#but also they all have like fourteen other jobs underneath them they’re Also doing. but they aren’t as relevant

[fluffywings13]

Testing The Waters

“Uh,” Keigo looks up from his computer at the sound of his ‘sixteen’ year old assistants voice (he uses that word very lightly, he knows, for a fact, that Midoriya Izuku is not sixteen, he’s many things, but one not to look into his employees backgrounds before hiring them is not one) and smiles at the soft spoken timid teenager. “You wanted to see me sir?”

“Yea, I did,” he turns away from his computer completely and leans forward against his desk. “What’ve I told you about calling me ‘sir’?”

“Uh…Ummm…..” Izuku rubs the back of his neck. “Not to….”

“Right,” the hero nods. “What did I tell you to call me?”

The teen shuffles uneasily. “K—Keigo….You told me to call you Keigo.”

“Very good,” he pushes his chair back and stands, tucking his hands in his hoodie pocket, it was a slow day, no patrol, so his costume wasn’t necessary, hoodie and joggers was just fine, he even kicked off his shoes, if he’s gonna be stuck sitting at his desk all do competing paperwork he’d been putting off for the last two and a half weeks, he was gonna do it comfy style. “I’ll let it go this one time, but if it happens again, there’ll be consequences.” He eyes the teen when he shuffles and nods meekly, looking down at his hightops, and sighs in concern. “Come on, we got something we need to check out.”

Izuku looks up in time to see the hero turn, gesturing for him to follow him, and he darts around the man’s desk to keep up with his strides. “Check what out, s—” Keigo glances over at him. “Keigo?”

“Well, I’ve never had a personal assistant before, you were a special case, everyone here is sixteen years or older—”

“I am sixteen!”

Keigo pauses and he jolts to a stop to avoid running into the man’s back, looking up with wide eyes when the hero turns to look down at him, a particular expression over his features. “I look into everyone who submits an application for employment at my agency, everyone, I know more about you then you think I do Midoriya Izuku, I know you’re not sixteen. I know you’re actually fourteen and still in Junior High School, I know your school record is undoubtedly doctored, the claims made in there don’t match up to what I’ve seen you do here, I know more then you think I do.”

He swallows. “W—Why’d you hire me, t—then?”

“Because you interest me, I was curious as to why a fourteen year old would lie about his age on a job application for a heroes agency, then I grew to like you, so I kept you around.” The hero eyes him carefully. “Why do you think I made your schedule they way it is, school’s more important then a job at this time, so I adjusted your schedule to accommodate your school schedule.” The man turns back around and gestures him forward. “Anyway, we’re here to see if you have what it takes to be my personal assistant, you and me, we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, so you’re also gonna have to serve as my entertainment when I’m bored, and a bored me is a dangerous me, so you need to know what I’m capable of when bored.”

Izuku looks around when they step into a room behind the hero’s office, it’s nearly baron, there’s a large conversation pit in the middle of the floor filled with pillows and blankets, a large television hanging on the wall in front of it, and large ceiling to floor windows behind it, the entire wall is made up of windows. That’s it, a blanket and pillow filled conversation pit and a large flatscreen hanging on the wall is the only furniture in the room. “Uuhhh…..”

“I call this my oasis.” Keigo gestures around. “It’s where I go if I need time away but can’t leave the office, I call that,” he points at the conversation pit. “My nest away from the nest. I come in here and sleep after a long patrol, or to recover for a bit after a villain fight or do paperwork and watch tv. You’re welcome to use my oasis too.” A shiver runs down his spine at the kind of grin his boss sends him. “Now, we’re gonna test if you can handle being my entertainment when I need to be entertained.”

“Wha—HEY!” Izuku shrieks and yelps when he’s scooped up off his feet, cradled in the man’s arms, and carried across the room only to be dropped down into the nest. “What’re you—”

He yelps when Keigo jumps down with him and curls up slightly. “Best get comfortable, we’re gonna be here for a while, we gotta see if you can handle me when I’m bored out of my mind.” Izuku watches the man make himself comfortable at his feet and reach out for his left foot, resting his left leg over his right leg, and slowly unties his shoe strings. “Gotta get this out of our way.” The teen raises an eyebrow when the hero tosses his shoe over his shoulder and slowly pulls his sock off, throwing it over his shoulder like he had his hightop. “Okay, now I need,” he tugs on his foot when Keigo reaches over his shoulder for a feather, the fingers around his ankle tighten considerably as he tugs on his foot, and his eyes widen when the hero curls his legs around his calf, securing his foot in place, and maintaining his inability to pull it back.

“Hey wait! No!” He can’t help but giggle, his mind finally making the realization as to what’s going to happen, and tugs on his foot desperately. “Not the feet!”

Keigo ignores him, curling a finger around his big toe as he pulls it back, and threads his feather between the fourth and fifth toe. “Insert it like so.” The hero’s young assistant (plaything, let’s be honest, the teens really in for it as his little personal assistant) giggles harder, wiggling his foot again, shaking his head. “And, begin.”

Izuku squeals when the feather starts brushing between his toes, cackling brightly as he falls back and curls his arms around his belly, twisting his foot around desperately. “Eeieaiiaaiaaahahahahahahahahhahaahaa KEIGO! Nohohohohoho! Not the toes! Nohhohohot thehehehehee tohohohohoes! Aaahahahahahahahahahhahaaa get it out! Pleheheheheease! Get it out! Not thehehehe toes!” He inevitably goes ignored by the hero engrossed in his foot and the torture he intends to inflict on it, so he lays there, squealing with laughter and pleading for mercy.

He gulps for air when the feather’s pulled out from between his toes. “Thahahahahank yohohohohou! Thahahahahank youhohhohohou!” And squeals again when the feather is threaded between his next two toes. “Eeeiaiaeiaiaiaiaiahahaahhahahaa no! Aahahahahahhahahahahaaa aiaieiiaieeaiaahahahahahaahahaha not again! Not again! Eeieiaiaaiaaahhahahhahaahhaahhaaa! Keiiiigo! Keeeeiiiii! No! Eeieiiaiaiaiaiaaahahhaahahaha aahahahahahhahahahahahaha noooo! Not the toes! Plehehehehease not the toes!”

“Not the toes, huh?” The hero teases softly, pausing for a moment so they can talk, and smiles at the young teen’s frantic breathless giggling. “Why not the toes, you got a whole other foot of toes for me to play with.”

“Not the toes! Please!” Izuku pants softly. “It tickles! Not the toes!”

“It tickles, huh?” He starts brushing the feather back and forth again and the teen squeals with laughter once more. “This tickles? You got ticklish toes?”

Keigo smiles when the teen nods frantically, curling his arms around his belly tightly as he arches his back, and Izuku tugs desperately. “Yehehehehhees! Tihihihhickes! Tickles! Pleheheheheease nohohohot thehehehee tohohohohoes! Not the toes!”

“Aww.” He threads his feather between the next two toes and starts up again, smiling at the teen’s squealing laughter, looking down at his wiggling foot. “But I like the toes. They’re fun. You want me to have fun, don’t you?” The hero brushes the ends and pads of the teen’s toes with the tip of his feather, smiling at the way his laughter rises in pitch, and the teen rolls up onto his side. “I told you that you’d have to serve as my entertainment when I’m bored and this is immensely entertaining.”

Izuku squeals madly, twisting from side to side, twisting and tugging at his foot, screaming desperately when the man pulls his toes back and flicks his feather underneath them, arching his back again as he throws his head back.

“My, my, I didn’t expect your little piggies to be this ticklish.” Keigo pushes the teen’s toes down and flicks his feather over top of them. “This is just too good. I’ll have to store this useful knowledge for later use if you decide to stay. I’m for sure coming after these toes again if you do, I can’t not, it’s just too good an opportunity to pass up.”

[junicai]

Relationship with NCT 127

➣ Taeil ☾ taria 

taeil is the Sole Protector of aria’s sanity 

taeil loves his maknaes so much, but he literally looks at her like she put the stars in the sky 

the Proud Dad smile :’)

when aria first debuted, czennies thought that she was the same age as jungwoo - because she acted older than her age - but with taeil she lets her inner kid come out 

highkey dependent on his approval for things in relation to singing

“was, was that ok?” “perfect, ari.”  “ (O_O;)  - (◕‿◕)♡”

she will fight mark and donghyuck for his attention, and she will win

for a while, the two had shared a dorm room before they were rearranged, and taeil let her slip into his bed when she was feeling homesick 

the offer is still open, but aria takes him up on it less and less

taeil is NOT sad about that. absolutely not.

he’s vehemently against any and all diets she tries - saying that if she gets any smaller he’s going to be able to pick her up with one hand

que him dragging her out for ice-cream after a promotion, paying no mind to her protests

aria helps taeil with translating a lot of things into english during lives and interviews - so much to the point where he’s picked up a bit of an irish accent and the others never fail to clown him for it 

taeil still has the small braided bracelet that aria gave to the members on their first anniversary of nct (he keeps it in the drawer beside his bed)

aria is his self-professed happy virus. he told czennies in a vlive once that her smile makes him feel really happy and he wants to protect it to the best of his ability

aria always fixes his micpack before they go onstage if its crooked, because she comes out after him in the lineup

they have monthly movie nights and they alternate who chooses the movie / show (taeil normally goes for mystery or drama themed ones, while aria enjoys making them both sob miserably)

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

aria and taeil singing “I See the Light” from tangled for the NCT Music channel, and the tears that were shed by both moonis and realtai alike. sm really popped off with the staging and the lighting of the whole video - between the smiles that were on both of the singers faces and the whole ambiance created, its a cinematic masterpiece 

no one was surprised when it hit 2 million views in a day, and a lot of solo stans were born from that video

➣ Johnny ☾ johria

indisputable siblings 

there is not a single czennie who ships these two romantically, and that’s because they’re just too wholesome 

johnny is one of the few members that aria calls “oppa”, mainly because of the age gap and sm wanted her to appear respectful, but also because he thinks she looks so cute

very chill, excellent vibes

their vlives are either chaotic messes or the closest thing to therapy since ice cubes 

the blanket on aria’s bed? that was a gift from johnny - she had been complaining to mark about how cold she always was anemia tings

czennies are begging for sm to allow aria to open up a solo instagram account, becuse they see the amount of pictures johnny takes of her

in the park? he’s making her pose in front of the flowers. backstage before a show? the lighting, c’mon.

big big bear hugs - the height difference make nctzens want to die 

185cm vs 158cm? p l e a s e she’s so tiny in comparison  (/ =ω=)/

when she gives him backhugs it looks like a little kitten trying to wrestle with the family dog 

play fighting about vernacular:

“ITS CALLED A SIDEWALK” “S I D E W A L K, ITS A FOOTPATH YOU BUFFOON”

very vocal about her wellbeing, and has asked fans before to remind her to take better care of herself and get to sleep sooner

aria, starting a vlive at 3am: hi hi~

the comments: NO GO TO BED

johnny helped her a lot when it came to the style change in choreography, as aria was used to soft, flowing movements and not the powerful, sleek style that most nct dances have 

consistently forgets the fact that she is not the fourteen year old he first met, and is, in fact, an adult now. “you’re a child” “im 18″ “...no”

is the person to get angry on her behalf when interviewers belittle or ignore her 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

during a fansign, a fan asked aria who did she think was the most comforting when she was stressed (besides mark and donghyuck) and aria said johnny. “he’s so, constant? like nothing seems to knock him or throw him off, and that’s really comforting when i feel unsteady.”

johnny is now known as aria’s weighted blanket. 

that is all. 

➣ Taeyong ☾ ariyong

taeyong took one look at aria the first time she showed up for group practice and immediately adopted her (not literally, but he would if he could)

eomma meets highly protective older brother meets life coach type beat? 

so so soft for her its sickening 

says he doesn’t have favourites and will then spend an hour cooking for aria because she’s been in the studio for the whole day and he knows she hasn’t eaten yet

when aria was given a duet to do for the sm stages, she had to pick another member to do it with and her first choice was taeyong

she always has said that taeyong is one of the pillars keeping her upright and sane - without him she wasn’t sure if she would have been able to complete her training

because of all the schedules they share together, if aria isn’t rooming with mark then she’s definitely rooming with taeyong

whenever she does his makeup (more often than you’d think) she point blank refuses to cover his scar, even when he asks her to 

“please? i don’t like it.” *gasp* “how dare you.” 

sleepy aria! snuggling into taeyong’s shoulder when a schedule ran late! 

he gets uncomfy when the stylists put her in too revealing clothes, and has spoken to them on numerous occasions about dressing her in age-appropriate attire, no matter how “sexy” the concept might be 

he keeps little bags of sugar-dusted strawberry sweets in his bag incase she forgets to eat and feels faint after the last time (they used to be blueberry flavoured, but he heard donghyuck throwing out any and all “blueberry-contaminated” food one evening)

taeyong doesn’t tolerate hate towards aria, especially in person, so he always makes sure to sit down the line from her so that he can see when people skip intentionally her

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

taeyong had just been awarded the solo bedroom on the last night of the Mtopia series, and was staring off into the corner looking rather uncomfortable. aria, who was meant to be rooming with baekhyun looked over and saw his mouth curled downwards slightly. 

“baekhyun-oppa, is it ok if i room with taeyongie-oppa tonight? i ran out of my tablets, and he has some in his bag..” 

baekhyun looked down at her with a small smile and agreed, while on the video edited captions appeared with the words, “a cute maknae, asking to room with a younger member...”

➣ Yuta ☾ nakamiya

the president of realtai 

this man is absolutely, completely and irrevocably whipped for aria and she is not afraid to use that to her advantage

she beat him at arm wrestling because she pouted at him - she’s too powerful 

aria.exe stopped responding when yuta started to playfully flirt with her the first few times

*winks* “hu-wha-”

one of the most outwardly protective members of her, because he feels a sense of responsibility for the younger girl

he was one of the trainees she first befriended, aria’s korean not being good enough to hold a decent conversation, and yuta happy that there was another japanese trainee 

9 times out of 10, when the members are making their way through crowded areas like airports yuta is always behind or directly beside aria

during a fansign one of the fans asked why he did that, and he said that he needed to keep her in his line of sight or else he’d get anxious that she’s so small that she could get swallowed in the crowds 

yes aria hit him for the short comment 

yuta, 50% of the time: you’re not allowed date until you’re 35

yuta, the other 50% of the time: bro where’s your boyfriend

he complains that she isn’t as sweet as she was when she first joined, and that hyuck must have corrupted her (╬ Ò﹏Ó)

he let’s her braid his hair when its longer, them both sitting on a bed with yuta in front and aria kneeling behind him so she can reach 

he was the first person to take her home for the holidays, because ireland was too far to go back for a week over christmas 

“what do you mean you’ve never been to japan???” 

bitching about the other members in japanese? more likely than you’d think 

when aria turned legal in korea, yuta took her out drinking and made sure to post pictures of her with her flushed cheeks on his instagram story with the caption “aish, i told you to pace yourself....” “happy birthday riri”

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

you know that one clip of the sasaeng getting absolutely trashed by nct’s bodyguard and taeyong jumping 7 feet into the air? 

well taeyong wasn’t the only one startled; standing beside yuta, aria was closest to the wall of fans when the girl ran forward towards the members. aria jumped in fright, while yuta barely made a face (#unbothered). he simply wrapped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her around to the other side, tucking her underneath his arm.

tsundere!yuta

➣ Doyoung ☾ dori

*ahem* WHIPPED *ahem*

doyoung adores aria so much 

was he unsure about a girl being added to a group of boys? yes but it was moreso concern about how he was going to make sure she wasn’t accidentally trampled

they bonded over a night in the recording studio when he found her sitting on the floor with music sheets scattered around her 

a whole mentor when it comes to singing 

aria always turns to him after singing - especially when it wasn’t planned, like at a fansign - to see if she did a good job

doyoung has yet to tell her that she hasn’t but sue her, she appreciates the validation

the original mother and Will Not Let Taeyong Forget It

doyoung, dragging aria out of the studio: now listen here young lady-

kitten and bunny friends RISE

no seriously sm released merch of a kitten and bunny plushie and it sold out in a day

when aria had the accident that led to her two month hiatus, doyoung was the one who rode in the ambulance with her after refusing to let go of her hand 

“i’m sorry sir, only family are allowed in at the moment-” “we are her family” *nurse looks around the room at the 14 other boys sitting anxiously*

he is a weak, weak man he will crumple on any decision if she smiles and slash or whines at him even slightly 

carries band-aids and support strapping in his practice bag because he knows that she gets really bad blisters when she hasn’t practiced while wearing her heels in a while, and he makes her wrap her ankles for the first few sessions incase she falls 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENTS.

