonment issues, Sébastien tends to implode on himself due to his own parental abandonment issues. Basically, they balance each other out. 

Three weeks later, Sébastien’s parents come back from their latest dig down in Alexandria. They find Sébastien playing with this street kid out on the extensive grounds of their estate. Shocked at seeing their usually quiet and withdrawn son having a blast with this Italian ragamuffin of a child, due to being the impulsive types, Booker’s parents decide to adopt Nicky. So Sébastien gains a new brother. No matter that they’re not related by blood, Nicky is his brother.

Since Sébastien loves to read, he enjoys reading out loud to Nicky (who is nearly illiterate since he’s an orphan who never had formal education before being adopted). While Sébastien and Nicky have their own rooms at their parents’ estate, Nicky will often sneak into Sébastien’s room at night so that his older brother can read to him. Their nanny usually finds the two boys asleep together with a book sitting between them. Sébastien also helps Nicky learn to read far better than their tutor does. Mostly because Sébastien is so patient with his new little brother.

It’s because of this that Nicky comes up with the affectionate nickname of “Booker” for his new big brother.

Booker graduates from boarding school and attends The Sorbonne back in Paris. While he misses Nicky something fierce, everything will work itself out because he’ll be graduating from The Sorbonne at the same time Nicky will be finishing boarding school. That way, they both be archeologists together and follow in their parents’ footsteps. Booker plans to focus on the research side of things from either libraries or teaching. Nicky plans to actually go on digs and bring back things for Booker to study and catalogue.

Booker does eventually get sent off to British style boarding school in Cairo, as is expected of a wealthy child of his class. A couple of years later, Nicky is sent off to the same boarding school.

Nicky's always getting into fights. Mostly due to the other kids bullying him for his accent, heritage and defending Booker against bullies too. The only reason Nicky doesn’t’ get kicked out is because Booker is able to charm the teachers into looking the other way (remember, he was around mostly adults before he started attending school) when it comes to punishing Nicky. Also, their parents donate a ton of money to the school.

Except the Great War breaks out the same year Nicky graduates from boarding school. He signs up with his school chums for “a great adventure,” like all of the other young men of means did in the opening days of the war. 

However, Booker refuses to come along. He’s studied history all of his life and intellectually knows how terrible war can be. As far as he’s concerned, the war is stupid. People are going to get themselves killed over all of these royal families of Europe who refuse to apologize to each other over the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. He’s certainly not throwing his life away to get shot at, thank you very much. Besides, he didn’t grow up with much in the way of friends or camaraderie among the other boys while he was away at school. So he doesn’t feel like he’s going to miss out on anything. 

Nicky thinks Booker is a coward who has no appreciation for a right proper great adventure. Booker thinks Nicky is a headstrong fool who doesn’t value the opportunities their parents have given them. They part ways on bad terms. 

Booker eventually relents and writes to Nicky whenever he can. However, he never hears from his little brother. The only way he knows Nicky is alive is through their parents, who Nicky constantly writes to in Cairo. At the same time, Booker doesn’t  return to Cairo because it would remind him too much of how much he misses his brother. So he throws himself into his work at the Egyptian Antiquities department of the Louvre. He also tries to ignore the raging war moving closer and closer to Paris.

Wars come and go, antiquities do not.

Except Nicky suddenly goes missing during the Battle of Verdun.

Still in Paris, Booker is dealing with his side of suffering through the war as a civilian. He suddenly gets frantic word from his parents (who still live in Cairo) that Nicky is MIA. The panic immediately starts to set in. He regrets that he didn’t do more to communicate with his little brother while he was away at war. To assuage his guilt, he goes down to the war office every single day to find out where the hell Nicky is.

After a few frantic weeks, Nicky turns up alive but injured. As a result, he’s evacuated to a Parisian hospital. Booker takes a sabbatical at the Louvre to attend to his beloved brother there. Nicky almost dies of an infection but pulls through. Too weak to go back to fighting, Nicky is honorably discharged and goes to live with Booker to convalesce.

Nicky’s not the same vivacious, passionate young man he was before the war. He’s the only one of a handful of his unit to survive both death and not losing a limb or having parts of his face blown off. So there’s the survivor’s guilt. He constantly has nightmares about his time on the front and in No Man’s Land where he wakes up screaming. Bouts of rage and grief hit him without warning.

In order to deal with the crushing swirl of ugliness that’s festering within him, Nicky starts spiraling. He starts heavily drinking. He skips meals. He starts hitting up gambling dens and whorehouses that can make your every wish come true in Paris.

Booker has no idea how to cope with it all. So he once again throws himself into his work. He feels disgusted with himself for silently judging his brother’s actions all while he absolutely has no clue how to deal with his own guilt of not being by Nicky’s side during the war. Perhaps it would have been better to have died together than exist in the sea of darkness they are trapped within now.

Within two years, the war is over. Everyone celebrates only to see the rise of the Spanish Flu Pandemic. It ends up killing Booker and Nicky’s parents, who die within days of each other back in Cairo. 

Now, Booker and Nicky are alone in the world and with only each other to depend on. Wanting to escape all the pain they’ve seen in Paris, they head back to Cairo to put their parents’ estate in order. Since their parents split their inheritance evenly between them, they’ve inherited a hell of a lot of money. At the same time, money doesn’t fix their psychological problems.

Yet while they both have a difficult time dealing with their parents’ death and each other’s war trauma? It turns over a new milestone for them. For it allows Booker and Nicky to make their peace with each other since they're the only ones left of their family. They vow that they’ll try to go back to their dream of working together as an archeologist team.

Unfortunately, it never happens. Nicky is still dealing with the PTSD and acting out. Booker tries to manage his  brother’s psychological issues and balance his work at the Cairo Museum. Problem is, it’s a job he knows he only managed to secure out of pity since their parents were the largest donors to the museum. The nepotism stings and makes Booker feel inadequate. All despite that he's a damn good researcher and brilliant at languages and hieroglyphics.

Booker once again throws himself into his work at the museum. He has no social life, rarely goes out for fun and no relationship lasts for more than a few months at a time. For he’s grieving his parents and the shell of a man Nicky has become. Meanwhile, Nicky drinks, gambles and whores his way through Egypt in between digs with folks no better than grave robbers. But he always comes back home to stay with Booker in the nice house they own together.

Booker is always there for Nicky and vice versa. No matter how hard it gets for both of them to deal with the losses in their lives, they are and will always be brothers to the end.

And then one day, Nicky finds Booker in the Cairo museum after he’s been rejected by the Benbridge Scholars yet again. All after Booker’s ruined the library and knocked over all the bookshelves after he nearly killed himself trying to get off that damn ladder while filing away books.

Nicky reveals to Booker an odd little box that he found on a dig down in Thebes. Turns out the box contains a map to the lost city of Hamunaptra…

#Book of nile #my asks #booker le livre #nicolo of genoa #the mummy au #booker x nile #the great war #sadness #because even in AUs we gotta have that angst #fanfic #fanfiction #the old guard #why are my answers to my asks so damn long tho?

[kiranatrix]

Backup

Written by @kiranatrix and @ghostoftasslehoff

For @wammyweek  Day 1- Character Origins/Before Wammy’s  Summary: Quillsh Wammy visits a Romanian orphanage after hearing of a 5-year old boy with a facility for codebreaking, but will have to deal a little dirty to pry the orphan from the hands of the nuns.

Characters: Beyond Birthday, Quillsh Wammy (Watari), minor OCs

Rating: Mild T for references to children in poverty circumstances, less than upstanding nuns, and a dash of angst

Authors’ notes: Dialogue in bold is spoken in Romanian. Beyond has three names: the name he was given by the nuns (Bogdi), the name he picks and tells Quillsh (Beyond), and his true name (Bernael). Bogdi is a derivative of Bogdan and means ‘given by God.’ Bernael is the name of a fallen angel (Beyond is part shinigami in this story). Mr. Wren is Quillsh Wammy’s alias. 

Sister Maricica adjusted her habit as she led the English gentleman, Mr. Wren, through the high crumbling stone arches of the courtyard and towards the Day Room of the orphanage. “This way. The children playing now.” Her English was far from perfect but she enunciated each word crisply, walking quite fast so the gentleman’s eyes did not linger too long on the poor state of the building. Their convent was always immaculately clean but they ostensibly relied on donations for the orphanage’s survival. Mr. Wren’s offer of a generous adoption fee had created a bit of excitement in the convent and everyone was on alert to put their best face forward. It wasn’t common for them to have international adoptive parents; local ones were rare enough. She looked back at the gentleman to speed him along, inquiring, “And wife? Mrs. Wren?”

Quillsh felt a spark of irritation at the intrusive question, though he of course knew why the woman was asking. He hadn’t been a practicing Catholic in a very long time, but he remembered well the Church’s distaste for ‘practicing homosexuals’. “Sadly, Mrs. Wren had some business to attend to and could not make it.” No need to explain that there IS no Mrs. Wren.

Still, he smiled indulgently at the Sister and sped his steps until he was walking only a couple paces behind, his anticipation lending an air of warmth to his demeanor that he did not feel. “She asked me to send her deepest apologies.”

“A pity, a pity.” She opened the heavy Day Room door and immediately clutched her rosary tightly, mumbling a Hail Mary in Romanian at the disheveled state of the room. She rushed over to a young boy in the corner who was crying and holding a hand over one eye. “Oh, Nicu! What happened to you?”

“Bogdi.” Nicu scowled and pointed an accusing finger at another boy, separate from the others and hunched over an old metal contraption.

Sister Maricica huffed and gave Mr. Wren an apologetic look, her cheeks reddening. “Very sorry, one moment.”

Quillsh nodded, removing his hat and watching the proceedings with great interest. Or rather, watching the young boy who seemed to be the troublemaker. He recognized a code-breaking machine when he saw one. And that is the child I came for, no doubt. He may not be able to understand Romanian, but actions would speak louder here.

The nun trounced over to the other boy and pulled at his arm, whispering severely, “Bogdi! I told you to be on your best behavior today! There’s a very important guest here so get away from that old junk and tell Nicu you’re sorry!”

That’s not my name. “But I’m not sorry, Sister.” The child yanked his arm away and didn’t look up at her, but did shoot a menacing look at Nicu, causing the boy to burst into tears all over again. Tattletale.

Sister Maricica almost looked like she too was about to cry but merely went back to Mr. Wren, slightly more flustered than before. “Very sorry, sir. Bogdi in one of his moods today. Pay no mind.” It was a little white lie and she immediately asked for forgiveness from the Virgin. Bogdi was always in this same mood. She took a deep breath and forced a pleasant smile. “Which child I can tell you about? So many good children. Needing good father like you.” She motioned to the clean but shoddily-clothed children of varying ages playing with old hand-me-down toys. For the most part they seemed relatively content although they perhaps did not realize their deprivation.

Quillsh reached out to rest a hand comfortingly on the nun’s shoulder for a moment, murmuring softly, “No need to apologize.” He turned to survey the room, making a show of considering the other children, even though his mind was already made up. Bogdi. His contact had informed him of the young boy with a brilliant mind for puzzles, languishing away in this derelict orphanage. And already showing exceptional promise with codes. Doesn’t work well with others, if that exchange was anything to go by, but that works well enough for my purposes.

With a smile, he selected one of the other children at random, a young girl with her dark hair in pigtails, tied with faded blue ribbons. “Tell me about that young lady, please, Sister.” Her face lit up, and Quillsh let his expression settle into a mask of pleasant interest as he watched Bogdi out of the corner of his eye.

“Catina! Very good girl, Catina.” Sister Maricica motioned the pre-teen girl over, prompting her to curtsey with a nod. The little girl smiled in a way that was obviously perfunctory, showing several bad teeth. “Sad, so sad. Whole family lost in landslide three years ago. But Catina, she minds very well and good cook, too!” She nodded again and the young girl wandered off to play with her raggedy doll.

The child in the corner was listening intently as several more candidates for adoption were paraded in front of the ‘guest,’ although he didn’t look over at them. Quillsh Wammy. He’d caught the name when the man first walked in. It would have seemed odd if his own name wasn’t the epitome of that. Bernael Antonia Beyondormason. The nuns had given him a new code to crack today so he plugged away at it on the machine, knowing that while someone might get adopted today, it certainly wouldn’t be him.

Quillsh let the facade play through to the end, keeping his expression suitably bland despite the growing satisfaction he felt. It was obvious to him now that Bogdi was the child he had heard about, and just as obvious that the boy was listening very closely, one ear turned towards the conversation. He looked around the room again, asking in a voice pitched to carry clearly to the boy’s ear, “Was that all of them?”

“Ah....yes.” Sister Maricica looked a little like a deer in the headlights, and smiled tightly. “Those are candidates for adoption. No more.” She gave him a worried look, clutching her rosary again before she glanced guiltily at Bogdi.

“Oh?” Quillsh adjusted his spectacles and followed her gaze to Bogdi, pointing at the child. “And what about that young man? Bogdi, you said his name was earlier, yes?” He started to drift towards the boy, pretending ignorance. “What is that he’s playing with, Sister?”

Sister Maricica stiffened, bringing herself up to her full height. “Just old trash found in basement, left over from the war. Bogdi likes to tinker with--”

“It’s a code breaking machine.” Bernael’s small voice somehow carried and silenced the whole room, despite being very soft. He said the words in perfect and unaccented English.

“Hmph!” Sister Maricica shot daggers at the boy although he wasn’t looking up to see them. “Silence or you won’t get your bread tonight, Bogdi.”

“If I don’t get my bread then you don’t get your code.” Berneal smiled down at the machine, making ker-plunk, ker-plunk noises as he mashed the old keys.

Sister Maricica’s face reddened and she tugged at Mr. Wren’s arm, whispering, “Come into office if you want to know about him.”

Quillsh stopped and looked at the nun, then back at Bogdi, diligently poking at the keys. A small smile flickered on his lips briefly before he said slightly more formally, “If you insist, Sister Maricica.” He gestured for her to lead the way and followed, waiting until the woman closed the door to take a seat. “Now then.” He placed his hat on the arm of the chair and folded his hands neatly in his lap, looking Sister Maricica directly in the eye. “If you please, I would like to hear about young Bogdi.”

“Very well.” Sister Maricica took a seat behind the oversized desk, frowning slightly. This was the one child she didn’t want to talk about, that she didn’t want to adopt out. Well, she’d just tell the truth-- no lie would make the boy seem more unappealing. “Bogdi found in dumpster as baby. Brought here five years ago.” Her tone was much more curt than before, her gaze more steely. “Nothing but problems with Bogdi since small child. Fighting, defiance, bad attitude. Destroy the toys, hurt children who cross him. Antisocial. Barely speaks.” And when he did speak, she often wished for silence. She waved her hand dismissively and said, “Odd child. Pick another.”

“I’m quite set on this child.” Quillsh stared at her steadily, all humour gone from his demeanor.

Sister Maricica didn’t flinch. “No.”

Quillsh smiled at the woman; this time, there was nothing pleasant about it. “Oh dear. I had hoped we could come to an arrangement, Sister, but I can see you have no wish to give him up. I would have given you quite a hefty donation to adopt the boy, too. Very well.” He shifted to sit more comfortably, knuckling his salt-and-pepper mustache as if in thought. “I know you have Bogdi working on breaking codes for the Romanian government. That must be quite lucrative. And yet, the state of this orphanage suggests there is very little money coming in.”

Sister Maricica’s eyes went wide, her lips parting slightly in surprise. It was rare for the verbose sister to be rendered speechless, but now, she certainly was.

“Tell me, Sister Maricica, how little are you selling young Bogdi’s work for that the children have such shabby clothes and toys?” Quillsh’s eyes glittered shrewdly, his cold smile widening. “Or are you perhaps keeping the money for yourself?”

“Lies!” The nun affected a suffering expression at the true accusation, and stood up abruptly behind the desk. She planted her palms on the smooth wood and glared at Mr. Wren. “You must leave orphanage now! Not a good Catholic to accuse a nun of such things.”

“As you wish, Sister.” Quillsh placed his hat back on his head, rising from his chair. Pausing, he held up one finger and then patted down the front of his overcoat, a soft, satisfied ‘ahhh’ leaving him. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a slim, leather bound pocketbook, removing a piece of paper and approaching the desk. “But first, perhaps you could tell me what this is.” He placed it on the desk and slid it across to her.

Sister Maricica sputtered as she snatched the paper, a cloud passing over her features as she realized what it was. An invoice for the last five codes Bogdi had broken for Romanian Intelligence, payable specifically to her.

“And please, Sister, don’t bother doing anything so vacuous as to try and destroy it. This is hardly the only copy.” Quillsh looked at her rosary pointedly, which he had noticed upon first glance was made of far finer materials than a nun of her supposed means should be able to afford.

The nun paled at Mr. Wren’s glance, hiding her gold and ruby-encrusted rosary within her habit. There was no use lying about it now; her golden goose was exposed. “I see. Mr. Wren is not who is claimed. But...” She sat down with a sour expression and primly arranged her skirts again. “...we can come to agreement.” She took out a bottle of Țuică and two rose-cut glasses from inside the desk and poured herself and Mr. Wren generous helpings.

“Excellent.” Quillsh smiled and sat back down, taking one of the glasses. He waited until she had taken a sip first to drink any of the sweet alcohol, and then said, “To amicable arrangements.”

---shortly afterwards---

Quillsh Wammy approached Bogdi in the empty Day Room, making sure to take even, clearly audible steps in an attempt to not startle or upset the boy. Stopping a short distance from him, he removed his hat once more and said kindly, “Hello Bogdi. May I sit?” His fingers closed around one of the hard candies he kept in his pockets for just such an occasion, waiting to see if the boy acknowledged him. He will.

Bernael had heard the man coming and had made himself small, thinking he might be in trouble. The sister only went into her office to speak of things the children shouldn’t hear, and he knew they were talking about him. His hearing was better than the nuns knew. He said softly, again in perfect English, “Sit if you like. I have to do this work though.” He looked askance at the hard floor beside him. There were no soft rugs or pillows in the place. The whole orphanage was made of or felt like stone. Still, it was interesting to have someone new here. Someone he didn’t hate yet.

Laughing quietly, Quillsh moved closer and sat down carefully on the floor beside Bogdi. He had always found that meeting children on their level tended to put them at ease, though perhaps Bogdi was different, given the colourful description the Sister had given of the boy’s behavior. “Do you like doing this type of work, Bogdi?” he asked curiously, tugging the candy from his pocket and idly twisting the plastic loose before pausing and offering it to the boy.

Bernael’s fingers stilled on the keys when he smelled sugar, something he’d only had a few times in his short life. The temptation to look was irresistible and he raised his eyes, mouth watering at the sight of the candy. He’d seen pictures in books and knew what it was, but had never had it before. He snatched it immediately and popped the whole thing into his mouth only to gag on the plastic wrapper and spit it out in confusion. He ducked his head in shame and took the candy, methodically unwrapping it before putting it into his mouth again, more carefully this time. “Are you from the code team?” He smiled instinctively at the sweetness, the tangy strawberry taste, and looked up with bright blue eyes. “It’s good.”

“It is good, isn’t it?” Quillsh chuckled more heartily, smiling warmly at the boy. “And no, Bogdi, I’m not from the code team, though your talent in code breaking is what caught my attention.” He knew he needed to be careful not to say too much, but a child so intelligent would not accept dumbed down explanations, either. “I don’t often hear of children as young as yourself who possess such extraordinary aptitude, so I had to come meet you, make sure you were getting the best possible outlet to explore those skills.” He glanced around the room disdainfully. “That is clearly not the case here. But I can give you such an outlet, if you would like to come live in England with me.”

Bernaels eyes flicked above the man’s head. The year Quillsh Wammy would die was far enough in the future that the man might make good on his promises, if he meant them. Sister Maricica would die much sooner than that, and who knows what would become of him then. Even a year would be better than staying here in this boring, white-washed and crumbling down orphanage, and Quillsh had much more than that. “Do you live in a castle?” One thing they did have here was books, mostly religious tomes and morality plays, but fairy tales, too. Sometimes the orphan was saved, brought to a beautiful castle to live and grow up in peace.

The question made Quillsh smile. No, but I’m sure all my charges would love that. “Sadly, not a castle. However, my residence does have a bell tower.”

A bell tower sounded interesting. Bernael eyes leveled with Quillsh’s again, tilting his head to a nearly impossible angle, and he asked plainly, “What will you make me do there?”

“Do?” The question took Quillsh aback, the look in his eyes becoming speculative. If he’s asking questions like THAT, clearly everything he’s known is transactional. “Well. For starters, I can give you much harder codes to break, if that tickles your fancy.” INTERPOL could get a lot of use out of a talent like this if he hones it.

Bernael’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Yes, I like numbers and letters. Puzzles. Everything they give me here is so boring.”

With a smile, Quillsh said softly, “Then you shall receive harder puzzles to stimulate that brilliant mind. Though I suppose we won’t truly know what path you’ll walk until we find out what your particular skills are. Beyond that, we will just have to see.”

“Beyond.” Bernael would never tell this stranger his real name, but he detested the name Bogdi. The nuns named him Bogdi and he needed to shed it, move past it. Yes, I’m Beyond that now. “You may call me Beyond.”

Pausing only a beat, Quillsh nodded. He had heard stranger requests from his charges. “Of course. Beyond it is, then.”

Bernael stood up and looked down at Quillsh with a blank expression, although he wasn’t much higher than eye-level with the crouching adult. “I’ll go live with you, Quillsh.”

Quillsh’s smile was slowly replaced with a surprised expression, his eyes narrowing speculatively behind his spectacles. How does he know my name?

Bernael smiled slowly and gazed past the older man to the Sister’s closed office door and said quietly, “But there’s something I want.”

Twenty minutes later, Bernael was humming happily and sucking on a new piece of candy as they walked to Quillsh’s sleek black sedan. He clutched a certain gold-and-ruby rosary in his small fist as he gave the orphanage one last look. “What’s England like?”

Quillsh held the door open for Beyond to climb in, chuckling under his breath as he closed the door and came around to slide into the driver’s seat. He eyed the boy before starting the vehicle and pulling out into the road. “For starters, the weather is frequently on the wet side. But if you like the outdoors, we do occasionally get nice weather, enough to enjoy the countryside where you’ll be living. And the house is big. A converted church, with lots of rooms to explore, a spacious library, and a big yard.”

Berneal frowned at his reflection in the car window, mumbling, “I don’t want to go to church anymore.” The nuns made them go every day and snapped at him when he couldn’t sit still.

“Oh, I won’t enforce religion on you, Beyond. Church services are not something that happen at Wammy’s House. It’s meant to be more of a… a boarding school for gifted orphans like yourself.”

“Gifted.” Bernael caught Quillsh’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Is that what I am?” He’d never met any other children like him-- children who could see names and numbers above everyone’s heads. When he was smaller, he’d shocked some of the nuns by calling them by their given names instead of their religious ones. The spanking he’d received, and the whispers he might need an exorcism, had been enough to show him he was different. Maybe there were other kids like him in England?

“I would certainly say you are gifted, Beyond.” Quillsh returned his eyes to the road as he went on, “Just in the short time I’ve known you, I see an intelligent, inquisitive and bold young man… and I’m impressed with your skill in the English language. Tell me, how is it you are able to understand and speak English so well when the nuns couldn’t?”