NCT 127 Take a Friendship Test (Glamour - 2020)

“ahh, my first impression?” *laughs* “actually, we first met in a recording studio, at like. 3 o’clock in the morning? he stuck his head in the doorway and i was so tired that i thought i had died and an angel had come to save me...”  (*μ_μ) 

➣ Jaehyun ☾ jaria

you know how cheetahs in the zoo get emotionally support puppies?

this is the same type of vibe

very snuggly together? but only in specific scenarios, like when jaehyun is too tired to move after a movie night, he’ll just kinda engulf aria in a hug and make her sleep on the couch with him 

any back hug she gives him turns into a piggy back, its non-negotiable 

likes to randomly compliment her to see how red he can make her face go

did she have a crush on him when she first moved to korea? yes, but who didn’t

that faded really quickly though once she started into the group officially - now they are more like siblings

they don’t interact that much on camera? rip to the jaria shippers

but that doesn’t mean they aren’t close with each other its just that a lot of their interactions happen off-screen

naturally, jaehyun began to think of her as a younger sister over the years they performed together 

jaehyun will end anybody who lays a hand on aria 

a little bap bap if you will 

he asked her to take him ice-skating one day, and the entire time was spent with aria laughing her ass off as he ate the ice nearly fourteen times before getting the hang of it 

he takes her out for food when he notices that she’s been put back on a strict diet plan (aria thinks she’s good at hiding those pieces of paper, but she forgets that when she puts it on top of things, that other people are a lot taller than her and have a higher vantage point)

the prince and princess of nct? check 

head pats

he likes to pat her head and she’ll swat it away immediately until she gets tired and just lets him do his thing 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

jaehyun was wearing a flower crown placed carefully on his head as he bent down slightly to run his hands through the damp grass. a soft shutter sound went off, before he heard a hum coming from behind him. “jaehyun-ssi, could you take off the flowers? we can’t see your face clearly because of the shadow.”

jaehyun glanced backwards at aria’s retreating figure, being chased by donghyuck with hands still stained green from the grass she had shifted through to find the fallen flowers. she stopped and waved at him before resuming her run.

“i’d rather not, if that’s alright. i think it fits quite well with the theme.”

➣ Jungwoo ☾ ariwoo

oh my god someone please stop these two

once jungwoo taught aria about the power that aegyo holds for persuasion tactics against the older members of 127, they were unstoppable 

you should be afraid of them

100% have plotted someone’s murder before (and have succeeded, czennies always wondered where that last manager went after The Incident)

aggressively cute together - to the point where your teeth will rot 

jungwoo will intentionally flirt with aria just to fluster her because its “so easy to do”

not very physically affectionate, but jungwoo has no hesitation calling out “uri fighting haeyadwae!” to her when she looks like she needs a little encouragement 

jungwoo is the reason she wants to do a bachelors degree after finishing high school 

he used to help her with her maths assignments after school when she was struggling with managing her time 

they’re called the “aegyo duo” of the group, and there has yet to be an outright winner of the competitions to find the cutest member (its aria. jungwoo said it himself, its aria but we been knew)

they have an odd dynamic of looking like best friends the first second, evil masterminds the next and then siblings who want to murder each other but they make it work 

will and has flopped down on her while she was laying on the practice floor and then whined when she tried to get up 

he spilled the tea that aria gets super emotional and affectionate when she’s drunk 

cutest shit ever that made ariwoo shippers lose their absolute minds was the clip that got released in the behind the scenes filming of Kick It, where jungwoo was half asleep in the corner and aria just pops up out of nowhere to shove a folded jacket under his head and made sure to prop it in a way that he wouldn’t get a sore neck when he woke up

jungwoo is the reason she knows korean curse words (dont tell doyoung)

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

aria wobbled in her heels slightly as she stepped out of the van, trying to hold a blanket up to protect her legs while she slid off the seat onto the ground. jungwoo extended an arm around her waist, gripping the blanket in his other hand and carefully holding her to make sure she didn’t trip on the cobbled stone.

➣ Mark ☾ mari

1/2 of the best friend crew

honestly at the beginning, mark and aria weren’t very close, having only really seen each other in passing or with johnny 

but after being dropped into training together the two quickly became fast friends, and now they’re borderline inseparable 

you thought you knew pain? watch aria’s reaction to mark’s graduation from dream :)

mark’s the reason why aria felt confident enough to pitch some of her lyric ideas to the team, after staying up until 4am to help her make some edits so she was as confident as possible 

kinda just, rests his head on her shoulder? and wraps his arms around her waist when he’s tired 

mari being confused in foreigner: ??? 

aria said once in a vlive that she finds mark really comforting to be around - when she feels stressed or worried about something she’ll go to mark’s room and just sit on his bed for a while

aria is so close with his parents - “ahh, how’s my favourite child” “i’m doing great mom.” “no not you, how’s aria?” “wh-hu-MOM?” 

you’d swear sometimes mark is younger than her, considering the pout he puts on and how much he whines when they’re not on the same team together for promotions

mark big protecc boi but also little small cuddly boi 

they’re so soft for each other ( ╥ω╥ )

in one of the fancams for mark’s solo stage during superm, someone zoomed into aria singing along with him in the wings and dancing to herself with the Proudest Smile(tm)

he’s! so! proud! of! her! constantly! she could be walking and he’d be like “omg get it” 

when aria refuses to get up and make herself food (this happens way too often, she just gets into the groove of her work and doesn’t want to move) mark gets her to by threatening to do it himself 

consistently caught by czennies just standing behind her and holding her hand in crowded areas - airports, waiting rooms, etc. 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

mark and aria were standing off to one side as the mc explained the rules of the game they were about to be playing. mark looked totally confused, and elbowed aria in her side before looking down and mouthing “what?” to her. aria opened her mouth, before closing it and looking down at the ground, muttering to herself, “결합... 結合..... le chéile.... le... le.. oh oh - combined! we have to put them together, markie.”

and thus, a new confusion meme was born

➣ Haechan ☾ arichan

the other half of the best friend crew

absolute heathens to be around when they are together 

donghyuck is the person aria is closest to, and someone she’d call her best friend (only when she was sure he wouldn’t hear her)

she calls him “the demon child i can’t get rid of” but will, and has definitely pouted when he ignored her for too long 

generally aria is a pretty soft spoken person, but not with hyuck around - he brings out all her chaos energy (please pray for the patience of dotae)

the pair have a little tradition of kissing the back of each others’ hands before going on stage for good luck. they can’t even remember how it started, but now its an unnegotiable pre-show ritual

he’s so clingy with her absolutely everywhere its painfully adorable  (ಥ﹏ಥ)

interviews? hyuck has a hand on her knee, or if she’s wearing a skirt he’s tucked his hand in between their chairs so she can hold it discreetly. in the dorms? full body tackle onto the couch, where he proceeds to lay on top of her completely. 

because of hyuck’s nickname being the sun, and aria always being around him, czennies gave her the nickname “moon” to go with him

fans thought that aria was older than hyuck for a good year and a half before she released her birthday on a vlive, because she’s normally the one tasked with reigning his chaotic energy in during promotions (that is, if she hasn’t already joined him)

but off-camera, aria is absolutely hyuck’s baby there is no disputing that. aria’s sad?he’s there with ice-cream and a blanket and a baseball bat.

the winnie the pooh character that is on aria’s bed was a gift from hyuck for her 17th birthday, after she made him watch seven episodes of the show on netflix with her one night 

yes he complained, but he slapped her hand away when she went to change it to something else 

a twitter thread of a czennie comparing their horoscopes together went viral when people realized that it was quite plausible that the pair were each others (platonic) soulmates 

after an incident involving blueberries, donghyuck took it upon himself to check the ingredients of every. single. food item in their dorm to make sure it was ok for her to eat 

hyuck clowns her for her irish accent, and aria curses him out in japanese

tldr: they cute or whatever 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

donghyuck was doing a vlive in his bedroom, sitting and talking to czennies when aria opened the door to his room quietly. she didn’t say anything, just waved slightly with almost closed eyes before she crawled underneath his covers and tucked her plushie underneath her chin. hyuck didn’t even blink at it - so it must have been a regular occurrence.

[thran-duils]

Use All of Me (P.15 -- final)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Fifteen, Final) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 2,591 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death Author’s Note: I had a lot of extra things I wanted to add in (not mentioning the two other ways I considered taking the fic) but they were fleeting and not conducive to the plot. Just day to day things and I didn’t want to drag it out more than it needed to be. I am satisfied with this and I hope you guys are too.

Part Fourteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Steve shook his head, scrolling through his phone across the table from you. His dinner was barely touched he was so engrossed in what he was reading. He must have felt you staring because he looked up, making eye contact with you.

You swallowed and asked now that you had his attention, “What is making you so upset?”

Reluctantly, Steve told you, “Gossip columns. About us. About you.”

“Well, I don’t know about that because I don’t have my phone… or internet access at that.” Steve’s face was stoic at your remark and you shrugged, unable to mask your scorn “You’re the one who put my face out there. Can’t blame people for being concerned about one of their stars.”

“You forced my hand,” Steve told you in a low voice. “Did you not?”

You took another bite of your food, knowing you were toeing a line.

Steve put his phone down, scooting his chair closer to yours, invading your space. “Did you not?” he repeated with more force.

“I did,” you whispered.

His fingers ghosted along the side of your face. “Like I told you… you don’t think about the repercussions of your actions. You were acting unstable. Nothing like yourself. I had to do it to bring you back. I had to do it to keep you safe.”

He was so insistent in his chivalry about whisking you back home, keeping you barred inside. You blocked out what he was saying about you, like he was blaming you for reacting perfectly normally to being kept in a cage. You wanted to move onto something else.

“Did you pay that person… who turned me in?”

“Yes.”

“Are Yua and Natalie back at their jobs?”

“Yes.”

You proposed honestly, “How can I be sure? That you’re telling me the truth? When I cannot even check on them myself?”

“You don’t trust me?” Steve’s eyes were hard, challenging you.

What a loaded question.

“I don’t see any reason why you would lie to me about it,” you lied yourself in response.

Steve looked tickled by your response, but you also sensed displeasure in his tone. “Y/N… I have enough money and power to ruin them if I wanted to. And I wouldn’t keep it a secret from you because there would be a damn good reason I would have done so. And I would want you to know what lesson you were supposed to learn. So, darling, trust me when I tell you that they are okay. I listened to what you requested. I can be reasonable when you behave.” He leaned back, eyes searching your face. He let out a small sigh seeing the meek expression on your face, “Over time you’ll get your phone back... your friends coming around to visit again.”

He was waiting expectantly for you to answer, to say anything.

“I understand.”

Steve’s hand was warm, grasping yours. “You did good, doll face…” he praised gently. “You came back to me. You brought the babies back. I am desperate to see you mothering our children… swelling with more of them.” He reached over, picking up an envelope on top of the stack of papers near him. He held it up to you and said, “And I intend to make good on my word about making it official.”

Steve handed it to you and you took it from him gingerly. Unfolding the papers inside, you looked down at the paper, seeing it was a marriage application.

Confused, you asked, “You… you don’t even want to have a ceremony?”

“Do you want a ceremony?” Steve asked seriously.

“Yes,” you breathed. If you were going to get married, you wanted to at least celebrate it. Have something to look forward to if you were going to be legally bound to him.

“Hmm.” Steve looked contemplative. “I didn’t think you would be interested in that.” He paused, chewing on the thought. He blew a small raspberry, reaching for his phone. “Well, maybe it is a good thing I did float the idea.” He began to hand the phone to you but paused, cocking his head slightly. “Now… I’m gonna let you look at this because Wanda was able to find some beautiful maternity gowns. Tell me what you think of them. Don’t search anything else. Understand?” You nodded and he handed you his phone and you stared down at it, shocked to see wedding gowns.

Being pregnant was not something you had considered for the ceremony. Or particularly wanted for your wedding day photos.

“Do we have to move so quickly?”

“Yes,” Steve responded curtly.

“Why?”

“Because I want it to all be settled before the babies get here.”

The only reason he would want that… he had to have an angle. There must be something that he wanted.

“Can I—”

“Small ceremony, Y/N,” Steve cut you off, as if he knew exactly what you were going to ask. And you could not fathom how he could just read you like a book. It unnerved you. He was observant and it was detrimental to you. “I already have the list and the venue was set.”

“The v-venue?”

He threw you a smirk, “I was banking on you wanting a ceremony.”

So that is what Tony had been talking about.

<><><>

Your hands ran over the gown. The beaded sheer top above your bustline glittered in the light. You were a little chilly with your bare arms, but you barely noticed above your nerves. Surprisingly, you had been left alone in the room serving as the bridal suite. Not that you could make a run for it anyway in this dress and with your stomach. You snorted at the thought of you running down the street; it did calm you down a little.

Yet, you still wished your friends had been able to attend but it was ‘family’ only as Steve had said. And that family meant the team.

The door opened, drawing your attention.

Wanda was standing there, and she stopped, seeing you done up.

“You look lovely,” she said gently, a sincere smile on her face.

You returned her smile, giving a quick nod. You found yourself more often than not, cradling your stomach, and here you were again. You grimaced when one of the twins gave a particularly hard kick and Wanda noticed.

She was at your side immediately, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed, nodding. “Would be terrible to have the babies at 28 weeks… far too early.”

“Not uncommon though.” Wanda still sounded unsure.

You waved her off. “I’m fine. Really. They’re just kicking and moving around.”

Wanda relaxed a little and said, “Alright, if you’re sure. Well, they’re ready. Are you?”

Shakily, you told her, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

The room was bright, draped in shades of sky blues. White petals were scattered along the aisle down to where Steve was standing. You breath caught at the sight of him, causing you to hesitate in your stride. Steve looked handsome, so very handsome. Somehow you made it to the end of the aisle, coming to stand in front of him. You hardly could contain the smile that came to you, unable to block out the happiness you felt coming off of him in waves. He looked so sure, so satisfied as he took your hand in his.

His words were sweet, loving. You tried to breathe easy as he slipped the ring on your finger, noticing the hungry look on his eyes. When you were told to kiss, Steve guided you, his lips dominating yours.

Signing away on the marriage certificate, you noticed his lips twitch watching you. He was elated. He was getting exactly what he wanted… you. Forever.

The night would have gone smoothly if you had not felt another hard kick from the babies. It felt different. It was not a normal kick.

Your fork clattered to your plate over your dinner at the bridal table. Your hand came to your stomach, your face twinged in pain.

Steve’s laugh faltered, his attention drawn from Bucky next to him.

“Y/N?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious. Bucky was leaning forward, sharing Steve’s look of concern.

Trying to play it off, you nodded with difficulty. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Another kick hit and you grimaced, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth. “Okay, maybe I’m not.”

Steve was standing and staring down at you in worry. The rest of the team had noticed and were hanging in suspension as they realized there was something wrong.

“I’ll get the car,” Steve declared. “Tony, Bucky, can you help her outside? I’m getting the car.”

Without waiting for them to answer, Steve was already halfway to the door, his stride quick.

Tony and Bucky were there, hands holding you as they helped you stand. You whimpered, your belly tight, soreness swirling in your hips and lower back. You had had period cramps before but this was something else entirely.

You felt wet and looked down at your legs. Your dress was soaked in a stream and you let out a strangled noise. Your water was broken and panic began to set in.

“Oh, boy, yeah,” Tony said sounding like he was trying to keep himself calm since he noticed it as well as him and Bucky helped you walk towards the door.

“I’m not ready,” you begged, tears welling up in the corner of your eyes. “I’m not ready!”

“I don’t think you’ve got much of a say in the matter,” Tony told you, trying to make a joke. He gave a small laugh, but you could tell he was nervous. You cried out and he quickly held to you as your knees threatened to buckle underneath you. “Oh, shit. Okay. Keep steady, sweetheart.”

“I can’t!” you snapped at him.

Tony closed his mouth.

Bucky grunted as your legs quivered and you leaned into him as you reached the door. They helped you down the stairs as carefully as they could as you heard tires squeal to a stop at the curb. Steve had been speeding from the parking garage.

Steve got halfway out of the car, but Bucky said, “We got it. Don’t worry.”

They helped you get into the front seat of the car and you gripped the sides of the chair, closing your eyes as another contraction rumbled through you. You heard Bucky get into the backseat of the car and slam the door closed.

Steve took off quickly, promising you he would get you to the hospital as quickly as possible. He was doing well hiding his anxiousness, channeling it into assuring you and telling you it was going to be okay.

<><><>

“It was the goddamn stress!” Steve grated furiously. “She should have stayed home! She shouldn’t have run off! Why was she so stupid?”