“I dunno.” Berneal pressed his face closer to the glass to watch the forest whizzing by. This was farther than he’d ever been from the orphanage and it was sinking in he really was getting away. “Could always just understand what people say and speak it back. The sisters said it was unholy.” Just another reminder he was different.

“Fascinating.” Quillsh smiled slightly, having a good idea of exactly what the nuns must have thought. “Well, your talent with tongues could make you quite a sought after translator one day, if you wish it.”

Berneal screwed up his face and said, “But then I’d have to talk to people. I don’t like people.” It was truer to say that people didn’t like him, but he didn’t like to think about that. He fiddled with the door locks and the window controls, then unbuckled his seatbelt to crawl around the backseat. “Nobody says anything interesting anyway.”

Quillsh glanced at the rearview mirror again and chuckled when he couldn’t see Beyond. Just like L, goodness. “Then we won’t pursue that route for you, don’t fret.” Beyond might be even MORE restless than L. Something to watch. “And Beyond, please feel free to ask me any questions, but if you would like something else to occupy you instead, there is a compartment in the console with a few things for restless minds. Puzzle books, some fiction novels, a sketchbook and drawing implements. Help yourself to any of them.”

Bernael opened the cubby and rummaged around inside, jamming the brand-new markers into his pockets before perusing the books. A sketchbook contained some crudely drawn dragons and strawberries. One book contained various puzzles and he grabbed that one before climbing into the front passenger seat. “What’s a crossword puzzle?” He flipped through the book and stopped on the last page, which looked like the most complicated puzzle. “Oh. You guess the word from the clue.” He grinned and started scrawling in the answers in terrible handwriting, swinging his short legs from the seat. Some of the clues were pretty tough, or maybe were English words he hadn’t heard of yet.

Quillsh glanced down at Beyond, utterly charmed by the determined curiosity that seemed to be radiating off the boy. He’s doing well on that crossword already. I made the right decision.

Bernael looked up with searching blue eyes, brow furrowing as his marker stilled. “What’s a six-letter word for...failsafe?”

Quillsh smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another candy to offer to Beyond as he raised his eyes back to the road. “Backup.”

#death note #wammy week #wammyweek #beyond birthday #watari #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #coauthored with Ghost #hope yall enjoy it! #wammy's house #fandom event

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Mime Your Manners || Frank and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Perfect Pint PARTIES: @frankmulloy​ and @chasseurdeloup​ SUMMARY: Kaden runs into Frank on a smoke break and they have a mime of a time.

There were less and less evenings that Kaden was out late enough at a bar, but he couldn’t miss the Lyon matches when he could catch them. And the only place to watch those was The Perfect Pint. That said, half time was as good a time as any to catch a quick hit of nicotine. Outside. The authenticity of the pub apparently only went so far. Kaden slipped into the alley way and pulled out his lighter, flipped it open, and… Nothing. He tried again. “Putain de merde,” he grumbled to himself, still struggling to try and make the fucking lighter work. He sighed, clean breath puffing out around the unlit cigarette pressed between his lips. Looked like he was shit out of luck. Out of the corner of his eye, Kaden spotted someone else in the alley, a tall man with a pretty distinct leather jacket. And a cloud of smoke coming off their lips. “Hey,” he asked as he approached. “Mind if I borrow your lighter? Mine seems to have bit the dust in my time of need and I don’t want to miss the second half.”

Frank lazed against one of the dumpsters that lined the back alley of the pub. Hungrily feeding off the heat of the little cigarette stick between his fingers, and the solitude; a temporary respite from a room full of drunk, happy, people. He didn’t ask for much of his work, just the occasional smoke break, which increased in frequency the longer he went without feeding. Shane MacAuley did not share this same practice, but was sympathetic and relented with relatively little input. The same could not always be said of his coworkers who could not resist a lecture about the dangers of smoking before every break. He braced himself for another one of said lectures, when the door of the alley opened. Thank christ. He took another long drag of his smoke, content to share the space silently though that didn’t last very long. Without a word, Frank reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a little red lighter, and tossed it across the distance between them. A silent gesture to indicate that the 6 feet between them was close enough. Frank wasn’t an avid follower of any of the particular sports the pub broadcasted, but working there meant he knew about them whether he liked it or not. “Which team?”

“Thanks,” Kaden said as he caught the lighter without any trouble, his brow furrowing at the gesture to stay away. Alright. Odd, but certainly not the oddest thing in this town. Still, he held up a hand and obliged. “I’m not sick or anything, for the record,” he said as he lit the cigarette. “Just French. Hard to tell the difference, surely.” He pulled out a long drag, inhaling every pit of nicotine as he could in a single breath before tossing the lighter back. He should really quit. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that. And if he didn’t, Regan sure would tell him herself. And he had cut down a lot lately, at least when he wasn’t stressed, but something about him just liked having a vice to lean on. Giving it up entirely felt like an admission of defeat, a shift from who he saw himself distinctly as just a year ago. Plus, he was fairly certain hunter healing delayed the negative effects, right? Whatever, he was probably going to die young anyway. Might as well enjoy what he could when he could. “Lyon,” he replied as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You follow football at all?” His mouth pulled into a thin line as he remembered where he was. “I mean soccer. You know, if you prefer using the wrong word for it,” he added in a joking manner. Even if he did thoroughly believe that was the wrong word.

Frank felt a strange bit of guilt and the temptation to apologise, and invite the man closer, was at the tip of his tongue. Alas, he did neither, “it’s me.” He said instead, “I’ve been working out the back in the kitchen most of the day, I probably reek. I thought I’d spare you the smell, and me the embarrassment.” The smile was an easy one, and well practiced, with just enough good natured humour laced behind the words to make the excuse (and himself) seem agreeable. He was working out the back for most of his shift today. He probably smelled. Nothing about what he said was a lie. He pocketed the lighter, taking another long drag from his smoke, in time to his new company. “Ahh,” the sound came accompanied by a puff of smoke, the corner of his mouth adopting an upward lean, “I should have guessed the Frenchman would support the French team. I don’t follow football,” he made a point to say, for his new company’s sake, “or any sport really. We were never a big sports household growing up. But when you work at a place like this and that’s all that ever plays on the TV you’re forced to know what’s going on whether you want to or not. Plus it helps us relate to our patrons...or at least according to Shane.”

Kaden huffed out a laugh. “I work in Animal Control. It’s impossible for you to be the worst thing I’ve smelled today.” Add to that he was dating the medical examiner and it was a wonder he could smell anything at all anymore. Either way, he wasn’t going to push it. Far be it from him to tell anyone to be closer to anyone. “True, but it was a question of which French team. You had a 50/50 shot either way,” he said with a small smile, taking another puff of his light. “But yeah, I grew up following Olympique Lyonnais with my dad. My parents weren’t big on the whole tv or movies thing so watching a match was pretty exciting, you know.” It was one of the few normalities he got growing up and he clung to it pretty fiercely, had to admit. He got the impression when he talked to most people, they couldn’t imagine growing up without the things he’d passed over, missed out on as a kid. Was this what it felt like? Strange. He was rarely on this side of the coin. “So how’d you end up working at a sports bar with no love of sports?” Just as he asked, a chill ran down his spine. His forehead creased as he looked around cautiously to find the source, any source. Was this guy a werewolf? Would he know if he was a little closer? No, that wasn’t how it worked, not really. Sure, his hunter senses might intensify if he got a little closer but if he concentrated, and he was, a few feet wouldn’t make a huge difference. There was a rattling in the back by the dumpsters. Kaden craned his neck to look down the alleyway before catching a glance back to his current companion as if to ask a question. Should they investigate it? He was pretty sure he would either way.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Had Frank been speaking plainly he would have said something along the lines of he could not think of anything more tiresome, although the solemn tinge to the words was a pretense designed to coax his comfort and amicability, it wasn’t as if he has any particular prejudice about people who watched sport, or followed it. Okay...maybe some prejudice, although the man in front of him did not seem the type to engage in a one sided shouting contest with the TV, which was always a good sign. “My ma’s Irish. I grew up in Boston,” the owner of the bar was a gancanagh, “I feel like it’s almost inevitable.” His reply was an odd sort of stare that made Frank ill at ease, he wasn’t looking at him anyone but rather past him to something behind. That seemed to be happening a lot lately and frankly, Frank was fucking over it. Frank followed his gaze behind him to the back of the dumpsters, just beyond the ring of light graciously provided by the alleylamp. An ominous scene to witness, made worse by the rattling of metal on metal as the lid of the furthest dumpster was shaken by some unseen force. Maybe it was just some rodent. He put out the last of his cigarette on the lid of the dumpster he had been leaning on, and was more than eager to step away from it, and its trembling twin. “It’s probably just a rat or a raccoon or something,” a really big, really jacked-up, fucking raccoon. Either way, Frank wasn’t particularly interested in finding out. “Let’s just head back inside, the game should be coming back on any minute.”

As Kaden approached the dumpster, he could feel the chills spread along his back. If he wasn’t so used to it, he’d shiver, try to shake it off. Instead, he steeled himself for what was ahead, pausing only to get a glance of the other man nearby, see if he was-- Well look at that, he wasn’t following. That-- Alright, that actually made sense. This guy had some self preservation skills. Good for him. He was doing better than half this fucking town, to be honest. “I mentioned I’m animal control, right?” he said in response. “If it’s a raccoon I can handle it, don’t worry.” He could probably handle it if it was something else, too. But that wasn’t so much because of being animal control as much as being a hunter. Logic stood that Kaden should leave it be, walk away, go inside and watch the came as his current companion suggested. But he wasn’t one to back down. So he got closer still to the rattling, reaching back for the knife in his pocket and flipping it open, opposite hand reaching out for the lid, carefully. His fingers brushed against it, he was preparing to throw it open when it flung open on its own, a small, crumbly creature leaping out. It was black and white, alright, but it was no fucking raccoon.”Putain de merde!” he shouted as he lunged for it, waving the knife in front of him, trying to get a piece of the mime monster. He couldn’t manage before it threw itself, stomach leaned back to reveal its teeth, at the second smoker. “Watch out!” he yelled, trying to pull the beast away and not hurt himself in the process. Or turn striped again.

Frank, with some combination of adrenaline and fighting instinct, threw himself out of the line of fire of the set of angry gnashing teeth. Eager and hungry: a deadly combination. “What the fuck?!” His fear was palpable; weighing down his gaze as it skirted across his surroundings, tinging his cheeks with paleness as his eyes finally settled on the monster, a frown tugged at his brows, growing harsher and digging deeper the longer he tried to make sense of the beast, to put some sort of identification to the stripped abomination. Logic dictated that if he knew what it was, he would also know how to beat it. Logic was made a shadow by the fear and adrenaline that had made temporary home of his mind, and thinking was infinitely more difficult when those set of teeth turned on him again. Maybe it had preference for fae flesh? He wasn’t sure, and at this point was too afraid to ask. (Who the fuck was he even asking?) In any case, he couldn’t very well stand around waiting to get chomped on. That, at least, was clear enough to prompt action as Frank’s hand grappled for the nearest thing he could use as a weapon: a long metal pipe, that Frank himself had discarded after he fixed the pub’s sink not too long ago. Perhaps someone somewhere liked him after all. Frank’s arm rose, the metal pipe in hand, in a poor imitation of a baseball player (he was bad at sports, but boy did he have a mean swing)—and brought the improvised bat down onto the little beast’s head. Was it its head? He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Point was; he hit it where its teeth were, and he hit it hard.

Before Kaden could reach out and grab the monster by the scruff (did it have that? Putain, guess he didn’t get a chance to find out), the other man had whacked it with a pipe. The creature let out a squeal that was like nothing he’d ever heard before. Fucking hell, that was satisfying to watch. “Good job you g--” Kaden’s words caught in his throat as he saw the pipe rise away from the mime monster. It was curved. It hadn’t been curved before. “Bordel de merde!” This was cursed. So fucking cursed. The creature turned back towards the guy and leaned backwards, revealing its teeth lined stomach once more. Only this time, a long black and white striped tongue rolled out. Kaden didn’t know what the fuck it planned to do with that, but he sure didn’t like it. He leapt over and grabbed the tongue to pull it taught before slicing down through it with his knife. It severed easily enough, but there was another ungodly screech as the creature flew back, rolling away from them both. The tongue was still in his hands and it burned, like it was covered with some sort of acid. Kaden let go with a scream and it fell to the ground. Only it was still moving, slithering like a snake. “Putain de merde,” he said again, this time more horrified than annoyed. Before he could do anything else, there was another striped tongue splaying out towards them from the monster across the alleyway. His hand was throbbing, but he kept his grip on his knife and tried to slash out at the-- “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The blade on his knife was eroding. And to make matters worse, the severed-tongue turned snake was about to curl its way around his companion. Kaden tried to slam it to keep it from moving, but the monster sent its new tongue out to lash him and he ducked out of the way.

For a moment, fear was replaced by horrible fascination as they both realised the pipe was now curved to the shape of the impact. Only a moment. Fear returned just in time to propel Frank into action, prompting his legs to fling him aside just as the Frenchman wrestled with the monster’s…tongue? An already gruesome sight made only worse as his knife detached the tongue from its throat (can it even be called a throat?) and tossed it aside. The scream was loud, and within it Frank recognised a more human one. His companion had learned of his misstep too late, and now the striped tongue seemed a lot more threatening than it was as it writhed toward him. “Fuck me!” Frank half gagged, half groaned; horrified and sickened both. He didn’t know how to kill it, that much was clear. He didn’t know if it could be killed, but he didn’t have to kill it, he just needed to stop it. Now how to stop a supernatural thing? How to stop him? Iron worked well. Although the odds of finding iron in a pub owned and operated by a fae was next to none. So what next? “Jesus H!” Taking advantage of his relapse in thought, the snake—tongue—thing lurched forward. Frank had no time to think so he didn’t, but batted at it as hard as he could with his curved bat. The tongue hit the lid of an open dumpster with a wet slap and fell inside, the lid falling closed behind it. That’ll work.

The pub’s dumpsters were not yet emptied. They were big and heavy to boot. He didn’t need to kill it, he just had to stop it. Frank’s supernatural inheritance did not lend him any great advantage when it came to strength, but even on his own Frank was strong. Certainly strong enough to push a dumpster. You didn’t need to be very strong to knock someone out if you had the speed behind the punch. Without much thought (at all), Frank heaved the dumpster away from the wall and positioned it into a straight path down the length of the alleyway that ended at the brick wall. Apparently he was also dumb enough to follow on a plan that was more mad than sound, and with probably very little odds of success. “Please work, please work, please work—move!” With his legs (and a sweep of his wings), and a healthy dose of fear and adrenaline, as leverage, Frank put his entire weight onto the side of the dumpster. It obeyed with surprising ease, barreling toward the set of teeth and, the attached, striped tongue. His stomach churned at the initial impact but he wouldn’t slow, and did not slow until he felt the final lurch of the dumpster as metal hit flesh, hit brick wall. It was as if a thunder had echoed across the narrow alleyway, and the sheer force of the impact kicked back against Frank with enough ferocity to send him onto his back and knocked the wind out of him.

“Nice hit!” Kaden shouted as he watched the other man take a swing at the flying mime tongue with a curved pipe. His brow furrowed as he tried to follow whatever it was that he was doing next. “Shit!” He ducked to the side as the dumpster swung out towards him. The guy was strong. Was he a hunter? Kaden didn’t know but it didn’t fucking matter right now. He saw what was happening and ran to help, trying to throw some of his strength in to help trap the mime monster but it seemed like he didn’t have to. The other guy had it. The sound of it crunching against the wall should have been satisfying. Only Kaden knew how resilient these fuckers were. That sound didn’t mean shit. And it looked like he had put his whole force into it, too. “Shit, are you okay?” Kaden didn’t get a chance to get an answer, the dumpster was pummeling right back towards them both. “Fucking hell!” he shouted and threw himself at the dumpster, stopping it before it barreled into them both. He thought about pushing it back away from them again, but he remembered the tongue snake thing was inside. He reached for the lid, scrambled for the lock and made sure the dumpster was going to stay shut. Just in time, too, the strange four-legged creature was peeling itself from the wall and wandering back towards them both. It was like the crumbs that had formed it in the first place were pulling themselves back together, congealing. He really hated the sight of it, but it transfixed him for a moment.

Fuck, right. He had to act. Mime monster. Made of crumbs. This was probably insane and moronic. But it just might work. Kaden frantically looked around and dug a bit through the trash. The monster was making its way back towards them, its tongue ready to unleash, he could tell. Fuck, fuck, fuck, there had to be one of these in the trash. Just one. He dug some more and found it! A water bottle. Still full of water. Thank god. He ran over, ripped it open, and poured it on the creature. It squealed and screeched, but it was melting, breaking up into smaller pieces, the crumbs once again separating. He was about to turn on his heel and run when he realized it was probably a shitty idea to leave the monster out in the open like that for someone else to run into. Fuck. His eyes darted around and spotted a plastic bag. It’d have to do. He scooped up the pieces of monster like it was dog droppings, tied the bag up and threw it in the dumpster. “Come on, let’s go!” he said, running over to grab the other man’s arm and get them back safely inside. “Uh, I guess be careful when taking out that trash later.”

It was a sound that would haunt his nightmares. The screeching, the hissing, the gurgling as its own acid was choked out of it, the very body of the beast crumbling apart like wet sand. Frank had never seen any creature crumble the way that it did. It was as if the beast brought its ghostly hand (or claw, or whatever it was) and dragged it down his spine, causing a chill to rise in its place. It was a horrific scene but he could not bring himself to look away, until he felt a warm grip on his arm and he felt his entire body seize up. Were it not for the realisation that he still had his jacket on, that the other man’s hand was on the leather and not his skin, he would have jerked it out of his grasp. Thankfully after what they had just gone through, Frank didn’t need much persuading at all to leave.

Inside, the pub was peaceful…well, as peaceful as far as pubs went; some heads turned in the direction of the door as Frank and his companion burst in, but otherwise they were completely oblivious to the events that occurred not five feet away from some of them. From one of the television screens someone scored a goal, and a table erupted into a celebratory chorus. Enviably ignorant. Frank startled back to himself at the Frenchman's voice. He detected a thin note of humour laced through his words, but could not quite replicate the same enthusiasm in his own voice when he said, “yeah…right. I’ll keep that in mind.” The image of the writhing acidic tongue, and the set of razor teeth that guarded it, was one that would be not easily forgotten anytime soon. “What the fuck was that?” He said finally, strangely calm though he could feel his own heart beating a mile a minute. “You knew to grab the water bottle. I mean when that…thing attacks you, and you go dumpster diving for something you could use to defend yourself with, I mean call me crazy but I don’t think a water bottle is very high on the list of weapons you could use. Not unless you know it would stop it.” He said again in the same measured tone even when he felt anything but calm, but when the alternative was to freak out in the middle of his place of work in front of all his colleagues and customers, it wasn’t as if Frank had much of a choice. “So what the fuck kind of animal control are you?”

Kaden leaned over and braced his hands against his thighs, trying to bring his pulse back down after the fight outside. The pub was the same as before, lively and completely oblivious to anything that had happened outside just now. They had no idea how close they were to dealing with a monster had they taken one singular step outside. “I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head as he straightened himself up to look back at his companion. “I mean yeah I saw it in my apartment complex a while back. It was-- Okay, so I was being sent cookies. By the mimes. It’s always the fucking mimes. And they kept sending them and they were black and white and cursed. Fucking cursed. Some were stuck in my door. Not on. In. And then the thirteenth day. Thirteenth because it was fucking cursed, they-- the cookies-- They exploded. And the walls: striped. The hallway: striped. I was--” He stopped. On second thought maybe leave that out. No need to explain his momentary stripes. Or the mime face paint. “And the crumbs. The crumbs, they-- They built up a thing.” He gestured, his hands trying to make a vaguely monster-y shaped thing. “That thing. A monster thing. Like the ones in the alleyway by those mime places, you know?” The look on his face said he didn’t know. Putain. If only he could stop talking, but no, his mouth wouldn’t stop moving. “But I don’t know, I figured crumbs. Water. Might work. Because I can’t figure out how to kill it because you saw-- you saw what happened when you hit it. The pipe. It bent. That thing. It’s fucking indestructible. The mimes. They always fucking come back.” It was then he realized how absolutely fucking insane he sounded. And that this guy might be onto what he really was. Putain. “What do you mean what kind of animal control am I? The kind that works for the fucking police, that kind.” Sure. That made it better. Great.

“Cursed mime cookies…right.” A pause, and then a resigned, “excellent.” Frank angled his head a small fraction to the left, the gesture one of grudging acceptance. Experience had counseled (begrudgingly) him that to deny the explanation or to demand logic to the madness would somehow always succeed in making him more insane. After all, he had already seen ghost girls crawling out of leaky TVs, and was very nearly impaled by a rampant moose were it not for the intervention of his friend, the werewolf, and he’d had seen through a storm of dog-toys, why not add mime monsters to the fucking list? Or perhaps he ought to curate a new one: A series of things White Crest will try to kill him with. Mime monsters existed somewhere near the top, right next to killer moose.

“Animal control that works for the police. Of course,” Frank acquiesced, a weary bite to his voice. He didn’t expect to laugh but he did, a short sharp exhalation followed that gave birth to a lingering smile that looked more tired than mirthful. In the security of the pub and the ignorance of its patrons, the adrenaline from their fight was beginning to drain out of him, giving way to the fatigue that perpetually weighed his bones, and Frank didn’t have the energy to demand the truth out of the man. He didn’t particularly want to. Perhaps his shift would have gone more peacefully had he not gone out for his smoke break when he did, had he remained oblivious to the remains of the monster that now occupied the dumpster that lined up the wall of the bar, point was, perhaps it was better if he didn’t know anymore than he did. In any case, it wasn’t as if the Frenchman was the only one with secrets to guard. “Look, I don’t care what the fuck you are, you saved our asses back there so thanks. But you have got to get better at your own bullshit man...and maybe don’t talk so much.” Frank peeled himself off the door, and started toward the bar, picking up a towel and throwing it over his shoulder; he was still technically on the clock. He turned back to his companion, his voice softened by the smile that had a little more good-humour in it than the last, “come on French guy, I’ll pour you a beer.”

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #frankmulloy #frank #mime your manners

[foolgobi65]

Mahabharata (any characters or pairing) + college au + meet messy + “alexa, play wonderwall.” (at this point im just picking things at random lol)

play wonderwall : you’ll see lol  basically used this as an excuse to write a version of the scene u and i both acknowledge as our favorite. the single most iconic scene in the entire epic, bar none. for our sake, i really hope that you like it!! also the “meet messy” is basically random people in the crowd meeting this trainwreck of a family in all of its glory. also i think rhea’s modern au krishna goes by shyam yadav??? i tried to use a different first name at least but none of them sounded as nice so i gave up lol sorry rhea. 