He was pacing angrily in one of the waiting rooms down the hallway. Y/N had given birth to both of the babies, far prematurely. They had both been whisked away to the NICU without Y/N and Steve both given much time to see them, let alone hold them. They were reassured they would be able to visit once the babies were set up safely. It did not sit well with Steve. Y/N was exhausted and was having trouble staying awake, so he had left the room when he was sure she was alright. She needed rest.

But now that he was out of the height of the situation, anger began swirling at the risk she had been put at along with the babies.

The team had shown up, still dressed in their wedding attire.

No one argued with Steve. He might very well have a valid point about it and saying anything to the contrary was not going to calm him down.

Steve ground his teeth, hands coming to his hips in frustration.

“They said the babies are alright though?” Natasha finally spoke.

Steve looked over at her and shrugged, “I think. I don’t know. They said they needed to be put on oxygen. That doesn’t sound good to me.”

“It’s probably precautionary, Steve,” Pepper offered gently.

Finding an empty chair, Steve sat down in it heavily, resting his elbows on his thighs. His eyes swept around the room, taking everyone in. He could see the unquiet in their expressions, their worry for him. He was supposed to be the one keeping everyone levelheaded; that was his job. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a moment. He just needed a moment to compose himself and be strong for everyone else.

When he opened them again, he said, “It better be. It’s gotta be.”

<><><>

Steve was there when your eyes fluttered open. It took a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the light in the room, even though it was dimmed. You focused in on the sheets and your gown. And then you felt the remnants of pain in your lower half, even though it was dull now.

It all hit you at once and you tried to sit up too quickly. You gasped in pain and Steve was halfway out of his chair.

“You’re fine,” he said in a rush, his hands coming to your arms. His eyes were swimming with worry. “Don’t get up, Y/N. You need to rest.”

Breathing erratically, you looked at him in alarm. “T-the babies?”

“They’re in the NICU,” Steve assured you quickly. “One is breathing on her own, the other is on tubes. But they think that he will be able to breath on his own soon.”

You stared at him and demanded, “You’ve seen them?”

“Yes. You did too. Briefly.”

That came back to you too. You had seen them. You had been awake for everything. But the exhaustion had taken over.

“But… you saw them? Without me?” you asked weakly.

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, slowly sitting back down in his chair. “I haven’t held them, but I’ve seen them. Through the window.” His hands rubbed your arms affectionately. “Y/N, doll face, really. You need to lie back. You lost a lot of blood.” That’s when you noticed the IV and everything attached to you. “They treated you and replaced but you’re still going to be weak.”

You did as he asked, lying back on the plethora of pillows behind you. He physically relaxed at you reclined, but he was still leaning towards you, ever watchful.

His tone was sympathetic, “I don’t like you sick. I don’t like worrying about you. I’m supposed to protect you.” His thumb traced across your lips, concern swimming in his eyes now. “I hope though you’ll take something from this… that you’ll think twice about being reckless. I don’t want our future children being put through this, Y/N. I don’t want you being put through this. I want you to be secure, relaxed… safe under my watch.”

Steve’s other hand came to rest on your stomach and you felt a sense of foreboding flooding in. His closed mouth smile conveyed confidence, his hand gently caressing. “Despite all of that stress though… you pulled through. You are special, Y/N. I can’t wait to watch you swell again.” He was sincere, gaze intense, and his fingers holding you close. “You are the most important thing to me. I’ll make sure next time goes more smoothly for you. I’ll be there every step of the way next time.”

He leaned in close now, his lips brushing against your ear, “You’re all in my custody now. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @roxyfan14-blog @mrsnegan25 @coconutqueen21

[undercoverwizardfanfiction]

Mud is Thicker Than Blood:

Sick Day

Summary: I said i’d put all the little shorts I have about the Mud Dogs and Donnie in one story, so here it is!

Gift for: @void-inked-pen birthday a while back. They are a amazing friend and a source of inspiration for me

Characters: Donatello, Loathsome Leonard, Mickey, Dastardly Danny, Myra, April O’Neil

Pairings: You’re in luck! all the pairings for this fic are just past this door [gestures to wall that has a badly painted door under it and the laundry basket above it that’s suppose to be some sort of trap]

“What is this supposed to be?”

Even though Len had been using as polite of a tone as possible, Danny still gives him a heated glare. He uses his spatula to scrape the blackened flat pastry off his frying pan and onto Len’s plate with the consistency of a dried brick. ”They’re called crespelle’s. My Dads used to make them for me and my siblings all the time.”

“Are they supposed to be…” Mickey pokes it with his flipper, “rocks?”

Danny lets out another angry huff. “I couldn’t remember the ingredients, alright??” he says, flipping another burnt disc onto a plate. Len uses his chopstick to poke at the burnt food. For someone who had known the sting of hunger many times and learned to not be picky, he finds himself wondering if he can sneak out back and compare the taste of the burnt disk to dirt.

The sounds of footsteps tells him the last member of their little family was coming down to join them. “Morning,” Danny calls. ”I got a nice big breakfast for my only grateful family member with taste!” Danny says as he starts stacking another plate.

Donnie is pulling on his hooded cardigan as he reaches the bottom step, eyeing the breakfast with a concerned eye. “Doooo I want to know?” he asks before looking to Len with a look that clearly says ‘remember how I never forget ‘best parents day’? you owe me’. It takes more than a little willpower to keep from laughing but manages to duck his head to hide his grin before turning to Danny.

“How about we spare my kid this time? He’ll never hit his height goals if he eats this.”

Danny unties his apron and stomps over and pours himself a cup of coffee all while grumbling about ‘uncultured swine.’ This time Len can't stop the snort that escapes him this time but when Donnie takes his spot at the table his smile falters as Donnie pours himself a cup of hot coffee. Leaning over the mug with a sigh, his normally dark jade complexion feels a shade lighter than usual and more than Len’s comfortable with. “You feeling ok?” he asks, moving his chair to Don’s side of the table. He puts an arm around Don's shoulders and without waiting for an answer he presses the back of his hand to Don’s cheek. The teen squirms at the contact but was unable to pull out of his grip.

“Dad, Dad, I'm fine I just didn’t sleep well. I had a bad dream again.”

“Why didn’t you come get me? You could have slept in my bed.”

“You got home late last night, I didn’t want to wake you,” Don says, still trying to twist his head away from Len’s hand.

“I’m the Dad here, Donnie. I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around.” But when he’s unable to find anything close to a fever he pulls away. He looks to Danny hoping he’d see something Len missed but the rat shrugs at him.

“Is it still ok to go tutor April today? Please? I’ve been cooped up here all winter.”

Len wants to say no, but sighs at the pleading look Donnie gives him. It had been a longer winter then usual, he didn’t blame his son for needing some space. He was no longer a five year old but he still had a hard time telling him no for no good reason. “Yeah, but if you start feeling sick you come home ok? Or ask Myra to help you home.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” As Donnie downs his last bit of coffee he stands back up. Len had turned to poke at his breakfast again when he feels Don's arms wrap around his collar bone and rest his cheek on Len’s head. “I love you Dad. Thanks for being obnoxious and worried.”

“Aw. Love you too, silly gecko.” Len pats his arm in reciprocated affection. Donnie grabs his shoulder back and hurries out the front door. “Have fun!” Len calls after him. Only then did he look back to Danny. “He looked pale right?”

“Yeah but honestly it could have been the breakfast,” Mickey says, picking up a disc, “I even felt sick when I saw it.”

“First of all screw you,” Danny points at Mickey with his spatula, “Second of all, if he’s not feeling well he’ll come home. And third of all, next time you all can make your own crespelles.” Danny drops his last disk onto a plate when the shattering of ceramic fills the air. The three thieves blink at each other for a sec before Danny raises up the food slowly to show the plate underneath had been cracked in half from the sheer force of the crepe. With a defeated sigh, Danny drops his spatula. “Ok whose all for throwing these at trees and seeing if they shatter??”

Len and Mickey both raise their hands with a grin.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“Donnie?”

Despite the softness of April’s voice Don jumps so hard his elbow hits the stack of April’s school books. It’s only by his reflexes that they don’t join the rest of April’s dirty clothes on the floor. It takes him a few moments to regather his scattered thoughts before looking to April. ”Did you say something?”

“Yeah, your name, like five times.” His oldest friend peers at him from over her glasses. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

Donnie would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t painfully aware of the migraine that would return if he did. Unfortunately, it had been haunting him ever since he woke up that morning. “For the last time yes. Uncle Danny made breakfast and it's just hurting my stomach. Now, the compound would be 23.6% more effective if you set the witch fire to exactly 129 degrees cinder.” He scribbles on the paper for a few moments before sliding it over to her. April casts him a suspicious look before looking over the paper again.

“If you ever convince your Dad to let you go to school, my Alchemy teacher would cry tears of joy. Again.” She pauses “They cry a lot.”

Don tries to smile but his aching head only allows him a half grin. As April starts adding his notes to hers he reaches for his yunomi of tea, not thirsty so much as needing the warmth for a subtle cold that clings to his skin.

There’s the sound of a door opening downstairs followed by the sound of a woman shrieking and dozens of items hitting the ground. ”A-April dear!!! I could use some help!” calls the unmistakable voice of the Mayor of witch town.

April was already out of her seat. “Coming Mom!” she calls hurrying for the door. “Don’t do my homework Dee!” she calls behind him.

“I would never!” Donnie says [even though he had already been reaching for her note book]. A few years ago he had the brilliant business idea, in lieu of being able to go to school himself, to do students' homework for them for a small [not so small] fee.

Of course before he could even launch his venture his Dad had found out and outright forbade it.

This time he’s unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The effect is instantaneous as the lights in the room become painfully saturated. He tries to cover his eyes but his world is already spinning.

It’s the last thing he feels before he blacks out

(#)#(#)

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed,” Len says in a tone that can only come from nine years of parenting experience. It does its job on Mickey who’s shoulders bunch up to the sides of his head, and even though Danny is trying to pull off ‘I don’t know how you think you can guilt trip me’ by leaning back in his seat. But it's hard to look innocent when the two of them are covered in mud.

“IT WAS DANNY’S FAULT!!” Mickey shrieks pointing at the rat. “After we knocked over a tree with one of his crepy things he told me that he knew alchemy that would make mud into chocolate and-and-“

Danny’s ‘calm bad boy’ dis option went out the window (which was also broken because of a wayward flying crepelle). “Who the hell raised you to be a snitch?!” the rat hisses.

“You did!! I learned it from watching you!”

The rat opens his mouth to argue before thinking. “Ok fine but I always taught you to get paid first.”

Len slaps a hand down his face. Normally he and Danny have reversed roles but he should have recognized that wild look in the rats eyes when Mickey was using one of the leftover crepelles as a tool sharpener. But Len, forgetting they were not in fact grown men but children pretending to be adults, had left them to their own devices.

There is a knocking on the door that makes Len sigh again. ”I have a fourteen year old and he has more common sense than you two.” He says in a way that is probably supposed to make them feel ashamed, but Mickey snorts loudly with his flippers over his mouth.

He opens the door to a flash of light that forces him to cover his eyes for a moment before his eyes adjust to the familiar form of the mayor of Witch Town. “Myrah?” He rubs at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to come get Doniel, he has a fever and passed out while tutoring April.”

Len felt as though a cold chill had passed through his body, it was the only reason he hesitated. “Y-yeah just give me a sec.” He ducks back into the house, where Danny is already waiting.

”Len what’s-“

“Donnie passed out, I need you to come with me,” already the air of lighthearted teasing and jabs went out the window. Len is back down the stairs with a quilt from Donnie’s bed as Danny is grabbing his coat and tossing Len his. He almost feels bad for Mickey who can only watch on as the two exit. Myra waves her wand, the bright light from earlier returns, creating a portal in front of them. Len barely waits for the portal to form before stepping through. A moment later he is standing in the familiar oversized living room. He had been to the witch family house many times and each time was always surprised how disproportionate all the furniture was, (which made sense considering how tall Amaranth was).

The child in question was lying on the bright pink sofa under a thick blanket. There was a washcloth hovering over his head, every few seconds wiping at his brow. April looks at them when they enter with panic in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened Lenny, I went to help mom with groceries and-and when I came back-“

“Its ok April, it's not your fault.” Len takes her place by Donnie. His son's brow is furrowed underneath a layer of perspiration. Even though he already knows the answer, he presses the back of his hand on Don’s brow. His already racing heart is now beating so fast it almost hurts in his chest. He replaces the blanket Myra had given him with the one he had brought, wrapping him up in it before scooping him up into his arms.

“I’m sorry Len, if Amaranth had been here she could help but...” her fingers tap together anxiously as she watches the child in his arms. Len was always touched by how much Myra and Amaranth cared for Donnie. He never felt the need to have a partner (though he and Donnie both made enough ‘mom’ jokes about Danny to last a lifetime) it warmed his heart to know someone outside his family loved Donnie almost as much as he did.

“I know, thank you.” He moves past the mayor to where the portal was and in another flash he's back in front of his house where Danny is waiting. The rat reaches out and takes him around the shoulders and herds him inside. “He’s burning up Danny, I-I don’t know what happened, I felt his forehead his morning and he was fine, you saw me do it.”

“I know, I know.” Even though Danny claimed that he didn’t remember any of his medical training he’s already looking over Donnie. Trained eyes looking for anything that could tell him what was wrong. After a few moments Danny says to Len, “Get him into bed I’ll be there in a sec-“

“Ah-shouldn’t we put in him some ice?”

“No, the last time we tried that he almost went into shock before I stepped in. He’s a turtle, he can’t handle it.”

“I-I know.” Len unconsciously cradles Donnie closer to his chest protectively. He could still remember the terror of the time when Donnie got the Fall Flu and had a fever that burned his hand. They had gotten so desolate they had put him in a tub of ice to combat it. They had thought it was working until Don had fallen into a deathlike stillness. It was only then Danny had realized Donnie was going into shock and pulled him out so quickly they had knocked over their makeshift tub.

Now Len couldn’t tell if the shivers he was feeling were from Donnie’s sleeping form or from his own fear. Not until Danny put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look into his eyes. “Can you get him to bed please? I’m going to mix together some medicine that Amaranth taught me and I’ll be right there, ok?”

Len nods “Ok, ok.” He lowers his cheek onto Don’s scalp as he carries him upstairs. It's only when the parent and child are out of sight does Danny let out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his scalp under his hat and forcing himself to calm down. He had never realized how much he depended on Len keeping a calm head. He hadn’t realized just how much he depended on that til they brought Donnie in. During missions Len had an eerie calm about him that he thrived off of. But it was moments when anything threatened the health or happiness of his child that threw Len in the deep end and forced Danny to step in.

“Mickey,” he says without looking behind him, knowing the poor eel was fluttering around not knowing what to do. “Will you please go upstairs and keep Len calm? Help him how you can til I get there.”

“Y-yeah ok.” The eel hurried to do as he was told. In that moment Danny allowed himself one more sigh before reaching under the cabinet and pulling up an old beaten box, filled with herbs and remedies he had swiped from houses over the years. He pulls out a notebook he had filled with some of Amaranth's recipients and pulls out a mortar bowl and pestle. Picking through a few jars of tiny shards and grinding them together before taking out an empty incense holder and pouring it inside. He made sure to secure the lid and take up the glass bottle under his arm before hurrying up the stairs.

A part of him had been scared that Len’s own fears would drive him to ignore his warning about the ice, but he entered Don's room just as Len was pulling a blanket over him. “Good job.” Danny moves past him to kneel by the bed, turning and handing the incense to Mickey. “Can you light this please? It’ll help clear the bacteria out of his lungs.” As he was twisting open the glass bottle he heard Mickey spark behind him before the smell of lavender filled the air (he ignored Mickey gagging behind him). He tips the tip of the bottle to test how much liquid was inside. Luckily, they still had enough for Donnie (he’d have to steal more later). He dabs his thumb with the light pink liquid before running it across Don’s burning forehead. ”There.”

“Is he ok?”

Danny had to commend Len on not asking him a million questions. He reaches back and pats his old friend on the knee. “The Willow Extract should help take his fever down, but if It doesn’t help in a few hours we’ll go to witch town.” He doesn’t get a response, but when he turns to look at him, he sees Len staring at his son. His dark eyes full of concern and fear that only a father could have. Danny stands up and steps back. “Len why don’t you sit with him for a bit, and I’ll make you some tea.” He makes eye contact with Mickey and jerks his head towards the door. After taking a moment to pat Len on the shoulder he follows him out the door.

Len finally lets his face drop into his hands with a shaky breath before the sound of a weak cough reaches him. When he looks up again he was filled with relief to be looking into Donnie’s feverish dark pink eyes. “Hey,” says a weak voice.