--

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

It seems like the entire university is gathered on the front lawn to watch the swearing-in ceremony of new Union President Dharamraj Kuru after what many reported to be the nastiest student election season perhaps ever seen. Jarasandha Magadh, after years of refusing to graduate, had at the last minute been put in the hospital and, apparently, sustained injuries so extensive that it had effectively argued that his already completed coursework should be all that was counted when factoring in his final mark. 

“Especially given said student’s...extensive history...with this institution,” Shyam had apparently said when arguing Jarasandha’s case to University Administration, Jarasandha himself completely unaware and apparently furious when he was brought out of his medically induced coma. 

Jarasandha’s party’s hastily promoted candidate Sahadeva was wildly acknowledged to be weak, young, and meant to be nothing more than a rubber stamp on business as usual. Dharamraj, whose upstart campaign effectively communicated how poorly “business as usual” had treated the student body, was suddenly flooded with factions of students seeking an alliance so that their respective organizations might be allocated larger portions of the budget everyone assumed Dharamraj would soon control. 

Everyone was right. Dharamraj won in a landslide, and now here everybody is, watching him deliver his maiden speech as their new President. 

“Shisupal,” Dharamraj sighs, “what exactly is your problem?” 

“My problem,” Shisupal shrieks, walking up to the dais from where Dharamraj stands, surrounded by his friends, family, and his girlfriend Yagna. “You’re asking me what my problem is, Brother?” 

“Brother?” someone in the crowd asks, too low to be heard at the front. 

“I think they’re related on their mother’s side,” someone else responds. “Both their mothers are sisters, but Pritha was adopted out to a friend of her father so was never close to her biological siblings.” 

“Jesus,” another laughs, “are they all just cousins?” 

A wide assortment of Kurus stand on stage, jubilant after so many years of them trying and failing to win elections at the university their fathers had once ruled. Yagna, from a prominent family herself, at Dharamraj’s side. Shyam Yadav, whose sister Subhadra is in love with Dhananjaya and whose father was like a brother to Pritha when she was lonely in Kuntibhoj and Vasudev not imprisoned with his wife. 

Yes, they really are all just cousins. 

Vrikodara steps in front of Dharamraj, arms crossed and looming nearly half a metre taller than Shishupal. Yet, Shishupal is not cowed -- though many men more intelligent than he would have been. 

“I’m not afraid of you, asshole. Everyone knows you’re just the gun in Dharamraj’s hand, and your brother is a pacifist. You won’t touch me.” 

“You would be surprised,” Dharamraj says mildly, smiling slightly as the crowd laughs at the thought of violence from the slightly frail Dharma, always seen in the library or sitting under the tree outside it, smoking cigarettes as he argues with professors twice his age about obscure legalities and wins. 

“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Shishupal spits, “you’re too much of a coward to hit a person when they know it’s coming. That’s why you’re just stabbing us in the back, selling us out on the first day when we put our reputations on the line to back you for President.” 

“Shisupal!” Vrikodara roars, Dhananjaya striding to stand next to him, Suyodhana and Radheya on either flank despite what is rumored to be their own tensions with Pandu’s sons. The family is closing ranks at this attack from one their own, it seems, but then what is University politics if not a way for people to find some entertainment from other people’s drama. 

“What,” Shishupal retorts, “you expect us all to shut up while you commit to sinking half of the budget into that wastrel’s pathetic fund? You plan on just giving our money away to anyone who spins a sad life story and begs for cash?” 

Well, University politics is about this too -- the eternal question of which students should be helped, and how much. The fund in question is the brainchild of Shyam, a way for individuals to apply for rapid monetary relief in response to uncontrollable circumstances, and be granted what they need with almost no questions asked. 

“Shisupal,” Dhananjaya steps forward, sensitive as always when his best (and only) friend’s name is brought up. “We’ve let you get away with more than we should because you happen to be our mother’s nephew. If you continue to embarrass us in public it won’t end well.” Shishupal laughs. “For you or for me? As far as I can see, you’ve all been duped by that street-trash pretending to be Vasudev Yadav’s son.” 

Dhananjaya glares. “Uncle Vasudev is more our mother’s brother than your mother is her sister. Slander his name at your own risk.” Again, Shishupal refuses to cower despite what the crowd acknowledges as fierce odds -- Dhananjaya doesn’t actually attend the University, only visits frequently from the Indian Air Force Academy to spend time with Shyam, and his brothers sometimes as well. The man is licensed to shoot a gun, for god’s sake, but Shishupal continues to stand firm. 

“Even now, you’re all standing in front of him,” Shishupal taunts, “Dancing to his tune and protecting his reputation when you know as well as I where he came from. He didn’t even speak English until he left that shithole after killing his own uncle, and you idiots are planning to sink my money into his scheme? Not on my watch.” 

“No,” a voice comes from the back of the group on the dais, “there’s no need to make that face. I can fight my own battles, Dhananjaya. Especially against an absolute clown, like Shishupal.”  

“A clown,” Shishupal shouts, “you’re calling me a clown?” 

Shyam rolls his eyes, having pushed his way to the front. Behind him Vrikodara is grinding his teeth, Dhananjaya’s fingers hovering at his own waist as if wishing for a gun. 

“Well I could have called you a motherfucker,” Shyam shrugs, “but I’m quite fond of your mother. In fact, she was the one who’s begged me to forgive you every time you’ve done something like this.” 

Shishupal snarls. “My mother doesn’t beg, street-trash, and she certainly wouldn’t lower herself to beg from you. People like you are only demanded from.” 

Shyam shrugs again. “Suit yourself. But consider this your last warning -- say another word, and I won’t let you go like I did before.” 

“Before? Before?” For some reason, Shyam’s threat has only made Shishupal angrier, face turning purple where it was red. “Before, as in that time last year, when you stole my wife from the wedding hall at gunpoint. Is that what you mean by before?” 

The crowd goes still at the reminder of the biggest controversy to rock their collective social circle. 

Shyam raises an eyebrow. “The whole point of that was that she wasn’t your wife when we left.” His lip curls in a sneer of his own, eyes suddenly cold. “You were treating her so poorly that she asked what to her was a complete stranger to kidnap her on her wedding day. I wouldn’t talk so loudly about before.” 

Nearly a year ago, Shishupal was to be married to Rukmini Bhoja after years of forcing her to stand attendance at his side during all campus events, despite her not actually being enrolled as a student. Both of their families were rich, well connected, and sought increased prestige through connection with the other. It was, people remarked, on paper the perfect match. 

Of course, Rukmini was intelligent, witty, kind, and one of the most beautiful women most people had ever seen. Shishupal passed classes off of sheer intimidation, threw rocks at the college cats, and supplemented these qualities with his insistence on growing a patchy, horrible, beard and kept his oily, stringy hair long. Worse, there were rumors that Shishupal was even meaner drunk than he was sober, and that once Rukmini had been seen walking away from him clutching her arm and had returned with a scarf wrapped around her shoulders to cover where otherwise might have been a visible pattern of bruises. 

The wedding, everyone had agreed, was to be a tragedy, and would only serve to make Shishupal even more insufferable. When the nightly news had aired the extraordinary report of a young woman staging her own kidnapping, apparently begging one of the groom’s family connections to attend her wedding and hold a gun to her head as they walked out, it was widely agreed to be answer to their prayers, and above all a job very well done by the erstwhile bride to be. When it was revealed that the “kidnapper” was Shyam, well, that just made the whole thing even funnier. 

When classes restarted, Shishupal prowled with a whole new look -- clean-shaven, and short hair. Rukmini Bhoja was noticeably absent from campus events, but a few months in Shyam had been seen getting off the bus at the station near campus and kissing someone who looked just like Rukmini goodbye. 

It seems the rumors about that last bit had found Shishupal too. “Stranger,” he scoffs. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?” 

Shyam’s entire body, always loose, always slightly in motion, goes completely stiff. More than Dhananjaya, more than Vrikodara, it is Shyam who now suddenly looks like an apex predator. The crowd, not even the one facing Shyam directly, finds itself taking a step back. 

“What exactly is it that we’re calling,” Shyam asks softly -- sound only heard because it’s being picked up by the microphone on the podium awaiting the rest of Dharamraj’s long-forgotten speech. 

Shishupal rolls his eyes, sneering. “I’m glad that bitch made such a spectacle of herself when calling off the wedding. I wouldn’t have wanted to marry a whore, you know. Why take seven rounds to get something she sells, no?” He smirks, as the entire group on the dais -- the whole horrible writhing mass of Kurus and their assorted friends and family -- advance as one. “Or, I guess she was the one who was buying,” Shishupal laughs, looking at Shyam who appears to be frozen in place, his face a perfect picture of overwhelming rage. “She paid you to take her, didn’t she? Poor bitch didn’t even think you’d fuck her for fr--” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” 

Shishupal’s eyes immediately roll up into his skull, as a result of Shyam Yadav’s fist colliding with Shishupal’s jaw. No one bothers to catch the body. 

Silence reigns for entire minutes as everyone watches Shishupal, crumpled on the ground. Watches Shyam Yadav, standing over him wild-eyed, with his right hand still in a fist.

“Oh Alexa,” a gentle female voice calls out from the crowd. Everyone turns to stare, open-mouthed, at Rukmini Bhoja standing in the front row, absolutely grinning at this turn of events. She gazes back at them, turning towards Shyam again and laughs. “Alexa this is so sad. Play ‘Mmm Whatcha Say.” 

#ok i will say that the idea of rukmini basically organizing her own kidnapping/hit job where she hires krishna to attend and kidnap her at g #thats chefs kiss to me #i cant believe i never thought of that before its t ha t funny #mahabharata #also the mm watcha say gag was too good to not include when he gets clocked the fuck out at the end sorry lol #also i decided to make vasudev only brother-like for kunti #so that subhadra/krishna arent arjuna's cousins lol #also she seems even in canon to be closer to vasudev than her other siblings so we're rolling with it #anyways i hope u like it!!!! #these are all being churned out like stream of consciousness and then i hit publish lol so i have no idea if theyre any good at all #but thank u for the opportunity to put a version of this down on paper #maya writes #avani008 #also lol i used none of their traditional names because i thought it would be funnier to give them all long pretentious names that flowed ni #*nice

[pazvizslaplasmathrower]

Father of Hopes and Dreams - Chapter 14

Read here or on Ao3

Chapter 14: The Merchant

Summary: Your young master is gone, just at the birth of your bond, he has left you for many years, leaving you to survive the galaxy alone. After sustaining an injury from a drunken storm trooper, someone faces the decision to either leave or help you in your moment of need.

Chapter Summary:Thinking on your past proves to be more difficult than anticipated. On the search for star ship parts, Paz Vizsla encounters someone strange.

Word Count:2093

A/N:Sorry this took forever! I’ve been pretty overwhelmed, but I have more time on my hands so I will be updating with more regularity

***___***___***

“Finish your greens, A'dika.” Paz requested, coming back from the refresher.

 For a moment you clenched your jaw, looking down at the vegetables in your bowl that you had purposefully pushed to the side and avoided eating. It was not that you were purposefully being difficult, it was that more of such food tasted absolutely horrid, despite what your caretaker said. He insisted he had made it so they would have similar taste to the meat, but as soon as a mere bit entered your mouth, it was like Nexu bile.

 “Buir!” You cried half-heartedly. “I don't want to!”

 “And why not?” He asked, sitting back down in the pilot's seat. “They will help you grow soundly in mind, body and spirit.”

 “I don't want to so I'm not going to.”

 The Mandalorian shrugged, not bothering to look at you. “Fine then, nothing sweet after. Wash up before you go to bed. We will start flying to our next destination.”

 You stood to leave. “But I never remembered anything...Anything useful.”

 “Hm. I know but this ship still needs heavy work and I know a place where I can have it patched up without selling an organ.”

 You tensed.

 After doing away with your leftovers, you retreated to the fresher, making sure to securely lock the door behind you. First, you discarded your handmade bag finding that your wings had grown-

significantly. Reasonably, they should not have been able to fit inside the mere bag, but from your vantage point looking into the mirror, it seemed that the appendages would impossibly fold in on themselves. And to your shock, they had started feathering. Alone, each one was so delicate in design, almost like a thin sliver of obsidian, and when you turned the sheen certainly beautiful. Sighing, you flexed the new muscle before going about your adopted routine, feeling dazed with despair.

 ***___***___***

 Your sharp teeth dug into the freshly grilled meat, singing in and tearing away with ease. Jerba or meat in general was a rare treat, and the mere aroma was enough to make you light headed. Your master had told you that they would seize any opportunity to include it into your diet as it was necessary for your species; they seemed to know more than enough about you.

 “Have you been feeling any different?” Your master had asked casually.

 You shrugged, wistfully gnawing on the leftover bone. “Not really. I really should have worn something warmer when we went to Hoth, but my leg feels normal now.”

 “Hm, I wonder if that will stall the process...”

 The Jedi Master trailed off mumbling to themself as if you were suddenly not present.

 “Master. Master!” You called, from where you laid on the ground.

 “Perhaps a few more weeks, but then...Oh? Sorry, little Y/N. I was just thinking. Here give me your arm.”

 “Aw, c'mon do we have to do this every night? Can't I just miss it for once!”

 Your elder shook their head, gently taking your arm in hand, taking a small device from the folds of their dark robe. They had taken to checking your blood since you had started your adolescence, making sure your health was in pristine condition, on the chance it was anything less, they insisted on plenty of bed rest and mind healing.

 When their little device beeped, you could see their eyes scrutinizing the results, glancing down at your arm you could see the dark spot where the needle was used to entering. Though the little pricks were no longer painful, a few tears still ran down your face.

 “All signs are good. You should be progressing.”

 “Progressing with what?” You asked coldly.

 Your Master shook their head, tying up their pale hair. “And you've forgotten once again. Your wings, Y/N. Your wings. By this age, you should have started showing plumage...”

“Who cares?”

 With the loose sleeve of your tunic, you wiped your face clean, not noticing your Master's concerned stare. It was a dreadful habit, one that put you on edge knowing that those scrutinizing eyes were watching so carefully, seeing past your finite body and directly into the essence of the Force.

 “I do.” They put the device away.“And you should too. You need to know why I'm so worried about your wings!”

 “I'm dying to know, Master.”

 At this point, your sarcasm ricocheted off the Master Jedi.

 Their body stiffened and then relaxed, not even the most patient of Jedi could remain perfectly at ease when raising such a spirited young padawan.

 “Tell me, how many like you have you seen on our journey?”

 “None.”

 They nodded in agreement. “And in all of your studies, how many times have you heard of people like you?”

 “Not...Not once.”

 “Then come here and let me show you something.”

Sitting up you moved and crouched next to the other Jedi, still feeling their quiet, overwhelming desperation.

 “Here.” Those strong hands pulled a small tome from one of the many packs the both of you carried.

 “I haven't seen this book before.”

 “Because I've never found the right time to tell you all this.”

 Such words were not comforting in the least.

“This is a very, very old text, an ancient documentation of species from across the galaxy, compiled by early Jedi.” Your master flipped through a few pages, until one was reached. “Now doesn't that look familiar?”

 It was not an exact interpretation, but all the right features were there: the sharp teeth, facial markings, vertical pupils, longer ears that came to a soft point...it was all there, including the wings you master was far too keen on.

 “These people, your people have been gone for many years, young one”

 Your eyes followed their finger to the block of text  you could not bring yourself to read.

 “The plumage of the Shielae people are prized in nearly every culture known for their medicinal and restorative properties...Though, the aesthetic quality is favored as well.”

 “Stop reading.”

 “Y/N, it is-”

 “STOP!” You cried, crawling away. “I asked nicely, didn't I?”

 “Yes. Yes you did...”

 Nothing more was said that evening. You simply retreated back to your sleeping place in the cramped tent, curling in on yourself, unable to get the image of the mount out of your mind.

 ***___***___***

Even in sleep, the young one had worn their hand made bag to bed, keeping it just pressed against one side of the hammock so it could not be loosened for inspection. While he should not have made such a deal out of it to himself, Paz could not help but wonder what was inside that could warrant such close protection. There was little else to do on the ship until the morning when the merchant would arrive with the parts he needed, he had already spent a good handful of hours exercising, and when the child had fallen asleep Paz had been free to take off his helmet to eat. 

In his own quarters, he wondered if he should even bother putting his helmet back on, when going to peek in on the kid. Surely they would not wake, though on the off chance they did, his commitment to the Way would be shattered. Giving a heavy sigh, he slipped the beskar on his head, doing his best to tread lightly into the storage hangar and just as he suspected, (Y/N) was still curled up under blankets, clearly very much asleep. With a grunt, their body shifted so that their pack was exposed, but there was still the issue of how it was sealed. 

    Kark!

He was a grown man. Why the hell did he care so much about what a young child was keeping in their bag? The young ones from the guild often made trinkets and crafts that were greatly dear to them, though there was nothing to be concerned of. Still, something irked Paz Vizsla on, some sort of instinct telling him to worry and to act on those feelings. In spite of the unknown urgency, he stopped himself, opting to wait until there was a moment when he could earnestly approach the child. After all, he very much needed some rest. 

When morning came, the Mandalorian found his foundling had cleaned up their mess from the day prior and neatly folded each blanket, nestling them at the end of their hammock. And right out of the fresher came (Y/N), looking rather frazzled. 

    “Krif!” They yelped, nearly walking right into him. “Maker’s sake! How the hell do you move so quietly?”

    Under his helmet, Paz smiled. “Practice. Now if you’d grant me patience, I’ll have something ready for you to eat in a short while.”

Their eyes lit up, the bag moving just slightly. Odd, but the questions could wait. (Y/N) waited without complaint, playing some sort of game with old tools. Perhaps getting a hold of something safer was in order, after all Paz could not do with having the child accidentally prying off a finger. He placed the finishing touches on the child’s breakfast, knowing this time, that they would have to eat at least some of their vegetables. 

    “There is a merchant coming over soon with some parts that we need, I should have enough credits, so we won’t have to sell off anything on board.” Truthfully, there was not much to sell. “You are to stay in the ship, alright?”

    (Y/N) quickly grabbed the bowl, completely forgetting the utensil. “Yeah, sure!” They paused “How...How far are you going?”

“Worry not. They are coming to us, but just outside.” Paz Vizsla’s holo communicator buzzed. “And it looks like they’re here. It should only be a few minutes, but be good.”

    Satisfied with their intentions, Paz left the ship, leaving (Y/N) to devour everything he had made for them.

***___***___***

You had eaten far too fast, but it had been an absolutely delicious breakfast, so the blame could not have been entirely yours. Laying on the durasteel floor, you listened for the Mandalorian, strangely having to actually strain your ears to listen. Given your ears were larger than a human’s hearing Paz Vizsla’s bellowing tone should have been easy. But there were two low whispers, hissing almost, that were outside the bay doors. Since no one was yelling, that must have been a good sign. No one was fighting…

Sluggishly, you rose to your feet, flexing your shoulders uncomfortably. Overnight, those cursed wings had grown, surely by tomorrow the plumage would start to show. The pack was not going to be nearly big enough. That matter would have to wait, eavesdropping was of the utmost importance at the moment. Slinking over to the door, you pressed your ear to the cold durasteel. 

    “You are not who I was supposed to meet, I don’t care what your prices are!” The Mandalorian seethed. 

    “I am telling you the truth. I work for the man and he instructed me to come in his stead.” Another voice. Lighter in quality, feminine, and there was an absolutely firm air to it. 

    “The merchant told me no such thing, the deal is off. Now leave.”

Heavy steps traveled up the ramp, only to stop. 

    “Please!” the stranger pleaded. “I...I could truly use the money. 

Paz Vizsla was close, and hurriedly, you retreated to the storage room, climbing back into your hammock. The creak of the door rang in your ears as did the two sets of footsteps. 

“You can just leave the parts here, let me go grab your payment...There is no need to follow-”

“I want to make sure you don’t have any kriffing tricks up your sleeves, Mandalorian.”

You felt the smart decision was to hide under all the blankets and wait until the seller had let them be, but curiosity kept you where you were. Paz Vizsla’s disappointment was evident as his shoulders slumped upon seeing you were in fact visible. From behind his enormous frame came a woman who immediately locked eyes with you, refusing to look away. Those brown eyes took in every part of you in the few stolen seconds, scrutinizing each bit thoroughly. 

“You have a child.”

Wishing the woman would just vanish, you tucked yourself in your hammock. 

Paz Vizsla insisted that they both move along and so he could simply pay here and then she could leave, however, this woman seemed oddly intent on you. 

“Mandalorian, would you mind if I said hello to your young one?”

#sw #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandolorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian imagine #paz #paz vizsla #paz visla #paz vizla #parental relationship #sw fic #star wars fic #Star Wars fanfic

[mydorkycreations]

for the love language asks, could I ask for Jasper, Friday, Hiroki, Aaron, Forest, Winter, Candace, and Tiffany? OH, also Gretchen and Amadeus, if u don't mind??? I jst. Love all of them.

You CAN ask for them all of them! I’ll kinda do this by ranking of most preferred to least preferred :)

Also this got very long I’m sorry

Jasper:

Quality time-- he loves being around people he likes, and feels neglected/misses people if they don’t spend time with him for a while

Gifts--  he loves to give things and get things, especially if it’s involving food, and he has a mental list of things that he knows his friends like/dislike that he just kinda always has in the back of his mind

Touch-- he’s not overly touchy, tbh. Like, it’s nice and all, but it feels a little less personal than like spending actual time together or giving someone something in general

Words of affirmation-- as odd as this may sound, he doesn’t really need a hype man or verbal affirmation. He can figure things out on his own. Compliments are nice, though, and communication is important, so he puts some effort into this one even if it isn’t necessarily his thing per se

Acts of service-- he appreciates someone making an effort to make his life easier and generally tries to do the same, but he considers it more of a being polite thing rather than an actual act of affection. Plus, he can be particular about some things (especially with the way the kitchen is organized) and so sometimes the help isn’t always as helpful as the helper thinks

Friday:

Words of affirmation-- she tries not to show it, but words have a major impact on her, both positively and negatively. A compliment can make her day and a rude comment can just as easily ruin it. She’s very shy about saying nice things to other people, though, in case the compliment is rejected

Touch-- she’s insecure about it because it’s something her mother actively discouraged, but she ADORES physical affection. Once she’s comfortable enough with Jasper someone to feel like she can without getting in trouble, the poor soul is in near danger of being smothered in it

Quality time-- it’s an acceptable, straightforward way to show affection that’s more difficult to pull off when ulterior motives are in play, and she appreciates it for that

Acts of service-- someone??? did something NICE for her??? Unrealistic. She tends to think of this more as someone trying to like get her attention than be nice

Gifts-- this one is Odd because she hates getting gifts, but gives them all the time because she’s rich and has money to throw around, so I’m putting it on the bottom

Hiroki:

Touch-- Hiroki is INCREDIBLY tactile, possibly because of the way his powers work as extensions of himself. Unless there’s a reason not to, he’s touching his friends almost constantly, and can recognize most of their silhouettes by feel when he’s using his powers to sense people. He’ll pick up on any sort of unusual response to/rejection of contact immediately

Quality time-- listen, when you’re an introvert, deciding someone is worth spending time with is A Big Deal, especially if it’s one on one, and he doesn’t hand it out lightly

Acts of service-- to do something for someone so they don’t have to, and then have them do the same for you, is that not an incredible thing? He certainly thinks it is. It would be #2, but there is also Extreme Mental Trauma associated with this one and it’s demoted to #3 as a result

Gifts-- he appreciates gifts (especially if they’re useful), but by and large his habit of knitting things for other people stems from the fact that if he made everything for himself he’d have probably filled his entire apartment with knitted things by now than any real fondness for the gift giving or receiving process

Words of affirmation-- by and large, he thinks that words are cheap. Ironic, because he was an English major, but still

Aaron:

Gifts-- Aaron loves getting gifts. Aaron loves giving gifts. Aaron will spend money he doesn’t have to get people gifts because gifts are important

Words of affirmation-- he’s not really confident enough for you to be able to just let him read between the lines and make a judgement himself, and thrives at praise and clear verbal communication. Will tell you exactly how he feels and how fond he is of you at the drop of a hat

Touch-- physical affection is nice. Not his favorite but not bad by any meansit’s

Acts of service-- yes, okay, people doing things for you is nice and all, but people go and do things or give money to charity for the warm fuzzy feelings while not giving a single flying fuck about the people who are really impacted by it, it’s not really a surefire sign that they like you

Quality time-- like, yes, it’s nice spending time with people but it doesn’t really vibe with him as an affection source. Like you could spend every day hanging out with him and he’ll still be like “but do they like me?”