“Hey baby boy,” Len sits up on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tried to kill me with one of Uncle Danny’s devil pancakes.” He barely has enough wind to finish his sentence before he has to gasp for air. “Will you sit with me please?”

Len can't help but smile, holding the side of Don’s face with his hand for a moment before climbing over him and laying on his other side. Don turns his head and tucks his head underneath Lens chin. “I’m s’rry,” Don mumbles, “I-I didn’t know I was sick.”

“I know you didn’t, you’re not a good liar remember?” Len lowers his cheek onto his scalp. “You get that from your Uncle Mickey.”

“And you?”

“Nah, I’m a great liar,” he smirks down at Donnie, “I’m not going to teach you how to lie though until you turn eighteen,” he pauses, “Hundred.”

Donnie lets out a laugh that sounds more like a raspy balloon, but Len can tell he’s trying not to fall asleep again. He rubs Don’s arm over his blanket. “Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” The teen gives a nod of acknowledgement before rolling towards him. A few moments later he's fast asleep again, breathing easier than he had been a few minutes ago.

[mzminola]

I have just bumped into your pool noodle for the first time and I am fascinated by it

It’s so!!! Like obviously as someone with so little canon factoids let alone characterization, Regulus/a has a lot of wiggle room to fit a story! But what little we do get leads to a lot fun contrast with this ship?

Because like...there’s some stuff where they look similar at first glance, but then the underneath is different. Both dedicated to their families, right? Trying to make their parents proud? But Regula, arguably, is that way out of fear (of being treated like her brother was (waves cheerfully at your Zuko icon)), while Percy’s coming from a healthier place...that still blew up spectacularly.

Then we get superficially different, potentially similar: canonically Reg joins Voldemort with parental approval, then turns on him. Percy joins the Ministry...and when his parents tell him to turn on the Ministry he tells them to piss off. But interestingly, Percy’s parents told him to reject the Ministry based solely on the word of...one single powerful old charismatic wizard who was raising a personal army. Hm, that sure would sound familiar to Reg, wouldn’t it?

SUPER not sure yet how that all changes with the timing on this (they go through Prisoner of Azkaban as fiancés, getting their NEWTs* before marriage) and the fact that Reg is 100% sure Sirius is innocent, so like...uh...how the fuck do things blow up if Percy still gets the job as Crouch’s assistant? The man who convicted Reg’s brother without a trial??? Reg only SEEMS like she has chill because she was raised to be a Polite Young Lady but this is still the person who left Voldemort a Fuck You note so I imagine Reg meeting Crouch is NOT PRETTY.

~

Meanwhile, Reg & Percy’s different upbringings and eras they came of age in exacerbate the Displaced In Time dynamic.

The wizarding world in generally is pretty old-timey compared to ours, and the Ancient & Most Noble House of Black sure was very old-timey. Whereas the Weasleys are very progressive! They’re also working class, which I get the impression helps with the progressiveness. Wealthy Purebloods can ignore the world changing if they want, the family of the man who heads the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department can’t.

Then there’s how the idea of arranged marriages would’ve been presented to them. Granny Relly is the one who came up with the idea, Arthur and Molly accepted it but are VERY CLEAR to all the kids that this is an OPTION, not an OBLIGATION. Percy even saw Bill & Charlie reject the idea, with zero consequences! He knows he can Nope out and have his family’s love and support still.

Regula has known she’d likely have to marry someone her parents picked her whole life. That Granny Relly up there? That’s Cedrella Black who was held up to Reg her whole childhood as Who Not To Be because she run off and married for love. Reg wakes up from her magical coma, gets told by Grandmama Mel that she’s got a fiancé now and just accepts it. Maybe if Percy was a Voldemort supporter, Reg would have objections! But he’s not.

(Arthur is genuinely horrified by how non-questioningly accepting Regula is of the engagement.)

And then less then two decades difference means they grew up in completely different eras:

Percy was five when the war ended. It affected him, I firmly think “sometimes Mum or Dad will tell you to do something Right Now that you don’t understand, and if you disobey you or your siblings could get hurt” is why he’s so attached to jumping when an authority says jump. But he grew up in peacetime. The war was over, the victors decided, problems lingered but no one’s being told to pick sides. His worries are normal peacetime worries.

Reg grew up in the war, and was recruited into it before graduation. All her classmates knew they’d have to pick sides, debated it with each other. Were hearing about disappearances, deaths, possibly from within their own families. I’m going with the idea that Reg set off to destroy the locket in October of her 7th year, after having joined the Death Eaters months or even years before that, dragged in by her cousins during school holidays. She’s been in skirmishes, not known who to trust, and came to the conviction that stopping Voldemort was worth dying for.

It honestly feels more like Reg is from a hundred years ago than just fourteen.

~

Percy: I need to support my fiancée as she adjusts to the changed world. I will tell her about Quidditch matches she missed and ask the professors about changes in the curriculum, we can study for NEWTs together :) :) :)

Reg: so while I was unconscious everyone found out that I was a Death Eater and that I betrayed Voldemort. I need to make allies ASAP to keep from being shanked by either side, including my own extended family. Yes, do tell me all about cauldron bottoms and Muggle factoids.

Also Reg: WHAT DO YOU MEAN I MISSED GWENOG JONES PLAYING FOR WALES AGAINST NORWAY IN THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP.

Percy, sincerely: I know, this is the definitely most tragic thing about your coma, you have my sympathies and condolences.

~

*Sirius as Padfoot sneaking around campus, seeing a 7th year Slytherin that’s a dead ringer for his dead sister: THE FUCK. Sirius thinking about it: No probably just a...a weirdly similar cousin. Sirius hearing someone call her Regula: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.

[trainsinanime]

Here’s a Miraculous Ladybug story idea that I may write some time, but probably not, because I only really care about chapter two of what would probably need to be at least ten.

Chapter one features Lila going after Marinette full-force. Not the weak boring „she rips up her notebook so hard that Marinette has to move to Gotham“ crap. We’re doing this properly: Lila convinces the Mayor that Marinette is planning to resurrect Napoleon and bring him back to power. So the Mayor has Marinette imprisoned without trial, because apparently he can do that in the Miraculous universe, and not even her friends or family know what’s going on.

Chapter 3 and later will detail how Marinette managed to escape the prison after fourteen years, with the help of a professional hypnotist. She discovers a pirate treasure on a small uninhabited island off the coast of Italy. With the money from the treasure, she buys the island and the title of nobility that comes with it, and returns to Paris. Rich, and now officially a countess, she will reward those who were loyal to her, and destroy all her enemies. (I haven’t yet worked out what that means in detail.)

But the really interesting part for me is what happens in those fourteen years. Here are my notes. Content warning: Dark, Major Character Death, Intended as over-the-top and silly but maybe not over-the-top enough, and of course, Adrien/Lila:

With Marinette gone, a lot of joy drops from the class immediately. Everybody loves her, and they only have weird rumours about what happened to her, rumours that they can’t believe even if the source is Lila. (No, we’re not doing class salt. Yes, that means my options for enemies in the later chapters are limited. I don’t care, I love Alya and the rest of the class and I am not throwing them under the bus.)

The first time Ladybug doesn’t appear to a fight, everybody is pissed. The second time, they’re even more pissed. The third time, they’re worried.

Chat Noir does his best. He decides to capture the Akumas, so Ladybug can cleanse them when she returns. For now, he stores them in mason jars. After a bit of thought, he decided to just store them in the cellar of the mansion, in a box labelled „Adrien’s favourite toys“. Nobody ever looks there.

No Ladybug means no cleanup. (The ear rings are kept in the warden’s office in Marinette’s prison, so Ladybug is out of commission for fourteen years). Adrien again tries to help, spending way too much time cataclysming debris. A child has lost their favourite plush shark in a river of chocolate? Chat Noir manages to „find“ and „clean“ it. No, it’s totally the same shark, not a new one that he just bought, believe me. The child is happy, but clearly it’s not enough.

The first time the Eiffel Tower is destroyed, rebuilding it is a matter of national pride. If Ladybug is gone, then France will step in. Gabriel donates a lot to the effort.

The second time the Eiffel Tower is destroyed, authorities decide to leave the debris as a monument. The statue for Ladybug disappears.

With no Ladybug, Hawkmoth realises that he can’t get the ear rings. Attacks decrease, to once a month, then once every three months; apparently just to check whether Ladybug has returned. Around Adrien’s eighteenth birthday, it seems like Hawkmoth might retire for good. On a completely unrelated note, Gabriel appears to have lost all will to live.

Adrien can’t escape Lila, who continues to be employed by Gabriel, despite her not being very good at photoshoots. But he does his best to keep his distance.

Shortly after Adrien’s birthday, he is away, while Lila has a meeting with Gabriel and Nathalie. But tragedy strikes: Lila arrives and witnesses Gabriel shooting Nathalie and then himself. Why would he do such a thing? Good thing Lila is such a reliable witness. The case is so clear that the police don’t even have to check the gun for fingerprints.

Adrien is stricken with grief. He tries to call his friends, but nobody will reply. It’s almost as if someone with access to Gabriel’s computer had used the spy software on Adrien’s phone to disable it. But that’s clearly absurd. There is only one other person who is there to comfort him: Lila. Adrien doesn’t like her, but she is someone familiar. She spends the night.

The next morning, Adrien is disgusted, and the two part ways. But two months later, she reappears and tells him she is pregnant and it’s his child. She has a whole speech prepared about how he needs to take responsibility, but it’s not necessary: Adrien will not let his child grow up without a father.

The next month, the wedding is a weird affair. Lila wanted something grandiose, and she got it. But all their friends know that this is anything but true love.

Alix wonders aloud what Marinette’s role would have been if she had been here. Alya jokingly says that she’d be the bride. Adrien overhears, and he realises: Yeah, she would have been. He loves her. Always had. This moment is when the only wedding picture is taken where Adrien smiles.

Seven months later, Gabriel Agreste Junior is born. Adrien loves his son with all his heart, but he has questions. But Lila and her top-notch expensive doctors assure him that this is perfectly normal, sometimes pregnancies take a month longer or two. Adrien is not fully convinced, but he doesn’t want to cause a fuss.

Around this time we also get a new Hawkmoth, who is much meaner, but doesn’t seem to have as clear a goal. Everybody’s best guess is that this Hawkmoth is just going after whoever last pissed them off. (Totally forgot this one in the original version of the post, sorry)

Two years later, Lila’s daughter Emma Marinette Agreste Junior is born. Adrien picked the second name while Lila was asleep. Since Lila is not involved with her kid’s upbringing at all, she has not yet noticed. This time, Adrien is convinced that something is up and Lila is lying to him. The reason: He has recently learned how babies are made, and he knows for a fact that he never did that with Lila.

He confronts her. Lila isn’t concerned, though. What’s he going to do? Divorce her? Then he’s never going to see the kids again. The things she could make a court believe… Adrien is horrified by that thought, especially since he knows very well that he’s the only one in the marriage who loves these children.

Meanwhile, Lila’s own career as an actress isn’t going well. She’s a great natural talent, sure; she can make anyone believe anything. But to be a great actor, you still have to turn up on set every day, and not just when you feel like it. Oh, sure, she has great excuses, but the jobs still dry up fast. And while you can make up a story that makes you look good about one make-up artist you made cry, maybe two, there is a point where it becomes a problem.

She blames Adrien for this, mostly because he will generally not back up her lies about where she was. He doesn’t really care, though. Despite her threats, what’s she gonna do, leave with the kids? Thanks to his father, Adrien had some top notch lawyers, and the pre-nup agreement is watertight.

Unrelated to all this, behold Paris’s new mayor, Chloé Burgeois. She’s been embroiled in controversy from day one. Some say she’s too young. Others say she only got the job because her father was mayor before her. Yet others point to her publicly difficult relation with her constant partner and off-again-on-again girlfriend Sabrina. But perhaps the biggest talking point is that in her office, she has a big painting of a certain heroine in red with spots, with the words, „what would Ladybug do?“ underneath. She’s never lost trust, and the press hates her for it.

One day, her old school friend Alya visits. Alya’s own relationship to Ladybug is difficult: Part of her still holds out hope, just like Chat Noir. Another part of her curses Ladybug for just leaving. Her goal now is completely unrelated to Ladybug, though. She has uncovered new things about the Napoleon Resurrection Conspiracy: The main witness (Lila) and the supposed ring-leader: Marinette. That can’t be right.

She wants Chloé to reveal the truth. Chloé herself has no idea, and very little interest in investigating. Her father told her that this was all secret, and that she should never touch this subject.

But she knows very well what Alya is asking for here. Alya got her big break as a journalist by uncovering the files on the Napoleon Resurrection Conspiracy in the first place. The revelation that it had all been swept under the rug was what caused the old Mayor to step down in the first place. If Alya is now saying that this might all be wrong, that means she’s placing her whole career on the line. That level of commitment means something.

For her own part, it took Chloé a while to admit it, but she was shocked and heartbroken by Marinette’s sudden disappearance as well. It was the first step to becoming a somewhat nicer person, and forming real bonds with her classmates. She has the access to the archives. She could uncover the truth, and maybe even find out where Marinette is now. It wouldn’t be popular, and it might be dangerous… but what would Ladybug do?

Chloé is all in, and it doesn’t take long until she meets Lila. Chloé would not consider herself a fan. She knows the difference between Adrien’s real and fake smiles. Lila refuses to clear things up, though. Instead, she tells Chloé that the french secret service does not allow her to say anything, and that Chloé better drop it if she knows what’s good for her.

Chloé ignores it. She also ignores it when she gets a threatening letter. After all, Ladybug was up against powerful people, too, and she never let that stop her. She even ignores when her own personal Yacht sinks for unexplained reasons, until her Butler and Sabrina explain to her some things about the history of the french secret service (actually I’m not sure whether this is too much in bad taste; the alternative would be that her vacation home gets set on fire).

She tells Alya that there is nothing to know, and blocks her cell phone number. The next day, workers remove the Ladybug painting. After all, what Ladybug would do is just disappear, right? Only fitting. Sabrina laughs a little too artificially at the joke. Yes, indeed. Ladybug would just stop doing her job when the people needed her. Perfect analogy.

With that, the basic outline is set. Chapter three would probably be short and tell the story of Marinette’s imprisonment. Chapter four is then where the real revenge starts.

Other points:

At various points, Luka is sadly strumming his guitar.

I’m not sure what to do about Marinette’s parents. The mean option is that they die, full of grief over their missing daughter. The very mean option is that they end up separating first. I’m not sure Marinette’s revenge spree works if they’re still around, and I definitely don’t ever see them turning away from her.

Nino and Kagami could do with an arc here.

Anyway, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, but since I don’t know how to turn this into a full story, this is as good as it gets. If any of you guys want to borrow parts or all of it for your stories, please go ahead.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves to high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 51: Statement of Walter Sims, regarding a list. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-sixth of January, 1990.

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

You’re certain you don’t mind?

WALTER

Not at all. Honestly, when you said you would come to me rather than have me come to you, I assumed this wasn’t going to be…official.

GERTRUDE

Yes, well.

People don’t often send messages ahead of time. They simply…come to give their statements. I admit I was intrigued.

WALTER

I’m here most of the hours the Institute is open. Simple as that.

GERTRUDE

Still. I have a…feeling, shall we say, that your statement doesn’t need to be available for research.

WALTER

I don’t think you’re wrong about that.

Are you ready?

GERTRUDE

One moment.

Statement of Walter Sims, regarding—how would you term it?

WALTER

Let’s just say “a list.”

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-sixth of January, 1990.

Whenever you’re ready.

WALTER (Statement)

I’ve worked here for almost three years now—ever since we found out we were going to be parents. My mother made it clear that she was not going to make herself responsible for what she termed “my careless mistakes,” and Sarah’s only family is a sister over in America with a family of her own. My choices were to drop out of school and get a job or let us both starve. Put like that, it’s no choice at all, really.

I’d thought to go to sea. My best mate and I always talked about it, and he had a job on a commercial deep-sea fishing vessel, so I asked him about getting a job. He talked me out of it, though. The captain’s a bit…odd, he says. He knew his father-in-law was looking for a handyman and suggested I apply. The old man and I suited each other well enough, and he hired me on the spot.

The work isn’t hard. I’m a general man about the place. I do repairs, painting, gardening, a bit of housework. He buys the groceries, but I put them away. Sometimes I do a bit of cooking for him. He’s not infirm or an invalid—well, obviously—but he can’t climb ladders or do a lot of bending over, so anything regarding hard labor, I handle for him. (heh) My biggest job these days is keeping next door’s grandson from getting at the entire cherry crop in the summer. They hang pretty near the property line, and the lad’s learned to climb pretty well these last couple years.

It’s nice for a lot of reasons, probably the biggest of which is that I can bring my boy with me sometimes. Sarah’s trying to finish her degree, at least part time, so on days she has classes, I bring him to work. He adores the old man—it’s the closest he’s got to a grandfather—and my best mate’s boy is only a bit older than him, so they play together. Can’t separate them with a pry bar. They’re good lads, both of them.

Neither one was here the first day I saw it.

It was just after the first of the year. The couple next door must have had some sort of party; there were paper streamers and fragments of fireworks all over this side of the fence. I was picking up all the bits when I saw a figure standing by the house.

He wore a suit, a three-piece suit. All of it was black as night, except for his tie, which was pure white—or so I thought at the time. His hands and face were white as snow, too. No, more than that. He was colorless. Completely devoid of any color. He was staring up at the house. When I got a little closer, I realized he was staring up at the old man’s bedroom window. He had a clipboard in one hand—black, like his suit—and a pen in the other. It was the only splash of real color about him, and it was gold, very pale gold. Like a shaft of light.

I saw him write something down on the clipboard. I called out to him, just like I did when you came up—told him this was private property. There’s a place down the road with an orchard open to the public, and the numbers are reversed, so sometimes we get people coming here by mistake. It’s not usually a big deal.

But this one…he looked at me. He didn’t have any eyebrows, or, well, they were so pale they didn’t show up, but I thought he looked…surprised. Like he hadn’t expected anyone to be there. I asked him again if I could help him, but he just—he vanished. It was like he’d never been there at all.

It gave me a bit of a turn, I won’t deny it, but for the most part, I shrugged it off. Either I was having a hallucination, or he’d just moved very quickly. I wouldn’t ever have thought of it again, except that a couple of days later, I saw him again.

He was in the same place, just underneath one of the cherry trees. Matter of fact, I’d seen the branches rattling and thought it was next door’s grandson again, climbing up. (soft laugh) Obviously there aren’t any cherries this time of year; the trees are bare as bones. But we’d had something of a freeze the night before, and the branches were slick with ice. I was worried he might slip and hurt himself, so I went over to get him down. But when I got closer, I saw the same man again.

This time, he was looking away from the house, towards the Stokers’ place. He was peering very intently over there, not moving except to make a note on his clipboard. I called out to him again, a little louder and a little less friendly this time, wanting to know what he was doing and where he came from.

He vanished again, but this time, just after he disappeared, the old man came out onto the porch here and wanted to know what was going on. I told him about the strange visitor, and the fact that he just kept…leaving so quickly.

To my surprise, the old man got pretty agitated. He wasn’t mad at me—wasn’t even mad, really. Just…agitated. He told me not to have anything to do with the man if he turned up again. I asked if he knew him, and he said no, not exactly, but that he’d been around enough to know something related to one of the Fourteen when he heard it.

We’ve talked, of course. I knew what he meant. He obviously couldn’t say which one it was, not without seeing it for himself, but he told me to keep away from him, not make eye contact, and hope he didn’t turn his attention to me. I asked if I should come talk to someone from your Institute, and he said no again. Said it was such a small thing, not worth bothering about. Nothing for you all to really sink your teeth into. And he said he didn’t want you lot touching me, either.

So I left it alone. Kept my head down and got back to work. Until yesterday.

Both the boys were here. I let them “help” me a bit, but, well, they’re two. Eventually I told them to go play on the porch while I cleaned out the gutters. I don’t want them running about under the ladders when I’m up high. It’s a good way for someone to get hurt.

I was just coming down when I saw him again. Standing behind the skeletal remains of the privet hedge, facing the house again. Facing the porch. He was watching the boys, just as intently as he’d looked at all the others, but this time he was watching the boys.

I didn’t call out to him this time. I jumped off the ladder and went for him. When I got close enough, I shouted, “Hey!” Just to get his attention, you know, before I grabbed him.

Well…it worked, insofar as it got his attention. He looked even more surprised than the first two times. This time, I was close enough to see the barely-there shape of his eyebrows, the thin lines of his mouth, the way light just slid off his suit, still solid black except for the tie. This time, though, I was close enough to see it wasn’t pure white. There were faint lines and whorls in it—like a feather from a gigantic wing. But when I grabbed at him, he vanished again.

This time, though…he dropped his clipboard.

I picked it up and studied it. I half expected it to be some oddity as well, like black paper written on in gold ink, but…no, it was perfectly ordinary stock, good quality paper, and it was neatly written in a deep black ink. The handwriting was clear as daylight, as were the contents of the note.

It was a list of names. Seven of them. With yours truly right at the top.

GERTRUDE

Do you still have the list?

WALTER

No. I was almost done reading it when it…disintegrated in my hand, I guess.

But I have it memorized. It burned itself into my mind. Not just the names, but each one had a pair of dates after it, separated by a single dash. Like a range.

GERTRUDE

Seven names, you say? And what were the dates?

WALTER

If you mean “what do they mean”…I’m not sure, but I have a guess. I know what the first date means, anyway, and I have my suspicions about the second. But the list itself…

GERTRUDE

Let’s record it. For posterity.

WALTER

(deep breath) Walter Sims, fourth July 1976 to seventh April 1990.

Alastair Koskiewicz, twenty-sixth January 1935 to eighteenth March 1997.

Daniel Stoker, first May 1990 to fourteenth August 2013.

Gertrude Robinson, seventeenth December 1934 to fifteenth May 2015.

[GERTRUDE INHALES SHARPLY]

WALTER

Timothy Stoker, thirteenth January 1985 to—and that’s when it started to dissolve.

It was like a drop of black ink on the page, obscuring the second half of the date, and then it just…spread. It absorbed the bottom three names and dates first. Then it burned all the way through the paper, and the clipboard, and just kept spreading until…until it was just dust in the wind.

I talked to Kier—my best mate—when he turned up to get his son, while the old man was helping them (slight laugh) conspire to let them spend the night. Gave him the whole rundown. I think it would have stopped there, except that while I was telling him, I suddenly remembered that, right before the paper started dissolving, when it was still just the ink blot—for just a moment, where the dates at the bottom would have been, it coalesced into a drawing of an eye.

And I swear it blinked.

That’s when we sent the note round. I’m sorry to make you come all the way out here. I’d have been perfectly willing to come to you if you’d been willing to work with me.

GERTRUDE

I don’t know that this would keep.

Did you see any of the dates on the last two?

WALTER

No. Didn’t need to, really. Saw the names, which means I know the first dates, and—oh, hang on.

[FAINT SINGING CAN BE HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND, INDISTINCT AT FIRST BUT GRADUALLY LOUDER UNTIL THE WORDS TO “FISH OF THE SEA” CAN BE MADE OUT]

[A SUDDEN PATTER OF RUNNING FOOTSTEPS]

YOUNG JON

Papa!

WALTER

Hey, there’s my boy.

[RUSTLE OF FABRIC]

All right there, Kier?

KEEPER

All right there, Walt.

Ma’am.

WALTER

This is Gertrude Robinson. The Archivist at the Magnus Institute. Ms. Robinson, this is Kieran Blackwood, my best mate, and this is my boy.

Go on, say hello.

YOUNG JON

Hello! I’m Jonny. I’m two and one-quarter.

GERTRUDE

A pleasure to meet you both. And who is this?

KEEPER

(gently) It’s all right, Wickie. Tell her your name.

YOUNG MARTIN

(mumbled) Martin.

YOUNG JON

He’s my very best friend in the whole wide world. And that’s a very wide place. Uncle Kier told me that, and he’s almost the smartest man there is, so he should know.

[WALTER AND THE KEEPER BOTH LAUGH]

GERTRUDE

Yes, well…that’s wonderful.

WALTER

Tell you what. Ms. Robinson’s never seen how fast you can run. Why don’t you two race to see who can be the first one to run all the way around the house and get back?

YOUNG JON

We can do that! Come on, Martin!

YOUNG MARTIN

Ready, steady, go!

[POUNDING FOOTSTEPS AND CHILDISH GIGGLING RECEDE INTO THE BACKGROUND]

GERTRUDE

Hmm. How long do you estimate this will take?

KEEPER

As long as we need. They’ll probably race around to the far side of the house, slow down, and sing a few rousing choruses of the song I taught them a couple months ago.

It’s the one that goes, “La la la, la la la la la, the grown-ups are talking.”

WALTER

They’re two, not stupid.

GERTRUDE

…Right.

KEEPER

You’ve told her, then?

WALTER

Aye. We just finished up.

KEEPER

Terminus?

GERTRUDE

…How do you know about the Fourteen?

WALTER

…Ma’am, you do know I work for Alastair Koskiewicz, right?

GERTRUDE

Yes, I…oh.

Oh, I see.

He told you?

WALTER

In bits and bobs. Enough to avoid them, anyway. Or at least I think that was his intention. Doesn’t always work.

KEEPER

Obviously.

GERTRUDE

Of course.

…

(sigh) Yes. I believe you’re correct. The person you saw was likely an agent of Terminus.

WALTER

Thought as much.

Well. Suppose I’d best let the old man know. Seventh of April, that’s…what, three weeks before you leave on your next run?

KEEPER

More or less. Depends on the tides, really.

WALTER

Well, I should be able to get supplies ordered in, at least, but that’s a bit early to have the garden laid out. He’ll need to get someone else for that.

GERTRUDE

I must say, you’re taking this remarkably well.

WALTER

What do you expect me to do? Start crying? Curl up in a ball in a dark room and mourn?

At least I know. And I’m not ill or anything—not that I know of, anyway—so it’s going to be an accident. It’ll be sudden. Which means that, if I hadn’t seen this list, it would catch us all off-guard. Now I’ve got time to put things in order. I can make arrangements to make sure Sarah and Jonny will be taken care of. I can get whatever work around here needs to be done finished, or at least started.

There’s always more work to do, I suppose. Always one more job. But at least I won’t have to worry that I didn’t do all I could.

KEEPER

He says, as though he had ever, in his life, put forth less than one hundred percent effort into anything he did.

[WALTER LAUGHS]

WALTER

That’s as may be. But still.

I’m sorry I won’t get to see my boy grow up. I can’t imagine what he and Martin will be like when they’re our age, or when they’re thirty, or when they’re old men.

You, I can easily imagine as an old man. Some grizzled old lighthouse keeper with a weatherbeaten face and snow-white hair, staring out over the storm-tossed ocean and longing…

KEEPER

Blackwoods don’t go white. We go silver.

You know I’ll look out for them for you, right?

WALTER

I thought that went without saying. But…thank you.

[SOUNDS OF CAR TIRES ON GRAVEL DRIVE]

KEEPER

Incoming.

WALTER

(sigh) Damn. Hoped we could get you out of here before he got back.

[CAR DOOR SHUTS]

[FOOTSTEPS, PUNCTUATED BY THE REGULAR THUNK OF A CANE]

ALASTAIR

Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Alastair.

ALASTAIR

And what brings you out to the haunts of coot and hearn?

WALTER

She came to get my statement about the man I saw.

ALASTAIR

(gruffly) Told you to have nothing to do with him. Or the Institute. You want them to mark you?

WALTER

I think it’s a bit late for that. He showed up yesterday and was watching the boys, and—well, he dropped his clipboard. List of names and dates.

ALASTAIR

…

(more gently) How long have you got?

WALTER

Ten weeks, give or take. Enough time to finish the painting. Patch the roof over the dormer. I might even be able to get that shed built for you. I can definitely get the ground prepped, but I think you’ll need to get someone else to do the planting this year.

ALASTAIR

How can you think of that at a time like this, what?

WALTER

Like I told Ms. Robinson here, what else am I supposed to do? Spend the rest of my life mourning that I won’t have more time? That just wastes the time I do have.

ALASTAIR

You’re facing down the End—

WALTER

I’m facing death.

GERTRUDE

It is the same thing.

WALTER

I can see how they’d get lumped together, but they’re really not. Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

[A BRIEF SILENCE]

[RUNNING FOOTSTEPS]

WALTER

(audibly grinning) Look out, here comes trouble.

YOUNG MARTIN

Granddad! Granddad!

ALASTAIR

All right, come here, you rips. What have you been up to?

YOUNG JON

We were just racing around the house and then we saw a skylark, honest we did, and Martin told me the poem about it, and—

YOUNG MARTIN

And then it flew away and, and we heard your car and came to see you, and here you are!

YOUNG JON

(whispering loudly) Papa, is Mr. K’s surprise ready?

WALTER

(matching his volume) Just about.

ALASTAIR

(also whispering loudly) I’m not deaf, laddie buck.

WALTER

Why don’t you two go wash your hands and set the table for tea? I trust you to be careful.

YOUNG MARTIN/YOUNG JON

Yes, sir!

[RUNNING FEET, A SCREEN DOOR BANGING SHUT]

GERTRUDE

Well. I won’t take up any more of your time. I suppose I’d best be getting back to the Institute.

ALASTAIR

Oh, hang the Institute, Trudy. Surely your assistants can spare you for the afternoon. I’m sure Mendelson won’t mind, what?

GERTRUDE

Mendelson retired more than fifteen years ago. James Wright is the current head of the Institute.

ALASTAIR

Wright? That little dog’s todger?

GERTRUDE

He does well. It surprised me, too.

I—I shouldn’t.

KEEPER

You’re not even a little curious to see what those two little nippers have conjured up as a surprise for Alastair’s birthday?

GERTRUDE

Speaking of those two, I am curious why Jonny calls you “Mr. K”.

ALASTAIR

“Koskiewicz” is a bit of a mouthful for a two-year-old.

WALTER/KEEPER

(simultaneously and accurately mimicking Jon’s tones) Two and a quarter.

GERTRUDE

So why don’t they both call you “Granddad?”

WALTER

We used to refer to him that way for both, but once Jonny started talking, he decided that if Martin can’t call my mother “Grandmother,” he wasn’t going to steal Martin’s grandfather. He wanted Martin to have someone of his very own.

ALASTAIR

Gertrude, he’s Lily’s boy.

GERTRUDE

(softly) My God.

WALTER

I did tell you Kier got me a job with his father-in-law. Did you just not make the connection?

GERTRUDE

No, I—I didn’t.

How is Lily these days?

[ALASTAIR MAKES A NOISE BETWEEN A SPUTTER AND A GROWL]

KEEPER

Lily’s…fine, ma’am.

ALASTAIR

Should’ve stayed at the Institute and left her to be raised by wolves. Would’ve solved a lot of problems.

KEEPER

Aye, but then we wouldn’t have our Wickie. And I wouldn’t trade him for a king’s ransom.

ALASTAIR

Hmm, yes, yes. Thank God he takes after his father, what?

GERTRUDE

…I take it she hasn’t improved with maturity, then.

ALASTAIR

Let’s just say there’s a reason Martin spends most of his days here when Kieran’s away for work.

[DOOR CREAKS OPEN]

YOUNG MARTIN

U-um, ‘scuse me. Are—are you going to stay for tea, Ms. Robinson?

GERTRUDE

I really shouldn’t.

ALASTAIR

Come on, Trudy. Just an hour or two.

I have missed you, what?

Say you’ll join us.

YOUNG MARTIN

Please?

[A SHORT PAUSE]

GERTRUDE

Since you ask so politely…I’d be delighted.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final notes.

I…I really don’t quite know what to say here. The statement itself is…fairly straightforward. Obviously those dates bear watching, but I suppose I can’t be certain of them. Of all the abilities I seem to have developed in the last twenty-five years, the ability to Know the future is not one of them.

Still, I suppose finding a way to warn the Stokers would not go amiss. Mr. Sims did give me a bit more to go on there.

I am not made of stone. I do feel very keenly for that young father and his…situation. He did finally get the chance to give me the last two names on the list, and I suppose it’s no surprise that they belonged to his son and his godson. (heh) They’re quite a pair, those two. I admit that I’m somewhat relieved the dates on their names were obscured before he could see them. No parent should have to know when their child is going to die.

And he has given me much to think about. I have a date. If his statement is accurate, I have a little over twenty-five years to accomplish all I need to accomplish. Of course, it’s entirely possible that those dates are the absolute limit, not the concrete end—that I will live no longer than that—but…well. That should give me time, if I work hard at it.

He’s right. There will always be more to do. (heh) Unless I fail, and it all ends. Perhaps that’s why the last three dates are—no. No, I have to believe that these rituals can be stopped, will be stopped. And now I have even more of a reason to work at them than before.

Honestly, I’m not sure what about this whole experience has shaken me more. Finding out the date of my own death…(voice hitches) or meeting my grandson.

I don’t think I’ll make a file in the Archives for this one.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[LONG, HEAVILY CHARGED SILENCE]

MELANIE

What. The. Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) Oh, God.