Forest (I went with young Forest here-- I’m still getting to know older Forest a bit):

Quality time-- I once read a theory that your love languages are defined by what you lacked in your youth. This is very true in this instance. You can instantly tell who Forest gravitates towards by looking at who leaves with him at parties

Touch-- grant it, touch is just a Bigger Thing culturally in the magical realm (given that physical contact between some kinds of magical entities would be physically painful for one or both parties), so maybe that disqualifies this, but yeah touching is a very major thing

Words of affirmation-- he loves to verbally flirt and be flirted with, but aside from that very specific scenario he doesn’t really care all that much 

Acts of service-- acts of service and gifts are probably about the same, but you could kind of classify Winter catching his attention by sparing his life an act of service, and then they fall in love, so I’m putting this one at #4. The bastard is in a laughably wealthy ruling class, he just expects people to do things for him, so that’s not a big deal to him (although actually doing something for someone else kinda is)

Gifts-- again, rich and politics Grant it you could call some of those gifts bribes but that’s an ugly word, don’t you think?

Winter:

Acts of service-- the need to look after and help people he cares about if they ever need it is literally what’s kept him alive, and putting it anything other than first would be a disservice. And he takes on so much that any effort made to make his life easier means the world to him

Quality time-- why do you think he never just forged Candace legal documentation and sent her to normal school or daycare? Why do you think he’s so prone to be lonely? He needs time with people

Gifts-- he loves receiving gifts in particular. They’re something to remember people by once they’re gone and parting with them would be terrible for him. But he gives gifts, too. They’re less often physical objects and more often advice or stories, although that changes with Candace as he gets old because he knows he likes having physical things to remember people by so maybe it’ll help her, too

Words of affirmation-- he still appreciates them, don’t misunderstand. And he doesn’t skimp out on telling his kids he loves them. It’s just not his favorite way to receive or show affection

Touch-- again, Magical Realm’s touching is a much less casual of a thing and it’s not really as needed as it is with humans. Between that and his lack of body heat being unnerving to a lot of humans that aren’t used to it, he just... didn’t, really. At all. Like touch was for sex and otherwise he kept little to no physical contact. It’s a big regret he has raising his earlier kids, because he just didn’t know that humans are so innately touchy feely. He probably raised at least one touch starved human on accident (he also adopted a hugging schedule later when he realized “oh shit I’ve fucked up” until he got used to casual contact)

Candace:

Quality time-- if you like someone, you spend time with them? It just makes sense to her (although that doesn't make her immune to the classic "Daaaad leave me alone" complaints)

Acts of service-- you care about someone, you look out for them. Winter’s taught her that very well

Words of affirmation-- she doesn’t need it constantly, but if she does something she’s really proud of she craves validation for it, and will go around showing everyone her new sword that she figured out how to make shoot lightning until someone’s like “wow nice work”

Touch-- she’s not very into casual touching, but if you become a level 5 or above friend you unlock the Cuddle Feature and that is nigh unstoppable once it starts, she’s like a goddamn cat

Gifts-- she’s a dichotomy of loving to give gifts and not really enjoying getting them because she herself isn’t very materialistic (unless you’re giving her swords. Or daggers. Or shields. Or, uh, old school style weapons in general).

Tiffany:

Quality time-- I hesitate to use the word “clingy,” but, uh. There is a definite “pay ATTENTION TO ME” bit of her personality if you leave her on her lonesome for too long

Touch-- Tiff is just a cuddlebug. There isn’t much of another way to describe it. Fortunately her and Candace have been over level 5 friends since they were both knee high to a toadstool

Gifts-- if you give her something, she’ll cherish it forever, and she loves to find things for her friends to give them (even if most of the time it’s cool rocks from the bottom of whatever body of water she’s currently living on with Amadeus)

Acts of service-- she doesn’t think much of it if she does something for somebody else because that’s just how she was raised, but if someone helps her out? She’ll remember it forever

Words of affirmation-- like, okay it’s nice to be verbally appreciated but she doesn’t need it

Gretchen

Quality time-- time is growing less important to her the longer she lives-- immortality can have that effect on people sometimes-- but time simply spent together is still something she heavily gravitates towards

Words of affirmation-- there are few words she loves better than “I’m proud of you” or “good job.” Loves that sweet validation

Acts of service-- she’s very devoted once she grows attached to someone, although sometimes she thinks she knows best when she really doesn’t

Touch-- touching is,, fine. Not great, but it’s okay

Gifts-- she’s immortal. What need does she have for trinkets?

Amadeus

Gifts-- do you think that them not charging Winter for an ounce of booze he’s drank for centuries is an accident? It’s not. They know it’s not really in his best interest, but they can’t bring themselves to deny him a way out of his own mind for a while

Acts of service-- this primarily surfaces in a sort of hovering/annoying parent sort of way. They’ll fuss over anyone

Words of affirmation-- words aren’t as good as something tangible, but still nice. Amadeus has a tendency to be almost transactional in their relationships. They do things for Friend, Friend does things for them. That’s what friendship is 

Touch-- eh, it’s fine but they don’t get the hype. Probably because they’re living water

Quality time-- ironic, I know, but they can almost be absent, some of the time. They’d rather do things FOR you than just spend time with you without a purpose

#asks #from ask game #friend tag #Winter (oc) #Forest (oc) #Jasper Rift #Friday Milewski #Aaron the delivery guy #Hiroki Sato #Gretchen (oc) #Amadeus (oc) #Tiffany Waters #Candace Frost #also i'm so sorry this took so long jkslfjsklfjsklfjsd

[formalmess]

For Your Entertainment ~ Chapter Eleven

Summary: Luigi gets help and Peasley receives a visitor.

Warnings: Gore, Character Death, Murder

”D-Daisy…”

Luigi’s chest dropped as he watched the last signs of life escape his friend in the form of unceremonious bubbles, Daisy’s corpse floating within her final watery resting place. He sobbed out her name in vain, his stomach twisting painfully as his knees gave away, stumbling back.

”Luigi, my boy.” E. Gadd approached him, his glasses clouded and face pale. He gripped Luigi’s shoulders, trying to help steady the trembling man. “Are you okay? Stand up, young feller!”

Luigi didn’t respond. He was numb, gaze locked upon the screens. “Daisy… D-Daisy…!” The weight of her passing hit Luigi all at once, his sobs turning to screams. “N-No...! NO! DAISY!”

”What is-?” E. Gadd turned around. “What’s going on?!”

”Bravo!” 

From within the recording, Dimentio suddenly spoke up.

The three standing in the lab jolted, moving to focus on the screens surrounding them.

Not yet finished, Dimentio stood up and waved his hands in the air dramatically.

”That was quite the performance, was it not?” His maliciously chilling voice continued without an air of sympathy as he circled the golden box. “Wouldn’t have expected any less from my most devoted and fesity of assistants. Putting up a fight until the very end! What a spectacle, indeed.”

He circled Daisy’s floating corpse in the execution tank with a smile on his face, lifting a gloved finger to his chin in thought. “I do suppose I was partially to blame for the exhaustion that ultimately sealed her fate, though…” Dimentio mused with a sigh. 

He laughed.  “But who am I to resist a game of cat and mouse when presented with it? Only a fool would pass up such an opportunity. Even if the other contender in the game gets worn out, it’s all the same to me! A bit of fun before the show. Certainly a fine way to loosen up a bit before playing the role of host…”

”Oh Grambi, no…” Peasley held a hand over his face, grimacing as he lowered his head, trying not to imagine Dimentio’s cruel titters of delight from when he snatched the Sarasan Princess away. “I can’t even imagine…”

”-But!” Dimentio continued. “Speaking of exhaustion… I do believe my audience is deserving of a bit of a break. Wouldn’t you agree, my flower dame?”

Silence was all that answered.

”Ah, right… Dead.” Dimentio mumbled. He shook his head, clapping his hands together. “Well, in any case, I won’t see to it that I bore my audience with the same old tricks! Why, I need time to prepare for the show’s finale, after all!”

Dimentio turned his attention to the camera, keeping a hand up against the execution box he’d created.

”So consider this your intermission, everyone. Stretch, maybe get some snacks, rest up... Our regularly scheduled program will start again soon!" 

Dimentio further pressed his gloved palm down on the golden box in the middle of the room, grinning madly as his yellow eye twinkled upon examining Daisy's body.

"My assistant will be more than happy to send you off... with a bang!"

He disappeared with a snap of his fingers, laughing.

Without warning, the golden box containing Daisy’s body exploded, the swirling contents inside meshing together in a horrific combination of dark ash and sparks, blood splattering against the yellow sheet of glass.

Bloodied water flooded the camera’s view.

The tape cut to black.

                                                 - - - - - - - - - -

Dimentio kept true to his word.

After the three shakily exited the lab, composing one another despite their festering terror, they soon realized there was nothing to fear. Nothing else in the manor was amiss, and none of the ghosts reported any sightings of the jester.

As the hours passed that evening and the night turned to a clear sunny day, it was made very clear Dimentio’s intentions of giving his grief-stricken audience a break were truthful. He didn't attack, torment, send letters or parcels... It was almost as if he'd gone dormant, the cruel beast locked away for the time being.

Paranoia tore at their fragile subconscious, however, constantly reminding them they weren't safe and that he could strike at any time, to whisk them away to a horrific fate.

But, for now, everything was tranquil. Nothing was wrong. Everything was okay.

E. Gadd took it upon himself to ensure Luigi and his spouse felt happy and comfortable in Evershade Valley upon seeing how upset they were after the video incident. And despite the hesitation at first, the pair did stay.

E. Gadd put lots of work into sprucing up Gloomy Manor for his guests, dusting up cobwebs and fixing furniture with the help of various ghosts. Luigi and Peasley also helped despite E. Gadd’s protests, claiming this was his job, and that the two boys should just relax. But, they insisted they help, using it as an opportunity to distract themselves. Peasley decorated the main foyer and entrance with tens upon tens of yellow roses he’d collected, having been waiting for an opportunity to display them somewhere. He filled the large vases by the doors, telling Luigi that it’d be a nice thing to come home to.

Luigi was already quite familiar with the property from his ghost-hunting days, which made it easy for cleaning up. As they tidied up their new and hopefully permanent abode, Luigi seemed to recognize every nook and cranny, telling Peasley tales of his past adventures.

The stories helped to comfort Luigi, and having the ghosts assist in their efforts to clean certainly helped in making him feel better. The gesture turned something that was once terrifying seem familiar and comforting, much like how he’d been when first adopting Polterpup. The spectral pup himself seemed much happier living in Gloomy Manor, playing by their feet while his owners worked. He even tried to help in his own way, ripping up shreds of paper and curtains that were caked with dust or broken. 

As the days passed, Luigi adapted to the new setting as well.

Keeping his thoughts away from Dimentio, Luigi managed to calm himself down. He often mediated and read to himself in the library with Polterpup on his lap, left to calm himself down when his thoughts began to wander. Peasley would always accompany Luigi wherever he went to ensure his safety, helping whenever it was necessary.

Mario had even sent a letter to the manor, calming Luigi's growing anxieties tenfold. Luigi came to Peasley in jubilant tears one morning to show him the letter, written in Mario's own handwriting with bolded red ink.

’I'll be back soon, Weegie. I miss you a lot, and I'm sorry I haven't been there for you. As soon as I get there, we'll figure this out together. I'm on my way.’

Luigi knew Mario most likely didn't even know what had befallen upon them all. Not the full story, at least. Luigi didn't want to tell him everything. Not all at once.

Not about the Princess...

Luigi shook his head and pocketed the letter, continuing to try and distract himself with menial activities. Peasley did his very best to try and keep Luigi feeling secure and happy as the days passed by.

Luigi's panicked jitters and horrific nightmares began to subside as the days turned to a single month, leaving everyone in the manor and valley feeling much more at ease. The change was almost unprecedented, but no one objected or complained. E. Gadd was pleased to see Luigi's condition bettering, always offering him time to himself.

But, the professor did still request a weekly meeting with Luigi and Peasley to catch up on things in between vigorous lab work. He never saw the boys during the week and wanted the opportunity to see them once in awhile. Their meetings were fun and light-hearted, E. Gadd usually telling bad jokes over tea and snacks. 

Today’s meeting was quieter than usual though. E. Gadd had lost most of his eccentricities, now silent and twiddling his thumbs across from Peasley and Luigi.

"Now... boys,” E. Gadd began, sitting up as he held his hands together. “I know you two have been rather stressed, as of late. But, I wanted to ask you two something. It's just an idea, so hear me out."

Peasley and Luigi glanced up from their separate cups of tea, exchanging a glance. 

"What is it, professor?"

E. Gadd took a breath, and then began. "Earlier today I was in Toad Town, just looking for parts for my next big invention.” He grinned. “Which, might I add, will be quite the revolutionary project, something generations will be studying for years to c-...”

He paused, clearing his throat as he turned to Luigi and Peasley, both with puzzled expressions. 

“Ahem, sorry, got a bit off-track there. Anyhoo, I ran into an odd fellow on the streets. He was wearing the most peculiar outfit, a purple cloak draped over his head and a crystal ball in his arms. He stopped me, noticing I was looking rather pale, and asked if I needed any help. Now, my complexion is my business, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't the least bit shaken from... the incident, that happened a few weeks ago."

"But still,” he continued hastily. “I explained that, and I apologize for letting this slip without your consent, young fellers, but I informed him of your, uh, condition, right now. Rather fragile, the pair of you are. He explained he was a doctor. Lives in Toad Town, not far from here at all. 

“You both need to cope somehow, and I just thought it would be better if you two see a medical professional rather than just bottling it up yourselves. These talks are doing some good, I would hope, but there's not much I can do except offer some words of encouragement. I know not the slightest thing about how the mind works, only what makes gears turn and cogs spin.

“It’s only an idea, but he gave me his information if you two might be interested." He handed over a card he'd been keeping in his lab coat pocket, handing it over to Luigi. Luigi looked the small card over, tilting his head curiously.

It was labelled with the name ‘Dr. Toadley’ and gave the address to Toadley Clinic. The name sounded familiar to Luigi, but he didn’t exactly recall why.

”He said he mainly focuses on having one client at a time, just for an hour session. And he also told me your first session would be completely free. Just tell him I sent you. He seems like a nice-enough fellow, albeit a bit odd, but who isn’t a little odd nowadays?”

"Luigi, this sounds like a marvelous opportunity for you!” Peasley spoke up, setting his tea cup down.

”What? B-But, what about you? I don’t want to leave you alone!”

”I’ll be fine!” Peasley smiled. “Besides, someone’s gotta look after Polterpup while you’re out.”

Polterpup, who was licking up the crumbs that’d fallen to the ground, yipped and perked his head up upon hearing his name.

”I… I don’t know. I’ve been pretty okay, lately…? I don’t n-need-“

”Luigi, my boy, you need help. I’m no professional, but you’ve been out of it for several days these past few weeks. Seeing you cry breaks my old heart, son.”

”But… what if… h-he? While I’m walking to Toad Town, if-?”

”I’ll have some ghosts accompany you, my boy. No one will mess with you when they’re around. Hoho! They’ll be too scared outta their skin.”

”I… I…”

Peasley reached forward, grabbing Dr. Toadley’s card and slipping it back into Luigi’s hands. He held them comfortingly, smiling. “This will be a good break for you, darling. Try and tell him everything. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you.”

”But, I don’t want… I don’t want to remember...”

”I know it hurts. It hurts me every day to think about it too. But, you can’t keep it to yourself any longer. It’s going to hurt you so much more if you do.”

Luigi looked into Peasley’s concerned gaze for a moment before turning to glance at E. Gadd, who also nodded.

”O… Okay.”

                                                - - - - - - - - - -

“I-I’ll only be gone for an hour.” Luigi spoke shakily. “I’ll be in Toad Town…”

“I know, Luigi. Just an hour. You’ll be back before dark, right?”

“Yeah. A-And E. Gadd is just next door, if you need him, for whatever reason.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Y-Your sword! Do you have your sword on you? Just in case.”

“Yes, darling. I always have it on me.”

“Lock the door behind me, p-please.”

“I will, darling.” Peasley smiled. “Goodness, shouldn’t I be the one worried about YOU? It’s been quite awhile since we were last in Toad Town. You be careful out there, Luigi. Come back home safe. Stay close to the ghosts.”

Peasley gestured forward. A group of various ghosts stood just outside the door, a rather large Slammer right by Luigi’s side.

“Y-Yeah. I will. I just… I want you to be safe, Peasley...”

“Just try and calm down, my love. Clear your mind. Remember what Snoozemore taught you about deep breathing?”

“I… All Snoozemore reminds me of is… i-is...”

“I know, darling. You can tell Toadley about it. He’s the professional, I’m sure he’ll be able to help. Be sure to not spare any details. He won’t be able to help if you don’t tell him everything.”

Luigi nodded shakily, holding back tears. “Yeah…”

Peasley leaned forward and hugged Luigi tightly, trying to soothe his shivering. “It’ll be okay. Just try and calm down. I love you so much, Luigi. Be safe out there.”

Luigi nodded into Peasley’s shoulder, sniffling. Peasley leaned back and kissed Luigi on the nose, smiling.

“I love you.”

Luigi went to respond when he jolted at the abrupt sound of barking from behind Peasley, Luigi glancing up just in time to see Polterpup jumping up on his legs.

“O-Oh, hello, doggy…!” Luigi muttered as he bent down to pet Polterpup on the head. “I can’t play right now, I gotta go, boy... I’ll be back soon, though…!”

“Polterpup, stay in the house, please.” Peasley playfully chided as he pushed the spectral dog back. He picked him up, smiling. “Well, I suppose we can both see you off then?”

Luigi nodded slowly, turning and taking a deep breath. His ghostly companions led him down the porch steps toward the road. Glancing back, Luigi smiled as he made eye contact with Peasley again, who was still standing out on the porch.

“Bye, darling!” Peasley waved, blowing a kiss in Luigi’s direction. “See you later tonight!”

Peasley watched Luigi go until he was out of sight. He set Polterpup down on the ground of the manor’s entrance, letting the dog run off as he shut the front doors behind him.

Peasley exhaled before walking down the corridor from the entrance, going toward the main hall. He shivered slightly from a sudden cold draft of air through the windows, the suits of armor looming ominously along the walls certainly not helping with Peasley’s unease as he went.

Once in the main hall, he made his way toward the downstairs corridor, holding his sides as he went into the library. A fire was weakly crackling in the fireplace, coating the room in a warmth that easily relaxed Peasley’s anxious shivers. The gentle glow soothed him as he walked into the kitchen, entering from the side door off of the library.

He removed a package of coffee beans shipped to him from the Beanbean Kingdom from one of the cabinets, setting it down on the counter. He silently made himself a cup of coffee, only the sounds of the whirring machine and trickling liquid being there to accompany him.

He froze as he felt an abrupt wet sensation on his legs, turning around feverishly in panicked shock, only to be met with Polterpup sitting behind him. The ghastly dog tilted his head, panting as he sat and rubbed up against Peasley’s legs, licking them again.

”O-Oh, it’s just you. Hah, you scared me, little guy...”

Peasley smiled as he went to pet the dog before the beeping of the machine caught his attention, turning to pick up his cup.

He set off towards the library again, Polterpup trotting close behind him. He seated himself in one of the velvet lined chairs, almost hidden beneath stacks of books. He picked up one of them to read, skimming over the cover as he sat.

Peasley took a short sip of his freshly brewed coffee, exhaling. Polterpup barked from below him.

“What is it, boy?”

Polterpup whined, his puppy-dog eyes widening.

“What do you want?” Peasley laughed, pointing to his drink. “Do you want some coffee? Hah, just because Luigi isn’t here doesn’t mean you can have caffeine. I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

Polterpup yipped, playfully licking Peasley’s hand as he bent down to pet him. He then jumped up on the chair, squirming under Peasley’s arms before snuggling up against the prince’s chest.

Peasley ran a hand over Polterpup’s back, smiling. He leaned on his arm as he settled into his seat, setting down his cup on the table at his side. He picked up his book, opening it up and beginning to read.

The hour passed by slowly. Every minute, Peasley wanted nothing more than for Luigi to come back. The ticking of the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the room only heightened his anxiety. He tapped his foot anxiously.

Polterpup stirred at the trembling movement, glancing up at Peasley curiously.

“Did I wake you? Sorry, Polterpup. I’m just a bit worried. It’s almost been a little over an hour, and he’s not back…” Peasley bit his lip, setting his book down. “Do you think he’s alright?”

Polterpup whined in response, nuzzling his head into Peasley’s chest.

“M-Maybe we should go find him. It’s getting late, and I know how much he hates when it gets dark outside…” Peasley mused, lifting a hand to his cheek. “How about we go pick him up, together? How’s that sound, boy?” Peasley tried to relieve his thoughts by sounding optimistic, but it didn’t help much.

Polterpup yipped, jumping off of Peasley’s lap and nearly knocking over a stack of books as he ran toward the doors, clawing at the wood. Peasley pushed open the door, but Polterpup still phased through the walls and doors, the pup rather impatient.

“Hey, slow down! Not all of us can just go straight through walls, you know!” Peasley playfully scolded as he ran after Polterpup.

Entering the main hall, Peasley watched as Polterpup briefly waited for Peasley to ensure he was still following before immediately bolting through the doors leading to the entrance, barking loudly as he went.

“Polterpup!” Peasley called as he opened the doors to the corridor. The same cold draft of air hit him as he entered, squinting down the hall as he started toward the entrance.

Oddly enough, he couldn’t hear Polterpup anymore.

He stiffened upon hearing shuffling on the other side of the doors, pausing in his tracks.

“Luigi?” He questioned as he pushed open the doors, glancing around the entrance hall carefully as he walked in. “Luigi, is that you-?”

He froze.

“Ahahahaha! Look who finally decided to show up!”

Peasley could practically feel his heart stop at the sound of the now-familiar laughter. He stepped back instinctively, horrified at the smiling figure standing before him.

Dimentio stood dressed in his usual garb, a violet and yellow cape draped over his shoulders. The bells on his jester hat jingled as he moved his head, smiling eerily. His mask was almost completely fixed, but small pieces of it were still broken. The jester was holding a snarling Polterpup in his arms, the dog furiously trying to escape his hold, but Dimentio’s expression didn’t change.

“Ah, it’s always a pleasure to meet my hapless victims before the show. Especially you! Why, I feel as though we should’ve had this meeting ages ago.”

His smile only grew as he relished in Peasley’s absolute terror.

“Ahahaha! You almost look surprised, princey!”

Peasley refused to respond, merely keeping his distance.

“Don’t act so shocked, you had to have known this was coming. Even the most dense of imbeciles would have been able to guess I wouldn’t let Luigi’s darling husband just get out of this alive, right? Or perhaps that’s your foolishness at work again?” Dimentio laughed cruelly. “Mr. ‘Oh, he’ll leave us alone if we just wait it out!’, Mr. ‘Maybe he’ll just give up!’, how I am ever-so-pleased to meet your acquaintance at last!”

Polterpup growled in Dimentio’s hold, baring his teeth before chomping down on Dimentio’s hand. Dimentio released a shrill shriek, glaring at Polterpup.

Dimentio’s porcelain smile twisted into a frown. “Miserable creature...”

He snapped his fingers, Polterpup releasing a final growl and sharp yelp before he disappeared from sight, seemingly into thin air.

“Polterpup!” Peasley held back a horrified scream. “W-What did you just do-?!”

“Oh, the mutt’s fine! I just sent him off to my own little pocket dimension for a bit. I just got the place tidied up, after all.”

Peasley stepped back, trying to keep himself from shivering. He reached behind him, grabbing the door handle.

”Well, now that that distraction is out of the way…”

Dimentio held out a hand for Peasley to shake, to which Peasley responded by stepping back further.

”Oh, what? You’re not going to shake my hand? Too good for that, I suppose.” Dimentio scoffed, lowering his outstretched hand. “Fine. Be impolite then.”

Peasley ignored Dimentio as he reached to his side, moving to grab the hilt of his sword.

”No introductions will be necessary for me, I suppose. Surely you know who I am, and you must know exactly why I’m here. Why, you’re my next act, after all!”

”I-I’m not afraid of you, Dimentio.” Peasley spoke confidently.

”Ahaha… Now that’s a laugh! You can say that all you like, but it won’t change a thing. You’re uncontrollably shaking, like a leaf desperately clinging onto a tree during the coldest and foulest of winter days…”

Dimentio floated forward, hovering off the ground slightly. He moved fluidly, his mismatched eyes watching Peasley’s every movement as he leered at him. 

“I suppose you must be curious about what your role during my show may entail. I would just hate to spoil the surprise, but let’s just say it will be quite the show-stopper! Quite a fun welcome back from our short intermission.”

Dimentio suddenly appeared beside Peasley, teleporting to his left side and pushing him back into the middle of the entrance hall. Peasley broke his composure, having lost the grip on his sword.

“No, you won’t be the finale of my show, I’m sorry to say. And you won’t even be the first prince I’ve had onstage either! Aw, what a shame, indeed. I know how much that must hurt your egotistical heart, not being important at all to the program…” Dimentio mockingly pouted, running a finger down his mask to imitate a tear.

Dimentio hoisted Peasley to his feet, staring into his eyes.

“But, you’ll still be a marvelous addition… I’ve planned a very special trick for you.”

Peasley pulled himself out of Dimentio’s grip, stumbling away. He reached to the table along the wall, picking up one of the flower vases he’d put out. As soon as Dimentio lunged toward him again, Peasley slammed the vase over Dimentio’s head, the sound of glass shattering filling the otherwise silent entrance hall.

Dimentio clambered backward, reaching a hand up to his now-broken mask shakily. Black liquid spilt from the cracks onto his gloved hands, thick streams of pure jet-black fluid dripping down the white side of his mask.

Peasley staggered back momentarily before he turned on his heel and bolted away from the entrance hall, rushing out of sight as he dashed down the corridor.

“We’re playing rough, then…? Fine. I can deal with that…”

Dimentio wiped away at the black liquid trickling down his face, his cracked smile twitching.

“Let the games begin.”

                                               - - - - - - - - - -

“T-Thank you, again, Dr. Toadley, f-for everything.” Luigi’s meek voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

The meeting at the clinic had gone much better than he originally thought it would, feeling a sense of renewal fill his chest. It had gone a little longer than he would’ve liked, but the time spent further delving into ways to cope certainly helped.

”It's just been really hard to talk about that kinda stuff lately…”

“Are you feeling better now? Of course you are.” Toadley spoke quickly, brushing his hands off on his cloak. The blackened coat draped over his head concealed most of his features, but Luigi didn’t complain. Eye contact made him nervous. “Will I see you again? I assume so. My services have proven themselves formidable to you, correct?”

“Yes-”

“Of course I’m correct. Stop by the clinic at any time. My intern will see to it that you’re first in line for my services.”

“T-Thank you, Dr. Toadley.” Luigi smiled. “I-I really am feeling a lot better.”

“Happy to hear. Now, hurry on home.” Toadley spoke hastily. “Tell E. Gadd I said hello. And Luigi?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget our talk. You have an unseen potential. I foresee you doing great things.” 

“T-Thank you! And will do. I-I’ll probably see you later…!”

Luigi rushed out of Toadley Clinic to the waiting group of ghosts, a smile on his face. He waved goodbye to Dr. Toadley, who saw him off at the door.

The ghosts led their mortal companion back to Evershade Valley, chattering back and forth.

The doctor grinned as he watched Luigi go. But his smile was not his own.

He’d completed his assigned task.

For, what Luigi failed to notice upon his leaving, was the small green sprout curled around Toadley’s cranium.

                                               - - - - - - - - - -

Peasley ran without stopping.

He couldn’t breathe, his vision hazy with tears and his heart pounding in his ears. His skull rattled as he tried to compose himself, attempting to catch his breath. He couldn’t stop for anything.

Dimentio would catch him if he stopped.

Peasley pushed open the doors leading into the main hall, stopping in the middle of the room. His eyes feverishly darted around the space, trying to find the most optimal place to hide.

He turned on his heel as he heard the sharp sound of Dimentio whistling, bells jingling from the corridor behind him.

He quickly darted into the coatroom, hiding himself behind the safety of the closed door. He kept it open though, just by a crack, to keep watch on Dimentio should he come close. He secured a hand on his sword’s hilt.

The doors to the corridor were flung open, Dimentio floating into the middle of the main hall. He turned his head upwards, still holding a hand over his cracked mask as he did.

“Oooh, Peasley!” Dimentio’s sickly sweet voice crackled for a moment, calling out into the silent house excitedly. “Come out, come out, wherever you areee~!”

Peasley kept his hands clamped over his mouth, trying to keep his panicked breathing to a minimum.

Dimentio paused, glancing around, waltzing around the vicinity. Peasley watched his every movement, trying to steady his breathing as he dug his arms into his chest, as though that would stop his heart from beating so quickly.

The air was still.

Without warning or reason, Dimentio sharply turned his head to stare directly at Peasley, his single yellow eye glowing. 

From behind the crack in the door, Peasley nearly lost his breath when gasping out a horrified cry, pulling his sword out of the scabbard on his belt.

But, Dimentio didn’t approach him, instead going up the stairs to the second floor.

Peasley glanced down, allowing a sigh of relief to escape him as he crept out of the room upon Dimentio’s leaving. He tested the floorboards, the old wood creaking with each step he took. He huffed, bolting across the main hall to the corridor he’d entered from. He pulled on the handles, but the door had been locked. 

He panicked, rushing into the downstairs corridor on the other side of the room, shutting the door behind him and gulping down saliva as he anxiously tried to steady his breathing.

Peasley went into the nearest room, the door creaking with age as he did.

He went to cover his nose as he entered, shutting the door behind him.

Something smelt… awful. It was almost like something was on fire, but the lack of light from any such fire was clear as he was consumed by complete darkness as soon as the door shut behind him. He groped the wall for a light, unable to see anything in the pitch blackness.

He flicked what he thought to be a switch, turning on the lights overhead.

The sight that greeted him made him wish he’d hadn’t.

E. Gadd’s corpse sat in a wooden chair in the center of what had once been his laboratory, strapped down. His pale skin was charred and rotting, his head lowered, blood having spewed from his mouth. His glasses lay shattered on the ground at his feet.

Peasley screamed at the sight. The stench of burnt flesh assaulted Peasley’s senses as he staggered back, holding his hands over his mouth.

He stiffened as he heard someone moving in the hall just behind him, quickly shutting off the lights in the lab and crouching down behind an old machine.

Dimentio entered curiously, the light pouring in from the hallway being the only indication of his expression as he went into the lab.

“I know you’re in here…” Dimentio spoke in a sing-song tone. “Don’t try to hide from me...”

Peasley scooted toward the door that Dimentio had left open, trying to slip past his wandering gaze.

“You must’ve seen my little project. Hard to miss, isn’t it?” Dimentio laughed shortly. “I personally don’t think it’s my best work, but it’ll suffice. You should’ve heard the old man screaming! I’m quite shocked you didn’t actually… These walls are quite thin, you know.”

Peasley crawled towards the door on his hands and knees, trying to keep his sword from scraping on the ground.

He didn’t notice in the darkness, however, a small toolbox lying on the ground in front of his hands. He hit it as he tried passing, the clinking of metal making Dimentio spin around, chuckling.

“There you are~!”

Peasley screamed as Dimentio fired a star-like projectile toward him, blasting one of the machines in the lab to pieces. Peasley avoided the blast, coughing and darting out of the abandoned laboratory and running back into the main hall.

Only to run directly into Dimentio again.

Peasley screamed, glancing back over his shoulder feverishly.

“H-How did you-?!”

Peasley slipped past him, Dimentio watching Peasley as he dashed up the stairs, firing another projectile in his direction. Nearly tripping over several steps, Peasley quickly turned at the top, running into the upstairs corridor. He slammed the door behind him, locking it and barricading himself in.

“Yes, run as much as you like, but you won’t be able to escape!” Dimentio called, his playful voice echoing through the winding hallways of the mansion. 

Peasley couldn't help the tears from streaming down his face, hopelessly sobbing as he realized he was trapped. He was trapped in his own home with a psychotic jester who wanted nothing more than to steal him away for a twisted show of his own creation. 

He turned his head, running his hands through his hair anxiously as he tried to steady his breathing, nearly choking on his saliva as he gasped out in short breaths. Running further down the hall, he threw open the door to the bedroom he and Luigi were now sharing, shutting the door behind him. He breathed out choked sobs, guttural sounds of pain escaping his lips as he hugged himself.

He had never felt so powerless and alone. He could try jumping out of a window, but that would probably end in his death. He didn’t know what outcome he feared more.

Turning his attention back to the bedroom’s interior, he noticed Luigi’s pajamas strewn on the bed and the covers pulled back, the pair having not made their bed that morning. Today was supposed to be a lazy casual day.

Peasley blinked away tears, rushing over to the wooden vanity in the back of the room. He snatched up a piece of parchment that was lying atop it, having originally been meant for writing a letter back to his mother in the Beanbean Kingdom.

But, right now, all he could think about was Luigi. He had to make sure Luigi knew what had happened. He had to protect him.

He began to write, his hands shaking so much that his words were barely coherent, looking more like scribbles than anything else. 

An abrupt crash sounded from the hallway. Peasley bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming.

Terrified, Peasley crouched down with the letter clutched close to his chest. His eyes darted about the bedroom, looking for anywhere to hide, soon flattening himself against the ground and crawling under the bed. He curled his body up, hiding in the darkness amongst the musty floorboards. 

He breathed in short spurts, attempting to finish his letter despite not being able to see. The sliver of moonlight from the window was all he had, his words trembling and ugly, messily strewn about. Tears stained the paper, the words smudged.

He just hoped Luigi could somewhat read it. That’s all he needed.

He froze upon hearing more shuffling in the corridor, the door to the parlor in the next room over creaking open. He was getting closer.

Tears trickled down Peasley’s face onto the parchment, blurring the already almost incoherent words as he fought back the urge to start sobbing loudly at the thought that this would be his last interaction with Luigi, ever.

He would never see his homeland again. He would never see his mother. His friends. His husband.

Dimentio had already taken so many.

And he was next.

He buried his mouth in his hand, biting down on his skin to keep himself from making too much noise in fear that Dimentio might hear him. He still shivered, his heart pounding as tears continued to fall. He kept a hand held over the letter to ensure the inked words wouldn’t smudge anymore, but he couldn’t stop himself from crying.

He didn’t want to die.

He continued the message, signing his name shakily, his letters unreadable and his signature unsteady.

‘Luigi I love you so much

don’t let him take you. don’t let him find you.

please never forget how much I love you

please

peasley’

He suddenly froze, petrified in horror as he heard Dimentio’s voice.

“Still hiding, are we?”

He was in the bedroom.

Peasley glanced up, holding back tears and sniffles as Dimentio searched, looking into the closet and sifting through clothing. He stepped back.

“Not where I thought you’d be, then…” Dimentio chuckled. “Hmm, now if I were a stupid little naive prince… Where would I hide?”

Dimentio paused right beside Peasley’s hiding spot, having stopped floating as he lowered himself to the ground, just outside Peasley’s vision. The prince scooted backwards further, trembling. He was terrified that Dimentio might be able to hear his heart practically beating out of his chest.

“Well, let’s see. Not in the closet. He could be hiding under the bed… oh, but that’s the oldest trick in the book! Certainly, even the most dim-witted of fools wouldn’t be caught in such a place! That would be an embarrassment!” The smile on his face could be heard.

Dimentio stood still for a few moments, just inches away from Peasley. He held back a sob as Dimentio stepped toward him, humming a peppy tune.

“Ah, I could look, but it’s just a waste of energy!” Dimentio broke his sarcastic character for a moment, bursting into laughter. “No point in looking, I’m quite sure!”

Peasley came to the horrifying conclusion all at once.

Dimentio knew exactly where he was.

Minutes passed with only the accompaniment of Dimentio’s playful humming as he fiddled with the bells on his jester’s hat, almost as if he were waiting for something, bored.

Eventually, after several long minutes of painful silence and waiting, Dimentio finally moved, floating back toward the door. With a snap of his fingers, he teleported out of the room.

Peasley blinked, almost in disbelief, as he tried to steady his breathing. He waited for another minute before scooting out of his hiding place, careful as to not hit his head. He stood up, brushing himself off before he reached down and picked up his sword and the letter meant for Luigi.

He read over it one last time before he set it down on the bed atop Luigi’s pillow, holding back tears.

Turning on his heel, he threw open the door to the bedroom, intent on dashing back to the main entrance.

He wasn’t expecting to run directly into Dimentio’s chest upon exiting.

Peasley scrambled backward after he made contact with Dimentio, the jester forcing Peasley back as he loomed over him, his signature grin plastered on his face.

“S-Stay back! I’ll… I’ll kill you if you get one step closer to me!”

Dimentio didn’t listen, still moving toward Peasley.

Peasley inhaled, glancing down at his ever-trusted sword in his hand before he glanced back up, glaring at Dimentio. 

He lunged forward, plunging the sword directly into Dimentio’s abdomen. Dimentio glanced down at the sword stabbed through his chest, his smile turning to a frown.

Instead of bleeding out and dying, however, Dimentio simply disappeared from sight, leaving nothing behind.

Peasley dropped his sword by his side with a clang in disbelief, lifting a hand to his face.

He approached the spot that Dimentio had once stood, glancing around to see if there were any remains to speak of.

But there was nothing.

Dimentio was gone.

“W-What…”

Peasley yelped as he suddenly felt two cold hands press down on his shoulders. He froze in terror as he heard an eager laugh sound from behind him.

“Look at you, trying to play the hero again. Your attempts are almost as sad as your appearance.” Dimentio’s familiar voice spoke happily. “It was a fun game though. It’s always nice to play with my little mouse before I pounce upon it…”

“H-How...?”

“Oh, did you not know that I can make duplicates of myself? They’re virtually worthless, but they make for a spectacular illusion!” Dimentio chuckled darkly. “Nice try, princey, but I found you…”

Everything went black in Peasley’s vision, Dimentio’s laughter ringing in his ears.

                                              - - - - - - - - - -

“Peasley! I’m home!”

Luigi entered the main entrance of the manor confidently, striding into the open space with a smile on his face. He shut the doors behind him.

“You were right! That was actually really good for me… I can’t believe how much-”

Luigi froze.

Porcelain and glass lined the floor at his feet, roses littered across the ground in messily strewn displays. The doors to the main corridor were shoved open, ominously swaying on their hinges. Black splotches stained the carpet beneath him.

“P-Peasley?”

Polterpup hadn’t even rushed up to greet him yet, which was almost always guaranteed whenever he returned home from something.

“Polterpup? Doggy…?” 

Luigi felt lost. He was alone.

“Is… Is anyone here? H-Hello…?”

He didn’t want to think it, but he knew what had happened. He didn’t want to accept it.

His worst fears couldn’t have come true.

They couldn’t...

They couldn’t be gone.

#super mario bros #super paper mario #luigi #peasley #dimentio #prince peasley #daisy #e gadd #egadd #superstar saga #tw gore #my fics #writing #for your entertainment #happy friday the 13th #dont let a jester attack you in your house

[marshmallow-phd]

Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: Soon after your second birthday, your parents were killed and you were adopted by your father’s best friend, taken away to their home country where you lived your life in peaceful ignorance. As far a as you knew, your parents simply left you large fortune to be released to you once you reached your twenty-third birthday. At least, that’s all you thought you were inheriting. When a famously ruthless mafia boss discovers your existence, you are left at his mercy. While under his roof, you learn more about your father than you ever wished you had, including the part of your inheritance that made you the most valuable person in the underworld. Hidden in a bank in New York City were files that held the darkest secrets of the mafia families and everyone in their pocket. With another terrifying leader’s eyes trained on you, you’ll learn to watch your back… and guard your heart, before your father’s past becomes your doom.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I Final

**

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

Junko looked up from his tablet, but instead of answering the American driver he’d hired for your time in the states, he turned to you to translate. You were fortunate that Taegun had insisted on hiring a private tutor for you to learn English or else you might have been just as lost. Junko maybe understood four words in the common language here and you’d hoped to use that to your advantage.

Keeping up the appearance of being such a loving couple, Junko first allowed his own door to be opened by the guard that had been sitting up front, before taking the liberty of opening your door and helping you out onto the sidewalk. You still weren’t used to the Duchess Kate-like outfits that were being picked out for you, making the action a bit difficult. The thick, ridged heels clunked under you and the jackets were made from a thick material, making the use of your arms almost nonexistent. But you dealt with the demands and orders, knowing the time to rebel was not yet upon you.

Once inside the twenty-plus floor building, you followed the signs to the attorney’s office. He was located on the thirteenth floor, an ominous sign that made you a bit uneasy. You didn’t think most buildings had a thirteenth floor based on old superstitions with that particular number, but this one did nonetheless and you found yourself stepping out of the elevator and onto its beautifully polished wood floors where an equally polished young woman around your age was sitting behind the oversized front desk typing away at her computer.

“Excuse me,” you said quietly as you approached the desk. Junko’s guard stayed back near the elevator, just in case you try to run, you supposed. Thinking you would bother at this point was a ridiculous notion, but you kept your mouth shut about it.

The front secretary looked up at you, only putting on a smile when she took in both your companion and your clothing. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Martin,” you told her, trying to not let your nervousness be too apparent. Junko’s hand was resting on the small of your back, his thumb drumming a slow, restrained melody on your vertebrae.

“You must be….” The secretary rushed to pick up the desk phone, dialing a four digit number and waiting a few seconds before saying quickly, “She’s here, sir.” She hung up the phone and looked back up at you, gesturing to the side. “He’s ready for you. Go on ahead.”

“Thank you,” you nodded.

Rounding the front desk, you headed to the small hallway to the right and up to the only door. You didn’t bother knocking, just walking right into the office.

A man no older than late fifties in a crisp, dark gray suit with a striking blue tie sat behind a large dark fancy desk with intricate carvings in the corners and the trim. He was waiting for you, hands folded nicely in front of him and eyes trained on the door.

“Hello, Miss (y/n),” he greeted. His eyes drifted over to Junko by your side. “And you must be the husband.”

Junko looked down at you and waited for the translation. He nodded at Mr. Martin once he understood. The two of you sat down in the empty seats on the other side of the desk and let him start.

The lawyer cleared his throat and pulled a large envelope out of a drawer. “This is the part of your father’s will that was declared to remain sealed until you turned twenty-three.” He paused, his eyes softening as he kept your gaze. “Happy late birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.” There was no warmth in your reply. You couldn’t find any joy or appreciation for what this anniversary of your birth has brought upon you.

“Inside is the location of the bank holding your father’s most precious possessions,” Mr. Martin continued, “as well as instructions for when you arrive there. It should be fairly quick. Everything should be waiting for you.”

You frowned. “That’s it?” This seemed too easy. Too simple.

“Your father didn’t want it to be too complicated. He knew you’d be able to handle any snags that came your way.”

Did he now?

Did he imagine that any of what had happened to you in the past few months would occur? Did he know that your heart would be ripped away from you as soon as it was full? Did he know exactly what he had put you through all in the name of keeping those files safe?

Mr. Martin had called them your father’s most precious possessions. There was no doubt that he held them in high regard - higher than you certainly - and the steps he’d taken to keep them secret and safe was evident of that.

Your hand was shaking as you reached for the envelope. Junko’s eyes were on your fingers, following them all the way to your lap where you let the secrets rest for the time being.

“If you’ll let me, Miss (y/n),” Mr. Martin said, bringing your focus back to him, “I’d like to take you and your husband out to dinner before you leave New York. Maybe tell you a little more about your father.”

Your eyes flashed to Junko before you answered. “I’d like that very much. We’ll let you know if we’re able to.”

Mr. Martin nodded and then stood up from his chair. You and Junko did the same, letting Mr. Martin show you out of his office. The secretary watched with curious eyes as you rejoined the guard and waited for the elevator to come fetch you.

From arrival to departure, your whole trip to the lawyer’s office was less than ten minutes. It still felt odd to you that the meeting was so short, but you were also thankful for it. Your nerves were getting worse, churning your stomach to the point that you just might see what little food you had for breakfast again.

“Open it,” Junko ordered as soon as you all seated in the car outside again.

You obeyed, sliding the paper out slowly. Scanning the single page, you found the name of the bank that was holding the files. “It’s at The Bank of New York-Mellon. We’re to ask for President Woodard. He’ll take us straight to the old deposit box.”

“Good.” Junko nodded to the driver and you headed off.

Something else was in the envelope, small yet heavy. You let it fall out into your hand and you sighed. It was a key, no bigger than your pinky. Staring down at the key, you weighed it in your hand, contemplating. Since this morning, you’d been formulating a plan. You just hoped that you had courage and the opportunity to see it through.  