SASHA

Gertrude Robinson was your grandmother?

PAST MARTIN

I—I didn’t know…

MARTIN

Neither did I. I don’t—

It kind of explains a lot.

ARCHIVIST

Like what?

MARTIN

Like why she avoided me? Like why errands to the Archives were the only ones Diana never sent me on?

PAST MARTIN

A-and it’s—when, when Elias—when Jonah made me experience her death. I-it was—you said it wasn’t usually that intense.

Was that why? I could f-feel her thoughts and emotions because we’re not just connected by the Eye, we’re—related.

ARCHIVIST

I—

[STATIC BEGINS, SOFTLY AT FIRST BUT GRADUALLY BUILDING]

Yes.

No one ever knew. No one apart from Alastair Koskiewicz, and Liliana herself, ever knew that Gertrude gave birth shortly before being appointed Archivist. The baby was placed with Alastair’s parents, for a while anyway, but they were quite elderly and died within a few months of each other four years later, at which time Alastair resigned his position in Research to raise her. Gertrude always made absolutely sure that nobody knew about Liliana. The one and only time she ever tried to reach out to her, Liliana made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with the woman who had given her life and nothing else, as far as she was concerned.

Gertrude didn’t know about you until that day, but afterward, you became the single driving force behind her war against the Fears. She worried that the appearance of the eye on the list might mean that the Ceaseless Watcher had taken an interest in you, and she became ruthless in her zeal to keep it away from you. She spoke with you only twice after that day, taking care to be in disguise and using a false name, just in case.

When she found out you had joined the Institute, she was devastated and terrified in equal measures. It was only when Elias Bouchard did not come down to the Archives to casually mention that he had hired Alastair Koskiewicz’s grandson that she realized her steps to protect you had been, in some small way, successful, and Jonah Magnus had no idea of the connection between her and you. Still, she redoubled her efforts, becoming ever more ruthless in her determination to stop the rituals, to make the world—

MARTIN

J-Jon. Jon!

[STATIC ABRUPTLY STOPS]

ARCHIVIST

Wh—(realizes) Oh, God. Martin, I’m sorry, I—

MARTIN

It’s okay. It’s okay. Just—settle down, okay?

ARCHIVIST

Okay.

Okay, I—

(sighs) Are you three all right?

MELANIE

Do you all need a minute?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah. Thanks, Melanie.

MELANIE

Sure.

[CHAIRS CREAKING AND SCRAPING]

SASHA

We’ll probably be down in the tunnels. Whenever you’re ready.

[FOOTSTEPS, DOOR CLOSING]

[SILENCE, EXCEPT FOR SLIGHTLY RAGGED BREATHING]

TIM

(softly) They moved.

Grandmother and Grandfather, they—just before Danny was born. They’d always lived on this little farm, but they abruptly decided they wanted something smaller and moved to a flat not far from where we were living at the time. We moved a few months later. I never knew why, but…

PAST ARCHIVIST

Y-you think it was because Gertrude…found them. Tried to, to warn them. About Danny, about you.

PAST MARTIN

Oh, Tim.

[FABRIC RUSTLES, SOME MINOR SCRAPING SOUNDS; IT’S PRETTY OBVIOUS THERE’S A GROUP HUG GOING ON]

TIM

It’s okay. It’s okay.

It’s going to be okay.

PAST MARTIN

Sure.

PAST ARCHIVIST

We can get through this.

Together.

PAST MARTIN

I like the sound of that.

Jon, I—I’m sorry your dad didn’t get to see the man you’ve become. I think he’d be proud of you.

TIM

Sounds like your grandfather would have been proud of you both.

PAST MARTIN

He’d have been proud of you, too. I-if he’d had the chance to—I think you would have liked him.

I know he would have liked you.

TIM

…Thanks, Martin.

[A COUPLE OF HEAVY SIGHS]

PAST MARTIN

So—so now what? We go…up to Hainault, find the storage unit, figure out what it is—what’s up there?

PAST ARCHIVIST

…

No.

No, not—not now. I-I need the weekend. I’ve…it’s been one thing after another for so long. I’ve been going non-stop. It’s not time-sensitive, not really, and…I’m tired.

Let’s just…not think about it for a couple of days. Let’s close down the Archives early and, I don’t know, go meet Charlie when he gets home from school and take him out for ice cream. Something like that. Let me have a couple of days to enjoy being home and with you again and—a-and we can worry about it on Monday.

We won’t talk about it. We won’t think about it. We’ll just…take a break. I think we all deserve it.

PAST MARTIN

…Okay. Okay, that—that sounds good.

Tim?

TIM

(deep sigh) Sure. Sounds great.

PAST ARCHIVIST

All right then. Let’s go.

[CLICK]

[thepearlyone]

Artific-ial Desires

Pearly’s Notes: this one feels like one of my best ones yet! Not that this didn’t take a while, but it feels like I went through like nine or ten good, working drafts on this. Though it didn’t end up how I initially envisioned, the beast it has become is still so beautiful.

~for kiera~

(or, read it on google docs here! )

~~~~

The triangle-shaped corner store had recently sold- which wouldn’t have been notable in the slightest, except for the buyer. In just the past few days, grime was stripped away, windows were sparkled, new furniture rushed in, all at a breakneck pace- which was typical only for the most elite. And what’s more, the construction company was not the ‘ol reliable mom and pop’ kind, but a very specific one most people in the area didn’t even know. Therefore, someone had to be asking the gossip to spread like wildfire- and all signs pointed to the Lady Von-Quirandra.

The throng filled the entranceway to the newly refurbished boutique, packing themselves all into a doorway and front hallway meant for at least twenty people fewer. There was something about this kind of crowd that meant a spectacle- and Cassandra wasn’t about to miss out on one. It looked like she’d missed out on whatever the first showcase was, as the artificer had their back turned and was clearly answering a question while herding the crowd to another.

“Oh, they’re my own creation- you wouldn’t be able to even find anything remotely similar anywhere else, much less a shop that can match the level of intricate craftsmanship.” She muttered under her breath something about arrogance leading before a great fall, but the speaker’s bold claim definitely seemed apt.

Everything in the shop was dripping with quality, sometimes literally. The fine swirls of one of the displayed rings caught everyone’s eyes initially- the crowd even rushed forward in an attempt to prevent it from melting. Each ring in that display was set up and carefully lit (inside each box, of course) to appear as though it was melting, but each one was so solidly constructed that no one could say anything unpleasant about the effect.

“Now, onto another small invention of mine, I’m proud to finally unveil these-“ It was just a simple pair of diamond-shaped earrings. They looked impressive, but there really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. At least, if there was, it wasn’t visible at the first blush, and the crowd was hurried over to the next booth quickly enough. However, Cassandra definitely wanted to ask about them, as if a one-on-one were even possible with such a famous artificer. She noticed the crowd thinning, as some of the younger members quickly fanned out to run home- after all, entering artificers’ shops were the kind of thing that mothers gave strict punishments for- and she could tell that a couple more of those leaving couldn’t have afforded the ‘intricate craftsmanship’ but wanted to have hope talked into them.

She tarried for as long as she could to look at the diamond-shaped earrings. The gems seemed to be simple studs, although she knew that a lot of concentration had been poured into the project. It was simple- but that made it all the more dangerous, as it could lure people into a false sense of security. The posts seemed to be a material similar to silver, but in the right lighting, Cassandra swore she saw it shimmer.

Ushered kindly to the next booth by everyone’s absence, she admired the plentiful array- sets, fully decked out in black velvet backing, laid out for the finest of society. These had to be personal commissions, things made for specific people in mind- either the artificer knew some slaves or nobles in need of their services, or perhaps they contacted THEM-

She chided herself on even considering that possibility- what the hell was she thinking? No noble-born family, especially not anyone the D’Antonias knew, would ever consider reaching out-artificing was dangerous business. No one ever cared how it happened, either, because if you stuck your neck too close to find out- it could end up adorned in the next showcase.

“Now, we’ve not yet gotten a private room, but those of you interested in our… New Acquisitions, please step this way. I’d be delighted to… guide each of you to them.” Even more fanned out, leaving a still rather sizeable crowd, with only a handful of them taking the opportunity to privately take an appointment.

New Acquisitions- the not-so-secret code word for slaves, either legal or illegal. Slaves had been quite controversial when first introduced a few decades ago, but now every family worth their weight in gold had them, and it was almost just another job. Slave applications were valuable and showed that you were selflessly serving another family- but there were still criminals. Unscrupulous individuals, people who might seek out an artificer to do the dirty work rather than submit their findings to the Justice Computer… Unhappy spouses, unruly coworkers, anyone who might be able to scrape up enough cash.

Then again, they could end up in the same position they wished for someone else- when trying to trick an artificer… It was always hard to tell with them. Everything was.

The lucky moment meant that she could go back to examining what she pleased- the simple earrings. Cassandra was very careful not to touch anything, but she drew quite close to them. The plain diamond-shaped crystals didn’t seem to hold any secrets, and as she carefully maneuvered the box into the light, it merely added to her curiosity. The earrings’ posts still sparkled slightly, meaning this had to be some sort of odd material- but it would only mean that Cassandra would have to ask. Why one pedestal and ‘proud to unveil’ for one pair of earrings that didn’t have anything odd to them?

~~~~

The individual meetings went by faster than anyone could imagine, with more of the crowd flowing out of either the showroom or shop- dazzled at the spectacle. Cassandra carefully slinked back towards the main group, acting as though she was admiring other pieces- a ring here, passing the couple of sets, until-

“Ah, hello there- I hope you’re enjoying the new opening?” She gasped, as they drew much closer to her. The fourteen people now left in the shop began to spread throughout the shop’s layout, leaving her in a far more intimate setting than she previously thought possible. The crowd cover had certainly been nice- but they were now milling up and down the aisles to gawk at the dainty jewelry, the tinkered toys, and the gorgeous gadgets.

Her attention snapped back to the artificer, who was now holding a curious device, one that seemed to be purifying the air. Cassandra had heard about them before, but never seen one so close, or so small- much larger versions were used in air factories. It only took her a few seconds to understand it- the small embroidered gas-bag at the back would fill, and slowly get puffed out by the user- and her mind dismissed it from any chance of danger.

She gave a polite yet faint smile, her mind racing to prepare some sort of platitude that would be enough to avoid detection.

“I certainly admired many of your pieces.” This was said with more than a little trepidation, which the artificer seemed to enjoy, bringing out a smile from underneath their goggles and wide-brimmed smithing hat.

“oh? So you know the rules…” And she did. She was very well-acquainted with them: her mother had even had a few friends whisked away under the Equal Rites, she’d seen them happily smiling with enchanted collars and enchanted rings… of course, for some of them she had been too young to understand, but now-

The slight puff of air brought her quickly back to reality, where the artificer stood next to her. They were clad in a soft shimmering gown, one that played off of their curves just like some of the rings on display. It wasn’t as frilly or poofy, and yet seemed to accentuate their body shape with an extra dimension- lending an odd effect to the gown. Cassandra wasn’t familiar with the material- as many artificers used off-world or off-dimension materials in their own creation… And now it was clear she was staring again, so she had to clear her throat and ask a question or else seem like a buffoon.

“Your own design?” This elicited a knowing smile, and a slow circular glide from their feet in a twirl around. This was to show the dress off, undoubtedly, and Cassandra delighted in it.

“No, unfortunately- but it was my material. The dressmaker from that forest with the slightly lewd name, in case you’re wondering how to get a matching set.” The reply almost seemed teasing, knowing- as if they could know her life story with just a glance. Again, not as if she’d be able to afford anything close to a single piece from the shop without serious considerations both conceptual and legal, financial (and legal) assistance, and magical ward prevention insurance. Even drafting up a contract would be far above her abilities and pay grade, but it could be the only surefire way to avoid any nastiness from anyone involved- especially an artificer.

“Hmm.. I would typically ask if there was one piece that stuck out to you, but I get the feeling I already know what it is. Given your silence… I’d like your name before I guess.” The remnants of the crowd had been slowly filtering out, unbeknownst to her, with one or two pieces being sold- the in-shop lawyer was already beaming and haggling with clients which Cassandra *had* seen- and the corner-store size lent the appearance of being quaint or familial. She had to admit it was a clever arrangement.

“I- sorry. Between the dress and the other pieces, I guess I’m a little starstruck. It’s not every day you get to ‘meet’ one, you know.” She hoped that her cheeks hadn’t blossomed into a blush- although there was no way to know for sure, only to hope and observe the artificer. She also hadn’t meant to any malice, although the hint of a second meaning was merely waiting to be picked up.

They were dangerous folk- many artificers had been caught with entire houses or brothels full of newly-rited thralls. Even tales of just one catching the eye of an entire town, using nothing but forks or pushpins or paperclips or slivers of metal and the inimitable inextricable tool that was their own wit, danced around the fringes of villages. Artificers were not to be listened to, a ‘boogeyman’ that assisted everyday life, that generously acted while greedily taking- in the same instance. Payment could very well be ‘your firstborn’ when dealing with them, and if it was… You’d best hope you weren’t an eldest child.

They took just another second to respond, a hand darting out from the gown. An immaculate white glove, made from plain cloth- which caused her internal tension to unwind quite a bit- which asked for her own hand.

“The name is Von-Quirandra, as I’m sure you’re no doubt aware. The shop is mine, recently acquired with… a little help.” The slight break made Cassandra take note, but she was careful not to advertise it as they continued-

“You may be wondering about the lawyer, he’s a family friend and came with the store.” She noticed a slight glint in the light, and this may have tipped them off because they continued, “Any and all gifts would be voluntary, non-contractual, and specifically not enchanted.”

“After all, I couldn’t expect someone to willingly accept things from an artificer without proper vetting or lineage- so you may view his, in the back office.”

They cleared their throat again, “As I requested, your name would be..?”

“Cassandra.” She didn’t know why she offered it so plainly.

“Cassandra…” The soft utterance, a shower of heavenly stars captured and smoothed into a ribbon off of which the word slid. They said it plainly yet perfectly, her skin crawling with delight and disquiet- but more of the former.

“Cassandra. Quite a lovely name. May I guess which piece caught your eye?” She nodded gently, as if trying to quiet and push aside the thoughts that yelled about the danger of even talking to an artificer.

“My first guess would be the Quirmian Collar- oh, I mean- the one on display towards the front of the store that you must have seen as you entered.” Truth be told, that was the one she’d missed, although the light was quite pretty on it. A highborn slave might wear such a necklace, so it wasn’t something Cassandra could have or even aspired to. No, their family didn’t wish for slaves- or wish to be them.

“Judging by the way you haven’t lit up like a firework, I’d say another one.. Allow me to try again- a private commission of mine? Perhaps the jade engraved set- I bet…” This time, their face moved even closer to her, as if quizzically judging her.

“No.” The terse response plopped out after another moment of silence.

“I see, Cassandra. Might I be permitted one last guess?” They matched her grin, and Cassandra hoped with all her heart that she didn’t appear to be blushing. With how both afraid and stimulated she was, her brain continued to rattle off reasons to leave, but her feet stayed put.

“The third and final guess is… Hmm. I don’t wish to waste it… I can rule one thing out, though- I know you didn’t request a private showing, so I’ll guess… the melting rings, using the sands of Terr-sichoré?”

Their previous smile began to curl into a frown. Their eyebrows, too-

“You seem to be much more of a mystery than you let on, Cassandra. Please.”

She blinked, unsure of what exactly to do and yet still recovering from the way they said her name.

“Please, tell me some more- what did you like? How might I know you?”

“I-uh, well, you know my name, and I come from the D’Antonia-“

“Oh!! Oh my goodness, Cassandra D’Antonia… I am humbled to have you in my presence.” Their crimson lips whispered the word with a soft affect- the perfect shiver traveling up her back in accordance with it. Her cheeks were now a beet-red. There was no chance of hiding it anymore.

“Thank you. I, erm, happened across the crowd, and…”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. The crowd seemed to mostly be there to be talked to, but I did get quite a few purchases. More than I expected, if I may confide in such a prestigious family. It’s a shame that-“

Cassandra turned, hearing rather loud footsteps, which revealed just how startled and absorbed in each other they both were. She swore that despite her own reddening cheeks, the Lady Von-Quirandra seemed to be blushing as well. They turned back towards the lawyer, and were handed a report- although it only needed a quick scan of her attention.

“Ah, thank you. If you could, I think we could use a little more privacy.” The Lady Von-Quirandra handed it back to the lawyer, who withdrew to the office again, but that comment stuck in her mind. It caused her to notice-

She was alone. With an artificer. In their own shop.