**

The Bank of New York-Mellon was located near Wall Street in a tall skyscraper that blended in perfectly with the city skyline. It towered over you in a bullying manner, mocking you. The banks back home weren’t like this. They didn’t feel like giant corporations that held all the power in their fists, keeping every secret just to turn on you when you least expected. Sure, all banks probably operated in similar ways, but any sense of friendliness or open arms was long gone from this particular bank’s pedigree.

The driver parked a block or so away at Junko’s orders, translated by you. Junko walked briskly beside you, pushing you forward towards the entrance while trying to avoid the others occupying the sidewalk.

Inside the building was buzzing with noise as customers sat at desks, pleading their cases as to why they should be granted loans or debated fees placed against their accounts. Others waited patiently (some not-so-patiently) in line for the tellers that were securely behind golden bars, separating them from potential robbers or angry patrons.

You weren’t sure where to go from here. How were you supposed to ask for the president of the bank like you were asking for an old teacher you once knew? You didn’t even know if he was still the president. A lot of things could have happened since those files were sealed twenty-one years ago. With no other choice but to just go for it, you held your head up high, feigning an air of confidence, and walked up to the customer service desk.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” the young man who stood behind the counter greeted cheerfully.

“I need to see President Woodard,” you stated.

The young man barely bit back a snort in time. Unexplainably, that laugh sparked a fire inside you. It was tiny and fleeting, but it existed and was growing. There was no way in hell that you were going to go through all the shit you’d been put through just to be stopped on the final lap by some punk kid who thought the president was untouchable.

“Is that funny to you?” you asked sternly, an eyebrow raised.

Your response made him back track. “Well, you see, President Woodard is very busy and-”

“Is something wrong here?”

A much more official looking man with round glasses and a finely pressed suit walked up and joined the conversation, eyes flashing back and forth between you and the other man. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back with a little too much gel, but you still felt that this was going to be a much easier avenue to take than the little ankle biter manning the counter now.

You smiled at the man. “I’m just trying to see President Woodard. He should be expecting me.” Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but you needed to keep up the fake confidence. If you faltered, they’d walk all over you and you’d be forced out with nothing.  

“And may I ask who he should be expecting?”

When you told the man your name, his eyes widened. So he, too, knew who you were? How many connections did your father have? How many people did he bully or pay off to hold this kind of shock over people at the mere mention of your last name?

“Please,” the man swallowed nervously, “wait here. I will go get President Woodard right away.” He disappeared through a door and you gave the young man a triumphant smile.

Slowly, your fake confidence was morphing into the real deal, even with Junko looming so close to you that when you swayed even a few centimeters you’d knock right into him.

A few minutes later, the man from before exited the elevator a few feet away along with a much older man wearing a suit that might have fit at some point, but was now just a little too big, receding white hair and a wrinkled face that gave you a warm look. You could only assume that this was President Woodard.

“My, Miss (l/n),” Woodard greeted you, holding his hand out for you to take. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. You look so much like your mother.” The cheerful gaze melted into a slightly fearful one when he looked over to Junko. He didn’t say anything in regards to your companion, just nodding silently to himself. “Well, Miss (l/n), I’ve kept everything safe for your arrival. It’s down in the vault with our other safe deposit boxes. I hope you were able to retrieve the key from Mr. Martin?”

You nodded, the key still securely in your hand.

“Good. If you’ll please follow me.”

Bypassing all the other people roaming around the lobby - some giving curious looks or outright staring at the president personally escorting a young couple through the bank - he led you down a wide marble staircase that turned sharply before depositing into a beautifully decorated waiting room with leather couches and matching chairs. The walls were green and gold with old landscape paintings hanging in thick, dark brown frames. A secretary behind a small desk pushed off to the side stood as soon as you became visible in the room.

President Woodard turned around to face you. “I’m sorry, but your husband will have to wait out here. It’s in your father’s will that you are to receive these files yourself. No one else may be present.”

Nervousness shot up as you looked to Junko, translating what President Woodard had said. You waited for the blow up, for the insistence that he see you all the way in and observe the transfer. But he surprised you.

While his face very clearly showed his annoyance, he simply sat down on one of the couches, crossed his legs and waved you to go ahead. President Woodard saw you in the rest of the way.

The vault - round, large, and exactly what you’d seen in all the movies - was already open and President Woodard helped you inside, stepping over the bottom of the vault. The inside of the vault was pure concrete, breaking out into two sections one either side while the money was kept in the main area. You were shown to the left, a much smaller room with a table and chair. Your escort walked over to the wall housing the larger boxes and pointed to the one labeled “1408”.

With an unsteady hand, you lifted the key and slid it into the lock without it catching once despite its age. It clicked softly when you turned it and President Woodard did the honors of sliding the box out of it’s home. He carried it over to the table and gestured for you to sit down. The box itself was nearly four feet long and sounded full when it hit the wooden surface.

“I’ll leave you alone now.” He bowed his head though that wasn’t the tradition in this country and exited the room.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted the lid, letting it fall back with a loud clang. What you found was exactly what you’d imagined. Thick files stacked neatly together, even alphabetized by the looks of the labels.

You removed your purse from your shoulder and laid it down next to the box on the table. Right in the front pocket, hidden within the small pouch of tissues, was a lighter. One of the guards was a heavy smoker and he had nearly half a dozen lighters lying around in case he had a sudden urge for another cigarette. This morning you’d managed to snatch one of those cheap plastic lighters without being caught when they’d left you alone to get dressed. It was pure luck that you hadn’t been found out yet. And now you were getting to use it.

A sense of victory coursed through your veins as you held that lighter up above the box and flicked the trigger, lighting up that little flame. For a few seconds, you watched it dance as if celebrating what you were about to do. You didn’t care about getting caught, you didn’t care about the consequences that awaited you. Only Junmyeon’s face occupied your thoughts.

Sighing one last time, you lowered the lighter. But just before you let the flame touch the paper, something silver and shiny buried under the files caught your eyes. Pushing them aside, you found an dusty flash drive as well as an old camcorder. A simple sticky note gave you the instructions to turn it on and press play. There was no way the battery could still be good, could it? You followed the instructions anyway and were surprised to find that the old relic still worked.

When you unfolded the side flap to see the screen and pressed the play button, you gasped. It was your father staring back at you, smiling and alive. You didn’t know how feel in this moment. Were you happy? Sad? Confusion seemed to be the dominating emotion.

“Hi, sweetheart,” your father’s recording greeted you. “If you’re watching this, then it seems I wasn’t able to keep the promise I made to you on the day you were born to always be around for you.” He sighed, looking down as if reflecting on his entire life until that very moment. “I’m not proud of everything that I’ve done, but I did it for you and your mother, so the two of you could have a good life.” He scoffed. “While I was climbing, I made friends and enemies with the wrong people. And for that, I’m sorry. Because if you’re watching this, that means one of them killed me. But I won’t go down without a fight. What you see before you are files, but they are not the real files. They’re fakes. Whoever is demanding these files or forcing you to hand them over, you give them these papers. All of the real information is located on the flashdrive. You keep that away from them. Only give it to someone you trust. Or throw it away. I trust you’ll do what’s best with that information. Whatever you do, do not hand it over to the Lees. They are never to get their hands on the real files. They are not your friends. If anything, they’re the reason I’m dead.”

There was a long pause and for a moment you thought that was the end of the video. But then your father added one last thing.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I do love you, sweetheart. I love you so much and I hope that you get to live the kind of life you want. I hope Taegun has taken good care of you and I hope you find yourself surrounded by others who love you as well. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, but maybe it was better this way. Ever since the day you were born, you’ve been my greatest gift, my most precious little girl. You always will be” He reached out to the camera and then the screen went black.

You just sat there, unsure of what to think or do. Should you cry? Should you just sigh and shrug it off. When he said that you were the most precious thing to him, you actually believed it. Strange, since this whole time you’d been sure that you were much lower on his list of priorities. But the look in his eye as he said those words changed your mind in an instant. He loved you. He really did. And with that love, he gave you the greatest gift he ever could have given you from beyond the grave.

Your father gave you a better out, a better plan than the one you’d been able to come up with. Feeling resurged, you kissed the camera and put it back into the safe deposit box. You hid the flash drive where the lighter had been before, it fitting perfectly in the small space. You tossed the key figure of your previous plan into the box as well before closing the lid and gathering up the fake files in your arms.

Junko’s face split into an wickedly cheerful grin when he saw you emerge from the vault with his prize. President Woodard looked more solemn.

“I’ve already taken care of the legal paperwork. All the funds are being transferred into your name and you should have access to the accounts within the next day or so.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go,” Junko demanded as he jumped up to his feet.

Walking out of the bank, you had a determination in your step that hadn’t been there before even when you were faking the confidence. You finally had the upper hand, for once in your life. You had the control and power, even if no one else knew it. This was no longer the mafia man’s world. It was yours and you were looking forward to your next step.

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo mafia au #exo mafia!au #junmyeon x reader #kim junmyeon #suho #exo gang au #exo gang!au #exo series #Sins of the Father

[witchyclispe]

Master of Balance

Posted on ao3 too! Check it out there!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412821/chapters/55004956

BLOOD AND MURDER WARNING! Please be cautious if those themes bother you!

Chapter Two 

Life is Short

The next few years would grow to be increasingly chaotic for the poor old mechanic . He had certainly not expected it would be so hard to raise another human being but damn had he been wrong. Although Ziorah was a fairly easy girl to raise , she was a very odd child. Always so curious and rambunctious. Percival loved her more than absolutely anything and would give anything to see that adorable little girl smile or hear her giggling.

Percival smiled looking into his living room to see his now 7 year old daughter playing with her "auntie 'thala" as she liked to call her. Arthala had helped him quite a bit with raising the small girl, often times watching her as he went to work out in the garage . Thought the sneaky thing would somehow get past the 7 foot beast of a woman to watch her father working on the old and brand new ships .

The old man was always happy to have Ziorah help him with his work and could see a great deal of mechanical potential in her , which filled him with so much pride you'd think the man might explode when she first completely repaired a set of blasters he kept lying around. The little girl was only 7 for God's sake!

When the little girl noticed her father in the room she jumped off of her aunties shoulders and ran over to him laughing and smiling " Daddy!!! Auntie 'thala brought me a gift!!" Bending down, he picked up Ziorah and let her settle in his arms. " Oh a gift? What was it my little moon?" , Percival asked with mild curiosity. "She brought me old parts! I can add them to my collection Dad!!", Ziorah said with the purest smile .

"Very cool my love. Did you thank your auntie?", " Uhuh! Then me and auntie started playing! She let me ride her shoulders! " she said pointing towards the woman who stood back in their living room.  " Zio is getting' fasta old man. We might need to start tyin' her down!", Arthala said with a loud laugh , placing her hands on her hips . "No! You'll never catch me auntie!" , the girl said climbing out of her adoptive fathers arms. "Alright alright you two, lets not start a race while we're inside , ok?" , Percival said with a chuckle.

" oh wait! Daddy, auntie! I want to show you a magic trick!" , Ziorah shouted tugging on the bottom of her father's shirt and pulling him into the living room. "Since when can you do magic little moon?" , the old man asked quizzically, sitting on his sofa as Arthala say next to him. "Since a few days ago! It happened when I was sleeping and I want to show you guys!", the 7 year old girl said very excitedly . "Well then show us Zio!" , Arthala exclaimed just as excitedly. Ziorah quickly nodded and stood in the middle of the room and shut her eyes tightly , raising her hands in front of her .

Slowly but surely the table that sat beside the couch started to rise into the air. The light and pens that had sat on top of it now floating with the small table. Percival's mouth opened to say something but he was too shocked to even speak . Arthala's mouth hung open in the same gesture of pure shock and bewilderment. Carefully Zio's eyes opened and she looked directly at the table as she brought it back to the ground .

Once everything had been placed back exactly where it had been , Ziorah dropped her arms and looked at the shocked expressions of her father and aunt. "See! I can do magic!", she said whilst her father found his voice again " Ziorah that… that was-" , "Amazin'! Fantastic!! Ya did great dear!" , Arthalas loud voice cut him off as she stood up to hug her niece, all the while Percival just looked at his daughter in awe .

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"Alright my little magician , time for bed .", Percival spoke picking up his half awake and yawning daughter. " Ok daddy. Night night auntie!" , Zio said waving to her aunt. Arthala smiled waving back to the sleepy little girl telling her to sleep well as Percival walked towards the small bedroom he had made for Ziorah just after he first took her in. Placing her down on the small bed , Percival helped to tuck her under the covers. "Daddy I heard the boy again today. " Ziorah spoke out as she sat back into her pillows . " oh? And what did he say today little moon?" , the old man asked as he sat on the side of his daughter's bed.

He had known about the voice Ziorah had been hearing since she could first understand what it was. He often would hear her talking to no one in the middle of the night though it often seemed only like a one sided conversation . She liked to call the voice "the boy " due to never knowing its real name and hating to just call it a voice. "It's a real person daddy i know it is. " she had once told him . To say Percival wanted to believe her would be a stretch . No one sane was known to hear voices and it worried him that she could , that was until today though.

"She's force sensitive Arthala! That's how she was able to move the table! I can't believe I never saw it until now! " , the old man said to his friend as he stood in the kitchen making dinner for the three of them. "Force sensitives are a rare thing now aren't they ,old man? I know ya believe in that mumbo jumbo but ya can't really think its real Perc." , Arthala said leaning on the counter top . "I was brought up believing in it . So was my father and his father before him! Force sensitives are known throughout the galaxy , 'Thala . Only certain people can even pick up on the force , and even fewer can control it! Don't you remember the stories of the Jedi Order? Luke Skywalker?!", Percival stated. He was excited yet scared for his adoptive daughter. Rysheladon wasn't exactly the best place for force users . If you were found to be connected to it they would either kill you, or use you as a slave to the royal family . It usually ended up being the first option due to how much the royal family hated force users of any kind.

Percival suddenly stopped what he was doing and turned towards his large friend and in a quiet yet stern tone he spoke to her. " We can't let anyone know of this Arthala. It could get her killed , I'd never be able to handle that. If anyone ever finds out she- she could be taken away and put into slavery….  'Thala that little girl means more to me than anything in the entire galaxy i-i cant let that happen." , the old man stuttered out . " I promise you Percival . That will never, never , happen to her. We will teach her to control it and not to suppress it so she will never accidentally hurt herself or someone else. " , at that Percival nodded . That evening a silent bond had been formed between them. No one would ever know of Ziorah's connection to the force except for them.

They would make damn sure of that .

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"The boy is always so nice daddy… I wish he could hear me like i hear him " , Ziorah said with a yawn as she laid down into her fluffy pillows . " I know my love. Maybe one day he'll hear you and you can both talk to each other. Maybe even face to face. " , Percival said kissing his daughters forehead and standing up from his spot beside her bed . "I hope he likes me…like i like him ." , he heard her say as he walked to the doorway . "I'm willing to bet he'll love you more than anything little moon. Now go to sleep so you can help me tomorrow in the shop . " , he said with a smile as he quietly turning off her small lamp light . " Alright daddy, i love you . " , " I love you too my little moon , sleep well. "  

As he shut the door to his daughters room, Percival sighed . As if it were a silent prayer, he whispered into the dark hallway , " oh force, please protect my daughter. Let her grow to be a beautiful young woman, she's already far smarter than I could ever  be, strong too . Let her always be strong ."

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Today would be a day of celebration, it would be the 11th birthday of a lovely little girl . Ziorah Casamorsa , adoptive daughter of the legendary mechanic Percival Casamorsa .

Percival was quickly preparing his home for the arrival of his daughter coming home from school and 'spiritual training' at her aunties. Even though in his old age he should definitely not be hanging streamers of stars around his living room, Percival didn't care one bit. Just because he's 72 doesn't mean he can't decorate for his baby girls birthday . Ziorah would be home soon with her aunt and he would wait to surprise her with the slightly deformed birthday cake he had made .

There was a loud knocking at his front door which almost startled him enough to make him fall off the small ladder he was standing on . " Guess they're really early today. " , he said to himself as he carefully stepped off of the ladder and walked over to the front door of his home . As he unlatched the lock and opened it his smile quickly fell from his face.

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" I'm so excited to see dad 'thala! He said he got a really cool new jet turbine that i could help him work on tonight!" , the 11 year old Ziorah said looking up to her aunt as she held her vastly larger hand . " I see little one , ya always like helpin' with those old ships. Ya got quite the talent for mechanic work Zio." , Athala smiled towards the little girl. " They aren't old! Just rustic Thala." , Ziorah said as they walked arrived to Percival's home .

The house , though very old looking, was nice . It was fairly small on the outside and all you could see was the large garage that could only hold about 10-20 small ships at a time. Some of them stationed outside and around the plot of land near the home. The house was colored in different shades of brown and blue . The door was made of metal to keep out what seemed like  the never ending cold weather that Rysheladon experienced . Though today something seemed very off at the house she grew up in, or at least it did to Ziorah.

Ziorah came to a complete stop and let go of her aunts hand, "Auntie, something is wrong. " , the little girl spoke out almost in a monotone voice . "What'dya mean dear? Nothin' looks wrong" , the beast of a woman said coming to a stop with her niece . Arthala crouched down beside Ziorah as the girl looked towards the house with an unreadable expression. Suddenly Ziorah ran towards the house, much faster than even Arthala could keep up with . Ziorah has only gotten faster as shes grown so  suprisingly outrunning her beast of an aunt was nothing to her .

The moment Ziorah came to stand at her front door and as she opened it she could almost feel the force leave her small body.

Blood.

So much blood.

Ziorahs eyes widen as she followed the path with her eyes to three figures standing over something. "Shit, we cut him too much now he's just going to bleed out.", one of the men said loud enough that Ziorah could hear it.

Arthala finally caught up to Ziorah and saw the horror of the 3 strangers standing over Percivals limp and bloody body. "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE!?" , Arthala all but roared to the three men now grabbing their attention. Arthala started to walk through the door when very suddenly everything inside the house and even outside the house started floating. Arthala could feel power radiating behind her .

As she looked back , she saw Ziorah with a stone cold expression upon her young face. Tear tracks down her cheeks that were red from the cold outside. Suddenly Arthala could hear gasps coming from the three strangers as she saw them being choked from some invisible hand .

"You hurt my daddy. " , Ziorahs almost dead voice said as she walked into the room looking at the men as they all were gasping for breath . " Zio no! Your powers! " , Arthala called out to her . " Little one let me handle them, please! Take care of your father!" , Arthala all but yelled to her niece .

The men all fell down as Ziorah heard her aunt call to her. Arthala , with quick movements, grabbed all three of the men and started to hold them down and cut off their breathing supply again . Zio hurried to her father's side , taking off her jackets to apply some sort of pressure to the wounds that littered his abdomen.

In a choked whisper, Percival spoke to his daughter ,"lit-little… m-moon… I-I am sorry…. To-t-to leave you… " . "Daddy please don't say that! Y-you'll be ok! I'll fix you! P-please dad!" , ziorah yelled to him, even more tears running down her cheeks . "M-my strong girl… m-my little g-girl… a-always be ...s-str-strong…." , the old man said as he laid his blood covered hand over top his daughters . With his last breath he said he loved her as the light was leaving his eyes. Ziorah broke down crying harder into her father's chest .

Arthala felt the pain and change in the force around them as Percival died. It had stopped her from choking one of the men for one a few seconds , but a few seconds was all he needed to pull the knife out of one of his pockets and stab Arthala in the chest. She roared in pain as he got the jump on her and turned to stab her many more times in the chest , nicking multiple organs until he was again being held up by his throat in the air .

" YOU KEEP HURTING MY FAMILY SO NOW YOU DIE." , Ziorah screamed.  There was a very loud crunching sound of bones being crushed as a strangled yell of pain came from the man who had just been stabbing her aunt. Once she had felt his force leave his body she knew he was dead and dropped his lifeless body to the blood soaked ground .

Next she moved her hand and bent the other 2 men's neck in a funny way. She felt their force leave them as she ran over to her aunt who was now bleeding out like her father. " Auntie you can't leave me too! Y-you can't!" , the little girl yelled to her aunt as she held her hands over the two major wounds that was on Arthala's stomach. "Z-Zio.. Ya w-will be fi-fine without me… l-like ya fa-father said.. y-ya are strong. B-but ya n-need to watch y-ya po-powers . Bad people.. Bad people could hurt ya i-if they k-knew…. " Arthala told the girl as she gasped for breath. "P-promise t-to keep t-them a s-secret little o-one…" , the beastly woman asked the shaking girl whose hands were now covered in a dark blue, almost purple blood. "I-i promise aunt 'thala… I p-promise.." , Ziorah stuttering slightly .

With that, Arthala smiled and closed her eyes as she gave out one last breath. Ziorah felt uncontrollable emotions seep through her . Everything that had just been suspended into the air now flew and hit any surface . Thinks shattering , lights flickering , and Windows exploding with the pain that Zio was feeling . The only family she had ever known was now dead . Crying until she couldn't cry anymore over the dead body of her aunt she realized something .

She was now alone and there was no one in the galaxy who could help her .

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The small girl sat had prepared a burial ritual that her aunt taught her. "Its meant to honor the ones who've passed , little one. " her auntie had told her.

The ritual was used for force users of old , those who lived to protect others in selflessness. The tribe had been taught these rituals and passed them down through generations, even though the ways of the force was extremely illegal on Rysheladon. Kathelenites were rumored to have been very spiritually strong and that the universe had granted them stronger force abilities than most normal force users. Thats why Ziorahs father wanted her to train with them, to help control the powers that grew so strong after such a short period of time.

The tribe which was called 'Sehashka' was all of Arthala's family, and they all treated Ziorah as one of their own . That included her father of course since he knew them all very well after years of friendship with Arthala. Percival often made tech to help conceal their homes that resided up high in Rysheladons famously tall trees. The tribe had created a village hidden from most of the civilians, they had built homes up as high as they could using rope bridges and other more technical methods with the help of Ziorahs fathers mechanical abilities.

Ziorah enjoyed climbing up the trees to train with the Kathelenites, she felt at home with them just like she did with her own father. They taught her about everything. Knowledge of the universe, and more importantly knowledge of her force abilities. She hoped that after the loss of one of their own, maybe there was a possibility she could hide with them since the officers would surely be looking for the culprit of those mens murder as well as her own family.

Ziorah would think more about that later though. A more important task was at hand.

She quietly trudged through the woods, picking up broken branches from around her home. In a large pile of twigs and branches laid the two wrapped up bodies of the two people Ziorah cared for most . One she had a good enough pile of wood, she walked towards a small patch of not yet bloomed flowers.

Focusing her energy solely on the small light purple and pale blue flowers , she out stretched her hand to lay just above them. Slowly the flowers bloomed and grew to be taller than where her hand hovered above the ground. She opened her emerald eyes and picked the flowers making her way back towards the pile of wood. Placing an equal amount of flowers over her father's and aunts heart before she backed away. She quickly lit a match and dropped it onto the pile of wood .

She sat for a while, just watching the fire grow and engulf the bodies of her loved ones. Tears falling down her now rosy cheeks from the cold elements. Ziorah just sat with her eyes closed in a sitting position , meditating. Arthala and her tribe of other kathelenites had taught her to meditate. It soothes the heart and brings peace to even the uneasiest of souls.

Ziorahs soul was definitely uneasy right now.

She just wanted to think of something happy . Anything that might make her saddened heart feel like it wasn't constricting with every breath. To take her mind off of all the pain she felt. Taking a deep breath she tried again to focus on meditating and not the events that had happened a few hours earlier. She was about to just give up and stop meditating when she heard someone. She heard the voice of someone she knew very well .

"Why are you crying?", a boy with shoulder length, almost pitch black hair . He was 11, the same age as Zio. His birthday even the same as hers.

Ziorah opened her tear filled eyes and looked to the young boy. He wasn't wearing any of the proper clothes to keep out the cold weather, in fact he was wearing a long sleeved , slightly baggy tunic. She tilted her head at the boy and wiped some of the tears off her cheeks when the boy continued to speak.

"I'm Ben.. Who are you?" , Ben stepped closer to Ziorah, only being a few feet away now. Ziorah looked towards Ben with a small smile, "I'm… I-I'm Ziorah...you're the boy I hear at night, aren't you?", she said, her voice slightly somber. She heard Ben gasp to himself as he sat down across from her, mimicking her cross-legged sitting position. "You're the girl… the girl I always hear…" , the look of shock on Ben's face soon grew to a smile . One so blinding that Ziorah felt her cheeks heat up .

"I've been hoping that the force would connect us for so long. I always listened to you when I trained with Master Luke. He thought I was just hearing things… I knew you weren't just a voice!", Ben sounded so happy that it was practically radiating off of him. This made Ziorah smile, tears that were still in her eyes falling over her cheeks. She was relieved that the boy was in fact real and not a figment of her childlike imagination.

Her tears caught Ben's attention, his happy smile changed into a look of concern. "Ziorah...Why are you so sad? You look like you've been crying for a while." , the boy said . Ziorah only gave a small smile and looked down to her shaking hands that she held in her lap. "Something happened… some...s-something bad. ", she whispered, almost too quietly for Ben to hear . "I.. I can feel your heartache… what happened? You can tell me… we're friends after-all, aren't we?" , Ben said moving his head so he could look up at Ziorah.

When their eyes connected it was as if the entire universe was blocked out. That sense of peace Ziorah was looking for earlier finally came. She could not only feel her heart and her emotions, but she could feel Ben's, and Ben could feel hers. As Ziorah looked up to see him better she noticed how close together they were, Ben must've noticed too since he slowly reached his right hand up to wipe away a few tears that she had shed.

As his hand touched her cheek it felt as if the nerves in his hand were tingling . Ziorah could feel it too, it was comforting. "You… you promise you won't be scared?", she said in a shaky voice , leaning into the feeling of his hand . "Promise.", Ben nodded with a small smile towards her.

"Today… 3 men came to my home… and they killed my family. And I… I-I got so angry… that I… choked them… killed them… I couldn't control my powers it was like something took control of me. " , she said not making eye contact with Ben , she was too afraid to see his reaction . She had known Ben her entire life but never seen or talked to him until today and what a day today was….

Ben ,with the same smile that he had before started to speak to her in a kind tone."They weren't good people Ziorah… and you couldn't control yourself. Sometimes I can't control the force and it'll make me do things I never meant to do. It takes time... and practice to control it. That's why I'm training to become a Jedi! To help protect people." Ziorah nodded and sniffled a little as she wiped away the remaining tears from her eyes. "Thank you , Ben. That makes me feel so much better..", she said. "Good. A smile suits you much better than tears.", he said laughing a little.  

That night she sat and smiled. Laughed her heart out until she forgot about the days events. T hough she would never truly forget, it was good to have a distraction.

The boy who could make her smile, and the girl who felt joy return to her soul.  

#kylo redemption #kylo ren x reader #ben solo #ben solo x reader #bendeption #reader insert #Fandom oc #star wars #star wars fandom #star wars the force awakens #star wars the last jedi #star wars tros #oc #oc story #oc storyline #oc info #star wars insert #star wars rewrite #jedi knight #jedi master #sith #sith lord #ziorah #ziorah casamorsa

[alternislatronemhq]

Congrats, EMMA, you have been accepted to AL for the role of ANDROMEDA TONKS (FC: Camilla Mendes). WOW, Emma, I was blown away by your application! Andromeda is such an incredible character in your hands and I am so excited to see her develop on the dash!! I’m so happy that you’re joining us! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist. Welcome home (once again), we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — Emma age — 24 pronouns — She/Her timezone — CST

any questions? — Is it okay if I make Nymphodora birthday November of 1973, so that Andromeda was 100% 18 years old when she got pregnant? Instead of her being 17 years old when she got pregnant and then giving birth at 18. I know it’s a minor detail, but I wanted to make sure it was alright.

IC Overview

name — Andromeda Ophelia Tonks (née Black) faceclaim — Camilla Mendes age — 31 ( April 14th 1955); Andromeda is an Aries. gender — Female

sexuality — Demisexual & Biromantic; For Andromeda, it is not about the gender of someone. What matters to her is the heart. However, the she never voiced her feelings as society had expected her to marry a pureblood man when she was younger. She may have had crushes at Hogwarts on both female and male students, but they were fleeting. She eventually found Ted and it was Ted’s warm personality that brought her to him.

patronus — Hippogriff; A proud and dangerous creature that sort of harkens back to Andromeda’s upbringing at first. She was taught to be a proud member of the Black family and develop proper skills, as well as etiquette was extremely important. Even now, Dromeda maintains a certain poise about her. Though, just as a hippogriff there is more than the danger and the properness. As the hippogriff, Andromeda is fiercely loyal and protective of the ones that she loves and have earned her trust. Andromeda would do anything to make sure that her husband and daughter are safe. Additionally, just as hippogriffs can grow to love former enemies and have their respect earned, Dromeda can too with time and understanding.

     The memory that first led to the corporal form of her patronus originally had been a memory of her braiding Cissa’s golden hair while telling her about a story she had read. However, that is no longer the memory that summons her patronus. The memory that now leds to the corporal form is the memory of seeing Ted hold Nymphodora for the first time.

boggart — Ted and Nymphodora killed by her sisters; This fear ties two things that were big for her together. Dromeda had lost her family when she had chosen her love over their ideals. It was a heartbreaking thing to deal with at such a young age and having no where to go. Ted and Nymphodora, along with Sirius, became her new and chosen family. Andromeda could not imagine losing them as it breaks her heart and she would do anything that she can to protect them. The thought of her lost family killing her new chosen one is almost too much to bear. It is this fear that causes her to be especially cautious with letting Narcissa back into her life. However, for now, she believes that Bellatrix would be the sister that she would have to worry about.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

+ Good-Hearted; A trait that one might have found hard to find in the household that she grew up in, especially when looking to her parents. She has a kindness and a compassion for others regardless of what their background is. As a healer, it is in her nature. While this trait was repressed in her younger years if expressed towards the wrong type of person, she is now more free flowing with her kindness. It still is something that she had to learn to be more okay with outwardly expressing.

+ Loyal; Fraternity is something that will always be important to Dromeda and she will always feel loyal to those that she feels it with such as her friends and family. Before she realized how wrong their ideals were, Andromeda had been fiercely loyal to her family. It had been to the point that she had ignored her cousin Sirius at first when finding out he was in Gryffindor and breaking the status quo for their family. It took better friends and better people to show her that her loyalty was misplaced and misguided back then. Now, her loyalty is with the people that deserve it such as her husband, daughter, friends, and cousin after she profusely apologized.

+ Ladylike; Since practically her birth this trait was instilled in her in order for her to become the perfect pureblood housewife. Trained from a young age, Andromeda had once been the perfect example of a lady. She was polished, proper, and polite in the necessary situations. The middle Black child has always held a very feminine beauty that is quite graceful and delicate. She knows the correct time to pause and to speak in proper company. As a proper woman, she is well educated in many things, such as fashion and culture. Andromeda always knows the right things to wear and how to act in high class situations. As a lady, she is accepting and tolerant of others. While she rejected a great deal of her family’s ideals, it does not change the posture of which she holds herself. She is charming when she needs to be and typically rather good at holding her calm when she is freaking out on the inside. That being said, when you see that she is no longer calm, it is a hint to how serious something might be.

+ Protective; When I say that Andromeda would do anything to keep Ted and Nymphodora safe, I truly mean it. She is a fiercely protective mother and wife that does put her family first. Dromeda knows that she is not always the perfect wife or mother, but she would do anything under the sun for those two. If it ever comes to it, she will fight her parents or sisters for them though it would be so disheartening for her to have to do. Her protectiveness does extend to her cousin and friends though it is not nearly as severe as her immediate family. She would do what she can to help and heal, but she would not risk her life as much as she would for her child.

- Stubborn; When Dromeda sets her mind to something, there really is no turning her away from it. She had always been this way since she as a kid. It was also why Narcissa’s letter when they were younger did not turn her away from her decision to be with Ted. Her stubbornness was certainly hard on her relationship with Ted at the beginning of their marriage because she wanted things done a certain way and had a difficult time with compromising. Even with good intentions, being obsinate can take its toll on those around her.

- Cunning; Something that ends to help that stubbornness in not having to rear its head is that good old Slytherin cunning. She knows how to get what she wants as long as the ends can justify the means. She will take advantage of opportunities, even if it means deceiving people at times. There are times when you may need to have a certain disregard for the rules in order to make sure that the end you had in mind is the one that is achieved.

- Unsure; Dromeda is troubled though she will not readily admit it. She has a hesitancy and cautiousness about plenty around her. This trait causes her to be slow to trusting others and that she something she certainly wishes that she can work on. As stated in her patronus, one must earn her loyalty though it is difficult. Not only that, but she is unsure about her decisions as a mother as well as with her family. She doesn’t ant to do that wrong thing. She wants to have Narcissa in her life again and she wants her daughter to know the love of an aunt… However, she is not entirely trusting of that situation just yet. Many times in her life, Andromeda has felt that there are many paths that she could take, but never was completely sure which one. Times that involve her family cause her to feel insecure and unconfident about her decisions because she wishes for those she cares about not to get hurt. For someone who usually has confidence in her decisions and simply not a great deal of trust in people, it is family that can shake her whether it be her chosen one or her previous one… There is a major reason she agreed that ti would be best to simply stay under the radar.

- Blunt; Having had to pretty up what she was saying to pureblood families for so long, Andromeda became rather blunt after leaving the Black family. If you need someone to give you an honest opinion, she will not try and hide it. Of course, she will voice it in the nicest manner possible. However, it will still be the straight-forward truth even if it hurts.

character biography —

      Not a star, but a whole galaxy was granted to the middle daughter of the Black family. Little did she know growing up that they gave her a galaxy in honor of her true parents. Andromeda was not born a Black though the way she held herself seems that she has always been such. Druella Black and Cygnus Black III adopted Andromeda before she was even a year old, so she knew no different life than the one that they provided for her. Though little was known about their death, her birth parents had the right friends obviously because Andromeda never wanted for anything growing and was never made to be an outsider among her sisters.

      Andromeda was a Black and she held her name with pride. The middle child was somewhere between Narcissa’s delicate grace and Bellatrix’s warrior spirit, but she did her best to keep that balance of strength and beauty. Following in the legacy of her older sister at Hogwarts, Andromeda did not disappoint. She held on to the ice queen mentality and borderline arrogance that you would expect from a woman holding the last name of Black. One of the areas she excelled in during her schooling was odd for a future wife of a follower of Voldemort; she was a healer. Yet, her parents easily dismissed the thought it could mean anything other than she will be a good wife one day. Druella insisted that due to the healing having been paired with exceptional skills for household charms that keep the house pristinely clean, a talent she had gotten from the woman herself, it was clear that Andromeda was going to be the perfect match to the pureblood they had her betrothed to.

     While her parents were determined to make sure she was set up for a perfect marriage that benefitted the family, that wasn’t something that Andromeda could see in her future. Anytime she went to a pureblood wedding, she was simply bored out of her mind and just wanted it to be over. Even during the receptions, she only danced with the pureblood boys because it was required of her and her parents were watching. She didn’t just want to be just a wife locked in a house. There had to be more than what they were expecting of her. Had these thoughts meant something was wrong with her? She was unsure. She just couldn’t imagine herself being trapped in a loveless marriage. Andromeda would never mention that; just as she would never directly tell her parents that being a wife and not working was not for her. Her greatest desire was for her to convince them to allow her to train more in healing, so she could actually do something of use instead of sitting around with the house elves and gossiping along with other pureblood women. Though her lack of desire to marry into a loveless pureblood relationship and her drive to work, she didn’t want to disappoint her parents and that’s why she kept the thoughts form them. They had provided so much for her throughout her entire life and cared about her. However, Andromeda had her own way around the arrangements that would-be set-in place that she didn’t approve of. She was a Slytherin after all… Though back then she was intelligent enough to understand that her preverbal clock is ticking on how long she can hold off her own marriage to some pureblood man, especially seeing that her older sister had been paired with one of her own.

     There is one other thing that she hasn’t mentioned to her parents that she knew would upset them more than anything related to marriage or working; Andromeda does not have the same values as she knew that they did.  She knew that she is supposed to hate muggleborns and halfbloods, but she cannot bring herself to. However, she will pretend to be distant towards any muggleborn to keep up the appearances and reputation that her family has worked so hard to create. Andromeda knew the risk if she were to bring her heart into things and mess up the reputation of the noble Blacks. The young witch had never wanted to risk losing her family. They mean the world to her… Though, there as a small issue. A muggleborn that she had met in her first year had grown on her throughout their time at Hogwarts. He was sweet, cute, and loyal. They were just friends, she swore. However, even their friendship had to remain a secret. Slowly, this Hufflepuff began to introduce her to more people that she never would have met should she had stuck in her pureblood bubble. Andromeda the once ice queen had started to melt. She made friends in secret at first, but they were friends that didn’t have a particular house or family. The freedom of it all was nice and though the rebellious part of it felt wrong. Andromeda felt as though she was keeping a secret and a part of herself away from her sisters, but she knew it was something that they wouldn’t accept.

     Fifth year… That Hufflepuff went from cute and sweet to something a bit more charming and hot. Andromeda felt her cheeks grow warm when he was near, and she couldn’t chase thoughts of him out of her mind. Her heart would race in both excitement, nervousness, and fear. She couldn’t admit that she liked someone like him. It wasn’t right even if he had weaseled his way into being her friend, the stupid honey badger. Andromeda tried to shake loose all feelings of him, and it was their fifth year that she as the coldest she ever was to him. Any secret studying was cancelled, she ignored any letters… Though, it didn’t matter because he didn’t give up on her as easily as she had wished for him to. It was an admission of his own teenage love that got her to talk to him again the end of their fifth year. That was when it happened. The typically cautious and reserved Andromeda Black said yes to dating the muggle-born wizard, Edward “Ted” Tonks.

    It was a secret that she had kept for the longest time. All of the summer before their sixth year, only their closest friends had known. Andromeda rehearsed ways that she would be able to convince her parents that he wasn’t one of the bad mudbloods and that he was a genuinely good guy. She wanted to explain to them that she could not help how endearing he is and if they met him then they would know how incredible he is too. Though anytime she felt her speech was going against what her parents believed, which was most of it, she questioned how effective it might be. Halfway through her sixth year was when everything blew up in her face. One of her sisters have heard her speaking in front of the mirror as she didn’t get a chance to before an owl was sent to her for a hidden relationship with a mudblood. Her parents typically wanted to send a howler but did not wish to expose what was going on to the public, as they were convinced that they could convince Andromeda that she was out of her right mind. They demanded she come home and speak with them. When she did, her speech that she rehearsed fell flat and sounded as though it questioned every single value that they had raised her to believe. Druella claimed she had clearly gone mad and Cygnus pointing out that Andromeda was ungrateful. The sixteen-year-old held tears in her eyes as she tried to defend what she was saying to her parents because she knew what she was saying was right. She knew that muggleborns and halfbloods were good people because she witnessed it. None of it mattered to them. Druella and Cygnus were embarrassed and wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Andromeda was kicked out of the house at sixteen. Her only crime was loving someone.

     That was when she received a letter from her younger sister, one that she immediately burned in a flurry of tears after reading. Words on the page that told her: a baby could be dealt with or left with the father. That her dating of Ted would not help her with being the most desirable, but there would still be a pureblood husband for her to take on… She wasn’t pregnant and she didn’t want to just be some good housewife. Her heart ached though because she wanted to respond so bad. She wanted to tell Narcissa that she loved her, missed her even though it hadn’t been that long. However, she also wanted to tell Narcissa about everything she learned. Her parents had been wrong. It didn’t mean that she wanted to leave them. It didn’t mean that she didn’t love them, but they had been oh so wrong. It was better to never reply. Replying would only hurt her more as she still yearned for her parents’ approval. She hadn’t meant to fall in love. She hadn’t meant to be rebellious. This moment was always something that Andromeda struggled with and something she always looks back on. Had there been a better way to handle it? Had she made the right decision?

    The rest of her six year, that summer, and holidays during her seventh year Andromeda was grateful to a friend that had taken her in. It was not one of her pureblood “friends” that she had known practically her entire life, but a friend she had made through having the open mind that Ted helped her have. The support of her newer friends and Ted didn’t change the year in a half being the hardest year that Andromeda had a Hogwarts. She was able to see Narcissa, but not be with her. She was ostracized from a great deal of her house. It was time for Andromeda to become an ice queen once more, but this time, it was towards those that once cherished her because of the Black family name. It was jarring to see how quickly all her pureblood friends and family had turned on her. Even thinking back on it can cause Andromeda to feel a tightness in her throat and her eyes to grow watery. There were a few times her seventh year that she thought about going back to her family and profusely apologizing to see if they would take her back, but that is something she kept to herself and never told anyone. Even at sixteen and seventeen, she even shakily knew that the values of her childhood were wrong… But it was so hard. Seeing Narcissa in the hallways, she wanted to run to her sister and hug her. Andromeda desperately tried to harden her heart.

     After graduation, Andromeda and Ted had moved in together. It was a rocky start and they couldn’t afford much, but she had found that he had been working the previous summer after she had been kicked out in order to give them a kick start and support them. Tears had been brought to her eyes when she realized that he was already giving so much to her. He wanted to give her a family and he wanted to be there for her. Of course, nothing was perfect their first year. They greatly struggled with finances, though his family tried to help them where they could. Andromeda’s life was still upside down. She had been once used to luxury and their place was rather dingy at best with not all the furniture that they might have wished. A mattress was in place of an extravagant bedframe. A couple cushions on the floor in place of a couch or dining room… Though that year was full of love and loyalty. Sure, there were disagreements between her and Ted though they always solved it before they went to bed. Andromeda learned not going to bed angry was a key to their strength in their relationship. During this time, they were saving up for both a better life and they wanted to save to support Andromeda’s dream of becoming a healer.

      It was that summer that they found out something rather unexpected. Andromeda was pregnant. Ted had originally wanted them to be able to live together a bit longer before getting married, but he was certainly planning on marrying her. The unexpected pregnancy at 18 was scary for the new couple, but they knew that they wanted to be the best parents that they could be. Andromeda’s dreams of training took a bit of a backseat. The couple worked together to save more money where they were able to get a small house and begin to furnish it in preparation for the baby that they were expecting. She was proud of their small cottage by the time their daughter was born. It was in this cottage that Ted and Andromeda resided while attempting to lay low during Voldemort’s reign. It was also in this cottage that Ted and Andromeda finally got married after Nymphodora was born. Of course, Andromeda made sure that her baby that was a few months old was dressed beautifully for the occasion that only a select few were invited to. It was hard as the war had already begun at the time and the Tonks’ stance on the matter was neutral. They had chosen not provide support for either side as they were not wanting to her family to be able to find them. It was her own self-preservation and for the protection of her daughter that she knew she would never regret this decision.

     During those years that she was lying low, Andromeda continued to put off her dreams of training to become a healer. Instead, she was a stay at home mom as Ted would work and provide for the family. It was something that in her Hogwarts years that she thought she wouldn’t enjoy, but for Nymphodora to be taken care of and to be safe was all that mattered for her. Those years held both extremely good and very scary memories for her. Seeing her daughter grow before her very eyes was something that she was extremely thankful for.  Those moments with her daughter are ones that she wouldn’t have traded for the entire world. Still, there were nightmares that would persist that would make her heart go still. A reoccurring dream that Bellatrix would take everything away from her because Andromeda betrayed their family. She would wake up crying with an ache in her heart. What would settle the thoughts would be to check on her beautiful baby girl that was already growing up so fast.

     In 1981, Voldemort’s reign ended and her older sister was carted off to Azkaban. It was the first time that Andromeda felt like she could actually breathe safely. Nyphadora was turning eight that year and now could have more freedoms in terms of play because Andromeda didn’t have to worry. At first, it felt odd that she didn’t have this fear looming over her. It was peaceful, nice. That first year was when she got encouraged to go back to following her dreams of having wanted to become a healer. Her daughter was three years out from going to Hogwarts and her husband had work of his own, so Andromeda finally began the steps to get trained as she had wanted so many years ago. Andromeda had been quick on her feet and the training to become a healer was rather smooth. Soon enough, she was working at St. Mungo’s. But also just as soon, she was sending Nymphodora off the Hogwarts for the first time. It was also during these years of peace that Narcissa reached out to her. Focusing on her family and her studies, Andromeda was admittedly cautious at first. She knew that Narcissa’s husband had been a Deatheater, as well as those words in the letter about sweeping a child with Ted under the rug when they were teenagers at Hogwarts were burned in her mind. However, that yearning for her family and to be close with her sister had not stopped after all the years and she decided that she would give Narcissa a chance. While she was slow to trust and she is not entirely sure where Narcissa’s head is at, she is thankful to have a relationship with her once more. What Andromeda hopes is that Narcissa will eventually be able to be a family figure in her daughter’s life, but for now she is still testing the waters.

     Andromeda enjoys her job at St. Mungo’s and is happy to care for everyone that she can. Having a teenage daughter is a bit more stressful than what she expected, and she wonders if even as a younger mother that could keep up with the best of them that she might get grey hairs prematurely. Still, Ted and Dromeda are doing their very best in raising her as they have always tried to. Though Dromeda has been noticing that the house is so quiet when Nymphodora is away at school. Her thoughts have been softly drifting to that of potentially having another child, especially during such a peaceful time as it would be a great deal easier on them. However, she has not exactly brought this idea up to her husband just yet. One thing that dampens the glow and Andromeda’s excitement of the peace is whispers that the Deatheaters may be on the move. She hopes that they are just rumors and nothing more. Bellatrix is still in Azkaban, is she not? So, hopefully, there is nothing to worry over.

plot ideas — 

+ Cissa; I definitely would love to see how the family dynamics work with Dromeda and Cissa now that they are both mothers and Narcissa had reached out to try and reconnect. I think there could be a push towards fun angst as it seems that the reaching out could have been more manipulative on Narcissa’s side and more genuine on Andromeda’s.

+ MOTHER OF A TEENAGER?! OH GOD; I think it could be fun getting into the fact that Andromeda’s daughter is now a teenager and that comes with dealing with all that teenage angst. It could be interesting for maybe mothers to ban together. Molly potentially being a good person to bond with this case as she has a bit of experience.