“So, Cassandra- I understand you are just a bit afraid. There’s plenty of reason to be… but for a lady such as yourself, I wouldn’t dare try anything unless you asked for it.” their gown swished gently as they drew within whispering distance, voice so soft and smooth.

“I would be wonderfully glad to show the D’Antonia house around. If there is anything you can think of…”

The answer leapt from her mouth before she had time to realize it.

“The earrings.” Realizing she’d said it out loud, her eyes widened in intertwined surprise and fear, her arm now moving up to clamp her mouth shut.

Their eyes flashed in shock behind the goggles, so much so that they removed them.

“Oh my… Cassandra… I didn’t think it would be you who might fall prey to them.” The reverence that they had for her name… Goddesses be damned, the artificer might as well be kissing her right on the-

Her cheeks were barely able to burn a brighter red, as the flame colors spread up her ears and forehead. Banishing the thought, she blinked- only to look into the Lady Von-Quirandra’s… beautiful eyes. Their visage was so soft yet toned, pale- but it had a moonlight brilliance to it.

Even more striking, they took her hand- guiding it back towards the pedestal where the earrings await. The simple box, with the inelaborate studs… soon, the answers would be revealed. But did she really want them?

Their cotton enveloped hand began to caress her cheek, sending a wave of calm throughout her body.

“Oh, Cassandra… such a pretty darling. You’d like to know what’s so special about these?” They cooed, their normally charismatic voice turning lower and smoother- almost sultry… She nodded, her eyes fluttering under their careful ministrations- as if they were massaging her oh so wonderfully.

“You’re right about them. They’re so very special. One thing I’ve been working on for, well, years. My little personal project. They’re made with specific people in mind…” Her ears (and arousal) perked up slightly, but the soothing hands made sure it was only barely noticeable as she relaxed further.

“First, I do suppose a quick lesson in magic is required.” Their soft little titter revealed a delight in Cassandra she hadn’t thought was requited- but must have been all along.. The workshop entrance was right near them, and The Lady closed the door- hanging up their goggles carefully and continuing to explain.

“Magic requires power- the ability to mold the natural world… A focus or desire for that change… and some method to focus both power and desire into a physical good. A contract.” Some of this was purred delicately into Cassandra’s ear, and some was simply stated- as the hat slipped off and was put away on top of the goggles.

“We artificers simply adore making contracts-it’s much of the sparkle that helps each of us enjoy life. Having even just one minute of someone else’s life… access to their own imbued power, to their thoughts, their memories… I find it delectable.”

“So… I’m sure that you wish to draw up a contract… properly. Before you try them on, and for you to understand what they can do. I’ll ask for an hour, minimum of ten minutes…” Their moonlight skin had turned to a soft flushed rose now, having clearly… warmed up to Cassandra. This line of thoughts seemed to meander aimlessly, ending with a soft bump into the word ‘please’- whispered pleadingly to Cassandra.

She certainly was curious. Although her fears about artificers couldn’t be assuaged, The Lady certainly had an interest in her. Her mind was racing, risks thrown aside- filled with the new possibilities and the desire of pleasing someone who was interested in her rather than her family’s wealth or status. The ideas whirred in front of her-

Well, the lawyer would be available to draw up the contract. She’d be able to give just ten minutes… It could possibly endear her to The Lady, and it would be a way to get a free piece- which could be given off to another for disenchanting and selling… it, just in case. Presuming it didn’t do anything first. At the very least, she could talk to the lawyer alone.

And if… if the Lady did harbor certain unsavory desires for her, it might be… beneficial to get in- get out- and then use the money from the other artificer she found to disappear. See? There was definitely a way to escape. She’d be fine.

~~~~

Entering the lawyer’s office was strikingly different, as everything was simultaneously neatly organized and a sprawling jungle of paperwork. Cassandra was able to find it oddly relaxing- far enough away from the Lady Von-Quirandra to be immune from anything untoward, but close enough to still feel her influence on everything in the room. The finely crafted chairs, the softwood desk, the carefully stacked papers…

“So- I’m sure you understand the typical thoughts most clients have. Rest assured, you aren’t alone here- I’m also here to help. I’ve got some preliminary documents drawn up, although I’d need your help and name to complete them.” He was about six feet tall, making him just a bit shorter than The Lady (but larger, and certainly more mountainous than Cassandra). He had an awfully kind smile, and definitely seemed to be groomed daily in order to keep up appearances- the suit was certainly professional enough. However, her eyes were drawn to-

“Sir… your ears..!” Cassandra was quite surprised to find a pair of earrings in his ears, not quite matching the ones out there in the box- diamond shaped, but certainly of a much plainer material. It didn’t shimmer in the light, but still had the same design…

He shrugged this off with a chuckle, taking them out and showing them to her. “They’re quite plain, unlike the ones Milady has been working on. I requested the first prototype as payment for a rather unruly client.” Seeing them alone, with no box, made them feel so… Unremarkable. Tame, almost.

“I assure you, they are not enchanted in any way. Shall we get down to business now?” She nodded curtly, offering her name- which elicited a soft gasp from the lawyer, but did not pause his diligent writing. The D’Antonia name was still weighty enough to cause a dent- even though they’d fallen on harder times lately.

“Well, with that finished… How much time are you willing to give her? Would you like to give the full hour, or just the ten-minute minimum?” She paused, faltering…

“Sir… I still don’t know what it does.”

“I know.” His response was curt and quick.

“And that doesn’t seem odd to you?” Her eyebrows furled in shock, examining his haptics, trying to find any sign that she might be given a ‘free’ preview. One where she might not be risking anything.

“Of course not. It’s part of the guarantee- you won’t be able to share anything about the piece with Milady’s competitors if you walk away, and if you’re given an enforceable contract, you’ll have to abide by it. On the other hand, signing this contract will also protect Milady from anything untoward, as you can see from these paragraphs right here.” Well, he certainly was a good lawyer- she noticed those paragraphs, and her own family’s training told her that it was close enough to airtight for her safety…

“I see. So instead of a trial period, this contract is a trial period, and after the ten minutes, it will come off. Is that right?”

“Yes. If you’d like, we can draft up another contract for purchase when you’re done.”

“We’ll see.” She finished with the four-page document, taking the offered pen. “How is the time determined?”

“I’ve got the proper stopwatch right here, Ms. D’Antonia.” He pulled it out of his drawer, presenting her with a silver stopwatch- and she instantly noted the protective runes carved in it. Not only would it be protected from any magical interference, but it would undo any magical changes if it surpassed 30 seconds from the allotted time. And since there would be no way for either of them to mess with it… She turned it over in her hands before setting it down and sliding the contract under it.

“Are you ready, Ms. D’Antonia? The time will start when you exit the doorway.”

Cassandra’s signature and smug smile was enough to prove that she was. She’d find out about these mysterious earrings, and prove to herself that all the danger about artificers was nonsense. After all, she had this contract to protect her.

~~~~

The Lady met her right as she opened the door outwards, leaning against the pedestal they’d placed. Their smirk was much more graceful than before, although it still betrayed a particular interest in her.

“You haven’t left the doorway yet… Cassandra.~” Yet again, their words were a fluttering crescendo of affection.

“Well, ‘Milady’, you do have me ‘captive’ for ten minutes.” They cracked open the plain box, nodding… Their artificing gear was entirely gone, as well as the cotton gloves- allowing Cassandra a look at their face. It was rather smooth, with only a couple of wrinkled scars, as well as the common ‘forge-tan’… and yet it was so gorgeous Cassandra couldn’t help but look at it.

They brought the earrings forth, allowing Cassandra to examine them even more, but teasingly pulling them away at the last second. Only once she extended her fingers… finally touching the object of her intrigue, turning it over carefully. The earring backs seemed to be new, since she hadn’t been able to take it out previously, but she quickly found herself slipping them into one ear, and then the other.

That must have been what was so alluring about them, their simplicity…

Her foot involuntarily moved forward at the same time she heard a very loud CLICK in both ears. She felt the earring backs twist slightly, something fall to the ground…

and her thoughts vanished. Everything except what was directly in front of her faded, her mind shutting down instantly, only able to track what They.. no, Milady, was doing. The clack of Milady’s heels felt so dull, only picking up when something slipped from Milady’s lips.

“Cassandra? Are you still in there?” Their voice seemed almost… afraid. Had she been able to think properly, she would have known it was tinged with their concern and affection for her.

The response was a dry, dull, almost robotic “Yes, Milady.” Her head could not move an inch, she was so deeply and utterly enthralled.

“You’re not uncomfortable, are you?” And now this demanded the reverse- she wasn’t uncomfortable, which was the oddest thing to her. Everything in her body must have been stiff, and yet she felt as if she were laying on a fine cushion.

“Good. I… I would like you to tell me of yourself. Then, how you feel about… me. Artificers.” Milady looked exhausted, but so wonderfully happy- their eyes welled with tears from seeing their invention so perfected. They pulled up an ornate chair in front of her, listening attentively with their head perched atop one of their palms. They seemed so at ease… resting into the chair’s natural shape and the armrests to listen to their little subject.

“Where should… should…” This quickly brought out a gasp, and widened eyes from Milady-

“Is Cassandra unsure how to refer to herself at the moment, with the backs in place?” It seemed like they had some experience with this, then- perhaps only one other, though, given their tone and reactions.

“Yes Milady.”

“Cassandra ought to use the third person for now. Understood? Nod, please, then continue from the beginning- starting with how she’s feeling, and then when she entered the shop.”

A gentle nod from Cassandra’s head, along with an odd feeling- bliss… presumably from following Milady’s order. Is this what artificers did normally? Have the thralls talk to them? If she could have a consistent thought, she would have tried to hold onto that one, but it was pushed down into nothingness by the calming backs.

“Cassandra is unsure what she is experiencing. She is… feeling odd. Although she stopped in to examine the spectacle, she felt… drawn to these earrings. Curious about them. There was something special about them.” Her speaking paused, as she saw Milady holding up one finger.

“Cassandra, please speak normally. Although… just a hint like this. Nod if you understand, and continue.” She felt her vocal cords unlock with a curt nod, utterly freeing her except for one- mouth finally able to move at her own will… but there was still the lingering urge to simply say what she was directed to.

“Cassandra is now aware of what might be so special about them. They make Cassandra unable to think. Unable to disobey, Milady.” At least her speaking had returned to normal- but that thought, too, slipped down into the void.

“I… Would normal Cassandra… How does Cassandra feel about me?”

“Cassandra feels intrigued, interested, stimulated, a-“

“I meant… Does Cassandra like me?” Now Milady was easily blushing, covering their face slightly.

After a very slight pause… “Yes, Milady.” was uttered from her lips, much of the affection she still felt dripping from her words.

“Does… Cassandra know how I feel about her as well?” This was clearly said with a tinge of embarrassment, but curiosity had taken Milady over.

“Cassandra feels that… yes, Milady may perhaps like her. Especially now, like this.”

“O-oh. I see. The attention is, ah, requited. Good! I, ah, believe we’ll move on now…” Milady was covering their head with their hands, clearly turning a deeper flushed red. Had Cassandra been able to properly recall this later, she would have noticed that Milady had turned away from her vision and towards a clipboard to assist hiding their shame.

“Very well… increase vision to normal parameters-“ which meant she could see again, able to focus and look around normally, “standard head mobility as well, and increase thoughts to twenty percent.” She…

Cassandra was thinking. In front of an artificer.

“Kneel.”

Cassandra was kneeling and looking up at an artificer. The sheer danger of what she had done pumped through her veins, but she could not bring herself to move any more than turning away her head slightly- but she didn’t want to look away from the beautiful Lady Von Quirandra.

“Oh my, that feels much better… more domineering, don’t you think?” This brought out an electrified smile, one that she stared at, enraptured and terrified alike. Their hand reached out to tip up her chin with a giggle, stroking her cheek and calming her in the process.

“Please… I know you’re probably afraid, but I don’t wish you to be. I wanted you to experience… this.” It was certainly blissful, not to have to think. Not to be a noble. Not to occupy oneself with all these preconceived notions, manners, passions, etiquette that had to be followed every second of being –

“Cassandra.” That name again, the one that made her eyelids flutter from simply hearing The Lady Von Quirandra say it. However, her eyes had to be open again- so they were opened.

“Please increase thoughts to full. How are you feeling?”

“I… what the hell did you do to me?” She couldn’t help but ask this in the kindest way possible, filled with a curiosity and a wistful arousal- this thought a balloon, inflating with potential.

“The backs have a certain enthralling power. One to eliminate potential thought, even as it happens, to allow for someone to control the wearer entirely. What’s more, they keep their wearers nice and obedient.” The Lady almost said this a little lustily, clearly enjoying the moment- but also playfully and reassuringly… looking down straight into Cassandra’s hazel eyes.

“I hope you understand their power well, now. At the end of your time, you’ll make a decision. It may not be today, perhaps in a few days, or weeks. I hope that you’ll choose to become my.. ah, well… ‘apprentice’.” The Lady went back to covering their face and peeking out at the kneeling figure below them

Her face contorted in shock, stretching in disbelief- before snapping back to a central position. Apparently her shoulders were not allowed to move much, but her face and brain were still ‘allowed’ to move. An apprentice? To an artificer? She couldn’t believe the offer- not least of which for being one of the least qualified people on the planet, but also for the incredulity of it all.

“I understand that you might be a-“

“Your apprentice, Lady??? I don’t know the first thing about-!~”

“Hush, please. I don’t wish for Ashton to be disturbed.” Her jaw instantly slipped shut.

“And that’s not quite true- I taught you ‘the first thing about magic’, and really all you would need to know. I… I need someone acquainted with selling. It truly takes a toll on me to do these kinds of shows. I can’t always afford the… showmanship to get up and move every time that a lot of nobles say I ought to show off my work more.” They slumped further into the chair, clearly sulking.

“I’m skilled, as you can see, but… not there, in that kind of arena. I’d rather be sticking my head in the oil jar than trying to upsell a ring that I didn’t even put that much effort into.”

Throughout this rant, Cassandra could see the lines on their face- clearly an exhausted person, much like her family- trying to get by the best they could.

“…besides, it would be… more than that.” The Lady cleared their throat before continuing, leaving a hefty dramatic pause.

“You could be free from your family name.”

The impossible idea spread through her mind in stages. Relief from the D’Antonias’ strict rules, the imposed penny-pinching, the etiquette- then that she would be with someone. Of course, the idea settled back in of artificers, and much worse-

“And you would only have one restricted hour at most. Maybe two, if we both feel… intimate that night.” This was said in increasingly hushed tones, causing an outbreak of blushing on both of their parts.

“Are you… proposing??” The Lady squealed in shame, answering-

“O-oonly to be my… girlfriend! I don’t want you to get any ideas of that just yet, but… I think I’d like that as well… I could make us a pair of rings, later…”

The flustered D’Antonia heiress couldn’t help but keep opening and closing her mouth, flabbergasted by the idea that seemed

“Keep your mouth shut, dear. Just… think about it for when you’re done. Which is… hm, soon. Too soon…” The backs pulsed gently with enchanted power, and the carefully wound silver pocketwatch chimed with one minute left.

“Return to thrall mode, just for now- but keep the vocal modifiers.” She felt her thoughts be blasted into the wind again, her body relaxing even further, letting go of all the tension inside her…

“Just keep relaxing, little Cassandra… I want you to understand what this is like. How blissful this can be for you. How obedient you can be made. And that this is an offer unlike any other- one where I will use you, remold you, make you into a new beautiful piece- one worthy of your own name. No more silly D’Antonia to hold you back and keep you inside a gilded prison.”

The Lady seemed much calmer, maintaining that more dominant affect, but… if Cassandra were able to think, she’d know it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from each of them. For the few seconds, they smiled and admired their thrall, four cheeks blushing in turn.

~~~~

The timer went off, returning Cassandra to her normal thoughts instantly- though it left her blushing as red as the first dress she’d ever worn to her family’s elegant ball. She rose, tentatively, under the gaze of The Lady. They slightly rose and-

It was just her instincts acting now, her base fear- and she ran out of the small corner shop into the rain. The thump of her heart pounding in her ears drove out the surprised shriek of the lawyer, the splash of mud against the cobblestone street, leaving behind only the knowledge of which street to take- left, right, center down the path here…

Cassandra arrived at the manor steps, and collapsed to her knees… a relentless sob had taken hold of her, tears and rain both streaking across her face.

Truth be told, she hadn’t realized she’d even stolen the backs until she’d taken them out of her ears, and yet- the urge to still treat them with care was there. All of this was happening so suddenly. There was so much that she just… didn’t know. Her own feelings were a jumble of butterflies, swirling and fluttering around inside…

She tried to sort them, to herd them- the way her mother had taught her, giving them all names and pretty colors, making them butterflies in her own mind-[herbarium].

But as soon as she’d plucked one out from the swirling horde, visualizing its soft iridescent wings, picturing the soft caress of Their glove again-

no.

Her legs crumpled weakly, pleading that no one would see her like this, so disheveled and undone by… the new shop.

She’d return to the shop tomorrow, return the backs, leave a note of thanks just to be… cordial enough, and just… flee. Run away somewhere. Get away from this ancient town and its horrid artificer.

The offer was just too good to be true.