+ Empty Nest; Continuing on with the Nymphodora related plot ideas, I think it would be interesting to rp out Andromeda going through that whole empty nest feeling now that Nymphodora has been at Hogwarts for a couple years. It is possible that she is even feeling a little bit of baby fever as she sees some of the younger kids and misses when her daughter was that age.

+ Sirius-ly; Of course, I would love to plot and bond with Dromeda’s favorite cousin. I think that they could have cute and fun moments, especially ones where she is doting on how well he is doing with Harry.

+ A Slytherin’s Hufflepuff; Even through their ups and downs in marriage, I think that I ultimately would love soft fluff between Ted and Dromeda. It will be nice to see how no matter what their love always seems to win out.

+ Paging Dr. Tonks; I know she is a Healer and not a doctor, but stick with me. Lol. I think with this, I would like to explore the different kinds of people that she heals, and it can be open to really anyone in the rp.

+ You Picked HIM over ME?!; Another plot/connection that could be fun is a pureblood and potentially a death eater that Andromeda was betrothed to for a certain period of time before she fully picked to be with Ted.

+ Lighthouse in the Storm; I would love there to be a female character that their family took her in during the second half of her sixth year and the summer before her seventh year.

extra —

-          handwriting — She almost always writes in perfect cursive. Andromeda was taught to write cursive at a young age and very much perfected it to a t. The rare occasions that she doesn’t write in cursive, her handwriting is quite bubbly and curly almost mimicking her cursive writing. Not to mention most of her I’s are dotted with a star.

-          doodling — Dromeda doodles on all of her papers and had when she was at Hogwarts as well. She feels like when she is drawing that it helps exercise her brain. Whether the doodle is an organized drawing or random scribbles, she finds it improves her ability to focus and gives her good thoughts.

-          painful memories — Andromeda always keeps a locket around her neck. In the locket, is a picture of her and her sisters from when they were kids. Andromeda had been given this locket when she was ten and the picture had always been the same. Even after everything, she didn’t see it as right to take the picture out of the necklace. While she still doesn’t agree with them, she sometimes finds herself occasionally opening the locket and remembering how they used to be. It’s not uncommon to find her absent-mindly twirling the necklace. She has never shown her husband or her daughter what is in the necklace as it is deeply personal to her.

-          nail bitter — When she is nervous about work, Andromeda tends to bit her nails. She does not know how to habit started and does not do it often. People at St. Mungo’s know when she gets to stressed because her long and beautiful nails become a lot shorter

-          amortentia —

Water Mint: The smell of water mints reminds her of nature. The river that ran past her home had water mint plants running along its banks. While she was not supposed to be dirtying her dress in the wilderness, she still snuck off sometimes.

Unknown Smell: There is one smell of her amortentia is unidentified. Later in life, she realizes it is the smell of Ted’s aftershave. When she first realized this, she had not believed it. However, as their love developed, she fully realized why the smell of him is in her amortentia.

Old Books: It might not be believable, but Andromeda had enjoyed studying. The library was her quiet place where she can find her sanctuary to study the subjects that she enjoys very much. One day, she wants to have a small library in their home.

Crunchies: Crunchies became Dromeda’s favorite candy when introduced to her by a muggleborn friend. To her, it is the perfect combination of honey and chocolate that is absolutely divine. It even smells good on its own.

#harry potter rp #hp rp #marauders era rp #marauders rp #al:accepted #andromeda tonks

[scentedbygunpowder]

Moms Made Fullmetal Week, 2019 Day 1: Fear/Hope/Is this real? Word Count: 2395 Author: Katie/Ally (scentedbygunpowder) Rating: PG Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Edward Elric; Mentions of/Minor Characters Alphonse Elric, Roy Mustang, and Alex Armstrong Summary: Lots of things inspire fear, hope, and astoundment. But nothing has ever done it more to Riza Hawkeye then the two boys she’s adopted in her heart and watching them on The Promised Day.

~*~

Fear/Hope/Is This Real?

This day had been a day full of more than she had ever imagined. Yes, Riza had known that taking down the corrupt generals and stopping The Promised Day was going to be difficult. She thought she had been prepared. Focused, ready, stoic. It had gone off perfectly at first. Going just the way they wanted, even better than they had expected.

Then they had discovered the white monsters and that had certainly changed things. But even those were quickly dealt with thanks to the Colonel, and she had taken that moment of fear—for all soldiers felt fear. It was a motivator if nothing else—and sat it to the side once the situation had been dealt with. It was time to move onto the next task.

Too bad Envy had come along and practically destroyed the Colonel. Oh, yes, the Colonel had destroyed the homunculus too, but the shapeshifter had almost taken Roy Mustang—the person of Roy Mustang, who Roy Mustang was--with him, and Riza’s fear had been very real at that time. She had thought that nothing else could match her fear at that moment—fear that had caused even her steady hands to shake.

How wrong she had been.

Her neck had been sliced open and she had nearly had to watch the man she loved either commit the ultimate sin or watch her die, except for Mei’s welcome interference. Then she had watched him being taken away from her, watched him disappear, found him again, albeit blind, and joined a fight even barely able to stand herself as they faced down a god-like individual (as those were the only words she could think of to describe him).

And still it wasn’t the greatest fear she had faced that day.

No, that had been when she had watched Edward disappear before her eyes.

Later she would question why no one stopped him. Why no one had decided to step in and say no at that moment, as they watched him scratch out a circle to get his brother back. She questioned why she didn’t. She was no alchemist, but she had been around them all her life. She knew what that was. She knew what he was drawing.

And yet she did nothing.

Perhaps it was because his own father was there. Perhaps it was because she had come to trust the young boy. Perhaps because it was because she was afraid of what he would say or do if she did. Perhaps it was because she felt it wasn’t her place, even though she had felt these maternal feelings for both boys for years. She had known them since they were twelve and eleven, respectively. She had watched them grow, listened to them, advised them, even held them at times. She knew she could never replace their mother, and she would never presume to do so, but she had come to care for them as if they were her own children. She never said it out loud, but it was true nonetheless.

She had watched one of her sons give his life in the this fight today—give his soul. She was afraid she was about to lose the other too.

As she watched Edward proclaim that this was going to be his last transmutation and clap his hands together fear clawed at her throat more then had happened at any other time during the day. This fear was bigger than watching Mustang loose his sanity, than nearly dying, than all the combat she had ever seen. It crawled into her throat and for a moment she swayed, and she knew it wasn’t from the blood loss, but the fear.

Edward had disappeared.

She wanted to call out his name, to move forward towards where he was, to demand he come back, but her fear was so great that she couldn’t. It froze her in place. He was gone. He wouldn’t come back. She had lost both of her boys in one day. She had nearly died, the man she loved was blind, and she had lost both her boys. The fear of that being true drove her to her hands and knees, and she heard Major Armstrong behind her start, moving towards her. She could hear Roy’s voice asking if she was alright. Both sounded muted, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of her perception or because of the situation, but it didn’t matter. Fear was overriding everything else as she waited for Edward to return and prayed (although after today, she honestly had no idea who to) for his safe return.

She was just giving up the last of her hope when light flared, and her head snapped up, ignoring the swimming that motion put her head into. She ignored the strong hand of the Major at her back and the hand of her Colonel on her shoulder. Something was happening at the center of the circle Edward had made, and something no one else had done. It hadn’t been touched or activated by anyone and hope flared in her surged up and she clung to it. The light was bright, as all alchemy lights tended to be, but she didn’t look away, hope filling her as she saw something forming from seemingly nothing in the middle of the circle—Edward, bruised, beaten, but smiling, holding a thin figure with long matching hair that wasn’t conscious. She knew who it was, just because of the way Edward was smiling. It was Alphonese. It had to be.

It had to be, and she wasn’t going to accept anything else for an answer. Could he have really done it? Had Edward actually found a way to restore his brother without taking a single life? Was this real? Her hope flared up, nearly overtaking her, and she forced herself to go upright.

“Lieutenant! What’s going on!”

Mustang’s voice broke through to her, finally, and she laughed.

“He did it!” she said. “Ed did it! He brought Alphonse back—His body and his soul! It’s all restored!”

Mustang’s hand was still on her shoulder, and she reached for it, pulling him closer, and then pulling him along with her as she forced her way through the crowd to the two boys, smiling widely, something almost no one had ever seen from the stoic Lieutenant. But considering what had just happened, no one seemed to think it was odd. She walked right up to the boys, pulling Mustang along behind her. Edward looking up at their approach. He was as he was when he left, injuries and all, but Alphonse did not look like a suit of armor, obviously. In fact, he had nothing on, no clothes to cover him.

“Colonel, give me your coat,” she demanded of him.

He did it without question, and on shaking legs she took it and moved closer to the boys, spreading it out over Alphonse, covering him and hopefully keeping his painfully thin body warm.

“Lieutenant,” Edward said. “I…”

Riza shook her head, reaching out to the both of them, smoothing their hair back, first Ed, then Al. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, and her hand was shaking as she spoke. “I’m so proud of you. You did it, Edward. You got his body back. You accomplished your mission. I’m so proud of you.”

Edward was blushing slightly, looking at a loss for words, and his face blurred before her eyes. Was she crying? Well, she wouldn’t be surprised if she was. Her hope for these two boys to finally, finally, be able to carry on a normal life was restored, and it was a day to be emotional. How could this be real? How could all of this be real? It was astounding and she was filled with joy.

“Lieutenant?”

Something in his voice sounded off, and she looked to see if maybe it was Alphonse, if maybe he had awoken and his voice sounded different out of the armor. But he was still lying still and unconscious.

And then—she wasn’t sure—but there seemed to be alarm on his face, and she felt a little guilty because she hadn’t meant to upset him, but her brain was stuck in a loop of “Is this real?” and “I’m so proud.” But something was different, and she remembered thinking “Is this real? Do I have my two boys back, safe and whole?” before, for some reason, it was hard to hold onto thoughts and they all slipped away. She thought she heard alarmed voices, but she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that everything was starting to seem like a dream, and she was sure she asked at least one person “Is this real?”

She remembered waking long enough to talk to Rebecca, although she didn’t remember what the conversation was, and to ask someone about Alphonse and Edward before she faded out again. There were small bits of conversation like that, ones that she couldn’t be sure later were real or not, before she finally woke with her brain settled. Most of them seemed to be centered on checking in on her two boys, but she was never completely sure if she heard that correct answers or not.

However, now she woke completely, her mind caught up with her body. She blinked for a moment, taking in her surroundings. She was in a bed, bandages tight around her neck, and IV with blood in it going into her arm. The room was dark, with only the moonlight coming through the window and the soft light creeping in around the doorframe where she could also hear soft footsteps and conversations. She went to look around, but stopped with a soft gasp as the motion of turning pulled at her neck. Almost immediately there was movement from across the room, and a figure got up, walking over towards her. It took her a moment to recognize him in the dark, but she gave Edward a dim, tired smile in the dark.

“Is this real?” she asked him, her own voice soft, tired. “Did—did it really happen? Did you bring Al’s body back?”

“Don’t talk too much, Lieutenant. The doctors are concerned about your wounds breaking open again.” He said. “You scared us when you passed out earlier. When I learned what happened, I don’t know how you were even staying on your feet.”

“Stubbornness,” she said with a wry smile, and Edward laughed in response.

Still, he looked down at her and answered her question. “Yeah, it’s real, Lieutenant. Al woke up not long after you and the Colonel were spirited away to the medical tents. He’s himself alright. Body and soul.” Edward was grinning at her. “You have no idea how happy I am to have him back.”

She reached for his hand, and he obliged her, willingly. She squeezed it. “I was so scared that I’d lost both of you, Edward, when you disappeared into that transmutation circle. The thought of losing one of you was hard enough, but both…”

His eyes looked a little troubled, and he started to hush her again. “Lieutenant, you really shouldn’t be—“

“Let me finish, please,” she said. “It’s important.” He was quiet, and she continued. “Through everything else that we had been through today,” was it even still the same day? Well, he’d know what she meant. “I was more afraid when you disappeared then through all of the rest of it.” She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. “And then, when you reappeared with another body, I hoped so badly for you that it had worked.” She gave him another tired smile. “All I wondered was if it was real, while knowing I was so proud of you. And I am. I always will be.”

There was something in the back of Ed’s eyes, an emotion that Riza was too tired to try to name, to worn to find the words for, although it was soft, and she knew that there was love in it. He smiled softly at her, and reached out, smoothing her hair down much as she had done to him earlier, their positions reversed. His hand squeezed hers. “Lieu—Hawkeye. That… that means a lot to me. I know it will to Al too, when he wakes up. Believe it or not, we have wanted to do you proud over these years. You and the Colonel both. Thank you for saying it.”

She smiled at him, and opened her mouth to say more, although she felt a twinge in her neck and winced. Edward noticed, of course, and shook his head, pulling up a chair to her bedside. “Al’s right over there,” he said nodding in the direction he had come from, “And the Colonel is in here too,” he gestured back behind him, where a curtain was drawn. The rooms are pretty full right now, so this is going to have to work. But listen, you don’t say anything else, okay? Just rest.” He still had her hand. “I’ll watch over you while you sleep. I can’t sleep anyway—my brain’s on overload. I promise I’ll go to bed the moment I feel tired, alright? Or if there’s any pain or anything. I’m find, alright? I just need to know that you’re okay too. So you just rest now.”

He was lying to her, to some extent. She could see how tired he was and how much his body, at least, needed rest. But she also knew alchemists. If their brains were running and wouldn’t stop, then they weren’t going to sleep, no matter their physical condition. Besides, she understood the need to make sure that someone you cared about was okay. She was doing that now, with Edward, and as soon as she could, she would be making sure that Alphonse was alright too.

And so, with one last smile at him, she closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep. It was unspoken between them, and likely always would be, but they both knew it: He and Al were her sons, and she was a mother to them. It didn’t have to be said. Riza could feel it as she drifted off to sleep, holding onto Edward’s warm right hand and slipped into a restful slumber, knowing that both her sons were safe at long last.

#moms-made-fullmetal-2k19 #fic #fanfiction #fma fanfiction #Mama Hawk #writing #my writing #Yes I did all three themes? #Why? #Because it seemed like a good challenge! #You tell me if I did a good job or not! #riza hawkeye #edward elric

[ask-alaska-and-hawaii]

TV Tropes: Alaska

Acting Your Intellectual Age: He has the looks of a first-grader but the mind of a seasoned mountaineer and has no interest in connecting with children that look his age. However, this could just be because he has no interest in connecting with anyone outside his ‘pack’ after what happened last time.

Adorkable: Has his moments, such as when he’s gushing about dogs. He really loves dogs.

The Alcoholic: Being Alaska, Alaska has a love for the sauce, especially salmon vodka. This usually leads him to pass out by the end. 

Animal Motif: Dogs and wolves obviously. Specifically Alaskan Malamutes and Siberian Huskies for the former and Arctic Wolves for the latter.

Badass Bookworm: Loves to read but is a natural survivalist and gunslinger.

Berserk Button: For your safety, do not mention Russia or Texas within ten feet of him. Also, don’t call him small.

Big Brother Instinct: To Hawaii and by extension the other states if they are threatened as he does genuinely care about all of them even if they do think he’s rather odd.

Big Brother Mentor: Also to Hawaii by sharing his experiences to teach her that the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. She, however, hasn’t taken on his nihilism and still believes in the best in people.

Big Eater: Given that he smokes marijuana, is a state, and is stress eater this is no big shocker.

Blue-and-Orange Morality: Being raised by wolves, Alaska has a mindset closer to animals than humans. For one Alaska, cares nothing for morality besides protecting his ‘pack’ (America and the other states) and judges things like disloyalty and irresponsibility far more harshly than someone being outright malicious. He also thinks that politicians need to start fighting to the death for their position. Literally. (This also could just be because he just hates politicians since they often lie to gain people’s favor)

Broken Bird: After so many years of tragedy and isolation, Alaska is understandably rather cynical.

Break the Cutie: See ‘Dark and Troubled Past’.

Brooding Boy, Gentle Girl: A platonic version but he is the brooding boy to Hawaii’s gentle girl. 

Brutal Honesty: Everyone agrees that Alaska is probably the most honest of the states, however, his honesty is usually extremely impolite to which he just says ‘I say the truth, it’s their fault if they can’t accept’.

Byronic Hero: Alaska is snarky, stoic, stubborn, excessively cynical but is passionate about his beliefs and has a soft spot for the environment and its creatures.

Celibate Hero: While not asexual, he has little interest in ever having sex and it’s not just because he looks six.

Color Motif: White and gray.

Comically Serious: He does not understand jokes so he will often take these at face value.  

Crazy-Prepared: Winter’s in his state are intense, so he leaves nothing to chance. 

Dark and Troubled Past: Imagine being locked into the form of a baby, abandoned by the people who were supposed to love and protect you, find a new family in wolves only for them to be killed leaving you to survive on your own while looking a like a toddler. When you finally found someone they also die leaving you to want to curl up and die and then be adopted again but seen as odd by your adopted siblings. Yeah, Alaska having depression and anxiety makes a lot of sense.

Deadpan Snarker: Usually this, especially when at states meeting or when he’s answering asks.

Defrosting Ice Queen: Alaska is not an easy person to get along with and can be extremely rude and sarcastic especially to ask blogs that star Texas, however, it is possible for him to warm up to some people outside his family like Dave (@alaska-ask-blog-aph) or at the very least learns the ability to bite his tongue.

Emotionless Boy: Most of the time, he is extremely stoic due to the fact that when he does express emotion, he can come off as rather intense.

Everyone Has Standards: He has a strange morality, however he is openly disgusted by ‘people’ who would rip away children’s innocence.

Foil: To Hawaii. They are both disconnected states and the child of a Native mother and Caucasian parent with trauma happening to them at very young ages which caused them to act the way they do, with Alaska being very stern and no-nonsense while Hawaii is energetic and enjoys making people smile.

Friendless Background: Because of his inability to relate to children his physical age and his autism causing him panic attacks whenever he is in close proximity to others, he has very few friends other than Hawaii. 

Friend to All Children: Zigzagged. He doesn’t connect with older children very well but he does have a soft spot for toddlers and babies and even makes an attempt to be openly kind to them. He also considers the worst people the ones who would purposefully steal their innocence and wouldn’t hesitate to pull his gun on such people.

Friend to All Living Things: Hey, I said humans, I never said anything about animals but yes he does love animals particularly dogs, wolves, and eagles.

Good is Not Nice: Not nice is an understatement. He has a strange moral code, is rather rude to new people, and mainly keeps to himself but if someone dares and tries to hurt his little sister or anyone in his family, they better start running.

Guilt Complex: Blames himself for what happened to his crush.

Hates Being Touched: The only one who he will willingly let touch him, much less hug him, is Hawaii. Other than not, hands-off.

Hates Their Parent: Openly refers to Russia as ‘a sperm donor’. And that’s when he’s being nice.

The Hermit: Lives like this whenever he’s at home in his state.  

Hidden Depths: 

Instead of hockey as one would think, he enjoys figure skating and is actually pretty good.

Not shown on the blog, yet but he actually enjoys the company of toddlers like Nunavut as they are far less complicated than people who are older.

He also enjoys writing and even creates stories in his free time. He also uses it along with his personal journal as a form of therapy for himself.

Huge Guy, Tiny Girl: Brother/Sister version. Alaska is the huge guy to Hawaii’s tiny girl, especially once they’re older where he’ll be at 5′11 to 6′0 to Hawaii’s 5′3. Justified as Alaska is one-fifth the size of the lower 48 and is larger than Montana, California, Texas COMBINED.

Human Mom, Non-Human Dad: While his biological father is Russia, his mother was a normal Yup'ik woman named Uki.  

Hypocrite: Alaska calls Russia a ‘cruel, crazy manchild’  when he openly calls for the deaths of anyone who betrays their country. He also wants Hawaii to seek help when he resists any for him.

Hypocrite has a Point: To be fair, being lenient with traitors is a recipe for disaster for this country.

Ice Queen: He’s a rather cold and rude person but still a nice guy underneath.

Jerk with a Heart of Gold: Cynical, rude, stubborn are all words that would accurately describe him but also family-orientated, protective, and generous when he needs to be.

Knight in Sour Armor: He does see the world as a cold and dark and is a self-proclaimed misanthrope but still does his best to protect his family and people.

Meaningful Name: Alaska’s name Inuit name, ‘Nukilik’, means ‘strong’ and given everything, he’s gone through and still living to see today, no one can say he isn’t strong. As for his European name of ‘Peter’ meaning ‘stone’ and he is stone-faced and it’s also a nice reference to Peter the Great of Russia.

Mixed Ancestry: He’s half-Slavic, half-Inuit. 

Nature Lover: Growing up most of his life in the forests of Alaska, it makes sense the woods are where he’s most comfortable especially among the animals there. He is also disgusted by hunters who hunt merely for the game and not because they need it.

Not Good with People: Type 2. My beloved grumpy boy is unsurprisingly not good with people as he can’t understand their feelings or why he offended him. However, he is good at reading the feelings of animals and emphasizes more with them.

No Social Skills: Justified due to both his upbringing. He also is very indifferent to having them at the end of the day.

Older Than They Look: Being a state this a given. However where he differs, since he was born in 1800, he’s actually older than most states but since he was basically deserted by Russia he was never given the ability to grow.

Only Sane Man: Certainly sees himself as this among the other states as he feels that they play bloated, bureaucratic politics far too much instead of working together to help their father.

The Pessimist: Alaska physically can’t bring himself to hope in the best in people since all he’s seen was the worst in people since he was young when everyone he loved just ditched him or died. 

Raised by Wolves: Played completely straight. After his mother’s tribe abandoned him in the woods an Alpha She-Wolf who had just lost her pups adopted Alaska.

Socially Awkward Hero: Alaska can scale mountains, survive massive earthquakes, and survive on his own for years. However, the ability to interact with humans or even other anthropics is the hard part.

Strong Family Resemblance: Besides his dark skin, black hair, and eye shape, Alaska is basically a younger version of Russia. This has gotten him into quite a bit of trouble like when he was accused of being a communist during the McCarthy era due to his Russian heritage and Belarus has tried to kidnap him on more than one occasion.

Sugar-and-Ice Personality: In spite of cold, loner nature and dislike for society in general, Alaska at his core is a genuinely familial, protective person who just wants to take care of those he cares about. This is best showcased in his relationship with Hawaii, who might be the only person he openly gives affection to and he did go as Elsa twice just to make her happy even if it was embarrassing for him.

Trauma Conga Line: Abandoned, seen as a threat, had his pack murdered, only person he ended up caring about dying, and nearly froze to almost-death. All when he looked 2. Someone get this boy a therapists.

Used to Be a Sweet Kid: When he was young, Alaska was a sweet and gentle boy, even while living with his wolf pack. However, due to the many tragedies in his life, he has become extremely bitter and cynical towards the world.

When She Smiles: Has given a few in some comics and chats. He even admits that the main reason he loves Hawaii (as a sister) is that she is one of the few people who can make him give a genuine smile.

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