~~~~

Some time later…

“Ah, hello, Missus Val-Periton! May I escort you to the back? Your pendant is ready.” Cassandra beamed happily at the couple that had strolled into the shop, her own earrings sparkling in the multitude of framed lights. The new verdant dress she strolled around the shop in was almost the shop’s mascot- with the new sign painted with a cartoonish version of it draped alongside the logo. Business was booming, especially since a familiar face could help ease the fears about artificers.

Her Lady Von Quirandra was placing the finishing touches on the precious pendant, and the couple was more than glad to finish paying- the pendant sparkled brilliantly in Her Lady’s hands. As the couple strolled out of the shop proudly, Her Lady gently brushed their hand against her cheek, repeating with the softest possible murmur the most precious words they both knew.

“You did so well for Me, Thrall Cassandra. I love you.” And with an idolizing sigh, Cassandra D’arvon Quirandra returned them.

fin

[halfwall]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❪ ⠀   * ⠀ ─          hello!  i’m  so  excited  for  this  genuinely,  it  is  so  seksi  and  socks  +  soda  did  such  an  amazing  job  with  it.  eunjung  is  my  newest  muse  and  the  best  way  i  can  describe  her  is  if  you  took  a  garden  snake  and  aged  it  up  manually  in  the  sims  and  then  took  it  into  the  spore  game  and  gave  it  lips  and  made  it  a  predator.  in  other  words,  my  very  own  looks  like  a  cinnamon  roll  could  k-word  you  (  kiss?  kill?  your  choice  <3  ).  this  intro  is  a  condensed  version  of  my  goog  dooc  and  it’s  still  long  <3  pls  love  n  plot  w  me  anyway.  love  u  guys.

❪  kang  mina,  cis  woman,  she  /  her,  twenty  one.  ❫    i  can  feel  red  energy,  that  must  be  yun  eunjung.  the  third  year  print  journalism  &  international  relations  major  works  as  a  bookkeeper  at  the  house  of  the  lucky  gander,  and  is  known  around  the  manor  as  the  yellow  wallpaper.  i’ve  heard  whispers  about  how  they’re  critical  and  pedantic,  but  everyone  says  they’re  persevering  and  formidable.  i  don’t  know  what  to  believe...  but  with  cc  pulling  the  strings...

links:    google  doc,  pinterest,  stats,  wanted  connections.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

full  name  :  yun  eunjung

nickname(s) /  alias(es)  :  emma  yoon  (  english  name,  not  used  ),  tbd

age  /  dob  :  twenty  one  /  apr  18  ‘99

hometown  :  tbd  ,  oregon

current  location :  fortuna  ,  maine

ethnicity :  korean

nationality  :  english

gender  :  cis  woman

pronouns  :  she  /  her

orientation  :  bisexual

religion :  agnostic.

family :  yun  hajun  (  father,  alive  ),  han  minji  (  mother,  alive  ),  yun  eunsang  (  twin  brother,  status  unknown  ),  yun  sangjung  (  younger  brother,  deceased  ).

face  claim  :  kang  mina

language(s)  spoken  :  korean  (  first  language  ),  english

speech :  sharp  tongued.  she’s  a  lot  of  opinions  and  a  lot  of  things  to  say,  therefore  has  never  learned  how  to  phrase  things  in  a  way  that  would  deem  her  polite.  often  blunt,  she’ll  be  quick  to  rip  off  the  bandaid  and  just  say  what  needs  to  be  said.  she  doesn’t  speak  with  much  class  or  extravagancies,  rather  falls  toward  crassness  and  crudeness  due  to  her  upbringing.

hair  :  quite  dark,  a  nice  chocolate  in  the  sun  and  a  cool  onyx  in  the  dark.  often  tied  back,  though  eunjung  is  only  ever  seen  with  her  hair  in  two  distinct  styles:  tied  back  messily  or  let  down  naturally.  her  hair  falls  straight  as  if  it’s  been  flat  ironed.

eyes :  big,  round,  and  doe  eyed,  a  dark  brown  in  color.  quite  the  weapon  to  use  when  she’s  in  trouble  or  when  she  needs  to  talk  her  way  out  of  something  (  to  proclaim  innocence  ).

height  :  five  feet  ,  seven  inches.

build  :  lithe.  as  a  former  volleyball  player,  she  has  kept  her  shape  up  with  rigorous  conditioning  (  mainly  because  if  she’s  to  admit  it,  if  she  doesn’t  she  kind  of  gets  lost  in  the  walls  ).

tattoos  :  none  .

piercings :  only  earlobes  .

scars  :  multiple  from  surgeries  at  sixteen.

clothing  style  :  preppy,  thanks  to  her  settlement  money  and  her  own  personal  taste.  never  a  hair  out  of  place  due  to  her  perfectionistic  personality  and  nature,  though  if  you  catch  her  on  any  given  night,  you’ll  see  her  true  colors  shine  through  with  old  (  very  old  )  sweatpants  and  a  hoodie  that  has  someone  else’s  name  written  on  the  tag  in  hangul.

usual  expression  :  sour,  bitter  –  life  has  handed  her  a  poor  hand  and  she’ll  make  it  everyone’s  problem.  she  has  one  usual  expression  and  it’s  resting  mean  face;  not  the  kind  of  person  to  wear  her  heart  on  her  sleeve,  she  looks  the  exact  same  when  she  looks  happy  as  she  does  sad,  though  –  she’s  great  at  acting  and  lying  and  you’ve  never  lived  until  you’ve  watched  her  go  from  :|  to  :)  in  two  seconds.

distinguishing  characteristics  :  doe  eyes  that  scream  tragedy  –  reflecting  the  stars  in  the  night  sky  if  caught  just  right,  the  tilt  of  her  lips  when  she  clearly  wants  something  to  work  in  her  favor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

❪  almost  directly  copied  from  my  google  doc  i’m  sorry  ❫ 

mbti:   istj-a,  the  logistician  /  most  who  know  her  would  assume  her  to  be  extroverted.  not  the  most  reserved  in  a  room  and  always  quick  to  speak  up  when  she  deems  it  necessary.  but,  like  most  logisticians  –  she’s  always  had  a  sharp,  fact-based  mind.  she  has  always  been  self  sufficient  and  hates  relying  on  others,  often  seeing  it  as  a  weakness.  she  is  sharp,  dedicated  and  ambitious  enough  to  accomplish  whatever  she  wants  to  accomplish.

enneagram:  6w5,  the  guardian  /  like  most  of  this  type,  her  biggest  fear  is  losing  her  guidance  and  stability,  which  translates  into  her  skepticism  of  the  world.  therefore,  it  often  leads  to  eunjung  protecting  those  she  is  loyal  to,  but  most  importantly:  herself.  she  will  often  think  logically  and  analytically,  solving  problems  practically  and  efficiently  but  she  will  often  be  selfish  and  can  come  off  as  cold  as  a  result  for  her  actions.

moral  alignment:  chaotic  evil  /  eunjung  has  never  been  the  most  –  angelic  person,  though  she  likes  to  pretend  she  is.  at  the  end  of  the  day,  after  everything  she  has  been  through,  she  has  grown  to  be  selfish  –  prioritizing  her  own  personal  gain  and  pleasure  above  all  good  and  evil,  right  and  wrong.  it  could  be  argued  that  she  belongs  in  chaotic  neutral,  but  she  has  no  care  for  law  and  order,  nor  a  real  feeling  of  her  morality  anymore.

hogwarts  house:  slytherin  /  another  reminder  of  her  selfishness  and  how  much  she  cares  about  her  own  well  being.  all  her  life  as  well,  she  has  been  told  that  she  is  shrewd  and  too  ambitious  for  her  own  good  which  has  only  given  her  an  incessant  drive  to  prove  them  all  wrong.  when  it  comes  down  to  it,  like  most  slytherins,  she  will  try  to  view  every  possible  outcome  until  she  finds  the  outcome  that  will  benefit  her  the  most.

comparable  characters:  juliet  capulet  (  romeo  &  juliet  ),  jennifer  check  (  jennifer’s  body  ),  rosalie  hale  (  twilight  ),  blair  waldorf  (  gossip  girl  ),  sansa  stark  (  game  of  thrones  ).

the  rundown:  as  smart  as  she  is  selfish,  life  has  just  twisted  her  to  be  a  bit  cold.  she  isn’t  cruel  by  any  means,  nor  does  she  necessarily  wish  hurt  and  evil  upon  those  around  her,  but  eunjung’s  huge  main  character  complex  often  leads  to  her  priorities  being:  1.  eunjung  2.  yun eunjung  3.  eunjung yun.  her  biggest  trait  will  always  be  selfishness,  followed  closely  by  her  rash  belief  that  she  is  the  best  in  the  room  at  all  times.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞

trigger  warnings:  alcoholism  +  death

this  is  a  rundown  on  the  biography  /  death  /  back  room  /  glass  person  in  the  google  doc,  also  better  written  /  explained  because  it’s  not  prosey  <3

hajun  is  not  a  good  father,  he  never  has  been.  from  a  very  young  age,  all  eunjung  has  heard  from  him  are  his  drunken  spirals  about  how  great  they  used  to  be.  his  surname  was  once  held  in  a  high  regard,  the  name  of  an  empress  and  he  has  always  dwindled  about  to  the  three  yun  children  that  because  of  the  greatness  he  has  passed  onto  them,  they  must  be  great  too.  

eunjung  has  only  ever  viewed  his  spiels  as  hypocritical  though.  she  has  only  ever  known  her  dad  as  a  mean  drunk  who  lives  in  the  dirtiest,  most  run  down  house  in  town  with  his  poor  three  kids.  her  twin  brother,  eunsang,  her  younger  brother,  sangjung,  and  her  spend  their  childhoods  taking  care  of  each  other  because  nobody  else  will.  their  mother  does  something,  they  never  know  what  because  she  only  arrives  with  enough  money  for  groceries  and  bills  and  then  she  leaves.

it’s  that  way  for  most  of  her  childhood  and  most  of  her  life.  it’s  a  continuous  cycle  of  eunjung  +  eunsang  taking  care  of  sangjung  (  who  starts  going  my  samuel  when  he’s  ten  and  the  twins  are  twelve.  the  twins  have  english  names,  too,  but  eunjung  has  too  much  pride  –  like  her  father  –  and  eunsang  is  the  eldest  and  will  do  whatever  his  twin  does  out  of  love  )  and  eunjung  is  just  –  quite  the  difficult  child.  she  speaks  her  mind  and  all  of  her  opinions,  as  well  as  letting  the  festering  anger  within  her  too  grow  because  she  doesn’t  know  what  else  to  do  with  it.

death  tw.  anyway,  by  sixteen,  she’s  just  this  bitter  girl  that  the  boys  hook  up  with  because  she’s  the  poor  girl  from  the  dirty  house  on  the  rundown  street.  she’s  got  a  reputation  as  a  shrew  around  town,  but  she’s  fine  with  being  a  shrew  if  she  still  gets  her  way.  samuel  is  much  more  popular  than  either  of  the  twins  (  who  are  epitome  of  bad  boy  /  bad  girl  from  the  wrong  side  of  the  tracks  )  and  is  invited  to  a  party  at  fourteen.  it’s  tradition  to  party  in  this  abandoned  mansion  out  in  the  woods  and  basically,  an  accident  happens  and  samuel  is  pushed  from  the  second  story  balcony  into  the  foyer  and  d-words.

he’d  called  eunjung  before  dying  though,  asking  for  a  ride  so  the  twins  had  went  to  go  get  him  but  instead  found  him  dead.  while  trying  to  figure  out  what  had  happened,  she  spots  some  kid  that  doesn’t  like  her  still  lingering  around  so  she  tries  to  chase  him  and  he....  like....  pushes  her  off  too  and  she  d-words.  end  tw.

her  back  room  is  just  this  little  room  and  she  still  to  this  day  doesn’t  know  how  much  time  she  spent  in  there  because  it  was  just  so  confusing,  all  she  remembers  is  that  she  (  or  someone  )  was  trying  to  convince  herself  that  she  was  home  and  that  everything  was  fine.  but,  she’s  a  bitch  and  was  like  “uh,  actually,  i’ve  never  had  a  home  <3″  and  broke  out  of  whatever  spell.

her  glass  person  is  just  her.  identical,  but  trapped  in  the  walls  underneath  the  ugly  yellow  wallpaper  in  the  room  she  was  in.  same  as  her,  just  more  lifeless  and  it  is  really  the  only  thing  that  still  scares  her  –  and  it  tried  to  escape  the  walls,  but  it  couldn’t.  the  lasting  effect  is  that  if  she’s  alone  in  a  room  for  more  than  an  hour  she  swears  the  walls  start  stretching  like  someone’s  behind  it  and  just  always  feeling  like  she’s  being  watched.  she  also  doesn’t  like  looking  at  her  own  reflection  that  much  anymore  because  it  just  reminds  her  of  her  glass  person.

anyway,  she  survives  miraculously  and  after  testifying  and  blah  blah  blah  (  i  did  research  on  settlements  and  i  still  didn’t  understand  so  ),  the  family  of  the  kid  who  pushed  her  off  –  and  probably  samuel  –  gives  the  yun  family  a   huge  sum  of  money  for  their  troubles  and  calls  it  a  settlement.  it  comes  with  the  condition  that  eunjung  doesn’t  sue  or  bring  them  up  ever  again  and  she’s  like  fine  that’s  cool,  whatever,  i’m  rich  now.

but  her  parents  still  aren’t  happy  and  before  samuel’s  funeral,  eunsang  runs  away  from  home,  leaving  them  with  only  the  daughter  that  neither  of  them  really  wanted.  she  still  pushes  forward  though  and  ends  school  as  valedictorian,  prom  queen,  etc.  and  heads  to  fortuna  because  she  really  doesn’t  think  she  can  go  anywhere  and  also  her  counselors  are  ass  <3

she’s  studying  international  relations  +  print  journalism,  her  hopes  are  diplomacy  or  something,  but  she  just  chose  the  majors  that  she  tested  highest  on  on  that  career  test  i  can’t  choose.  yeah.

please  plot  w  me  i  have  my  wc  linked  up  there  or  at  /w.  i  love  u  all  i’m  sorry  this  was  long.

[bird-in-a-cage]

Found the ones with the horniest vibes for me! 39, 62, 103, 114, 127, 149. You know e x a c t l y what I want bby 😌😏 -CockAsInTheBird

Hi bby!

As one of my biggest supporters, and with how many prompts you gave me, you’re getting two fills. For the first one, well, you’ll see. Hope you enjoy!

Also a quick thank you to everyone who has sent in a little request so far. It means the world to me. I’m slowly making my way through them all and will get to each one in time. Having a full time job really does take up vaulable writing hours let me tell you. There’s still plenty of prompts available from the list here, or if you wanna just spin me your own ideas that’s totally okay too. My ask box is always open.

#62 - It’s okay, they’re he’s gone now. #149 I just want to look at you

2k | dead dove do not eat | murder ahoy. 

Part I is here

Serial Killer AU Part II

“If you could kill anyone, who would it be?” Steve asked casually, passing back the shared cigarette, smoke filling the air between them like barely there fog. Billy was laying down, plaid sheets bunched around his middle, looking up at a popcorn ceiling, shaggy brunette hair and dangerously calm amber eyes. Billy took what was left of the cigarette and inhaled slowly, but he didn’t have to think of an answer. He knew. Had known for years, if given the chance, who he would kill without a second thought. Had spent nights thinking about it over and over again.

“My dad.”

Those dangerous eyes twinkled in the dark, the only light coming from a lamp sitting on the nightstand, casting the room in a too bright orange glow. A smirk started to grow on Steve’s face, half hidden by shadows, the wheels starting to turn. He shifted, sank more under the sheets from his sitting position up against the headboard until he was on his side, propped up by an elbow, reached across the small space and thumbed Billy’s jaw tenderly like a lover would. It was little touches that pulled Billy more under his spell, little soft words here and there. Affirmations he was doing something good for the first time in his life.

He was good. After all this time.

“I think that sounds like a fun date night, don’t you?” Steve’s hand crept up to hold Billy’s cheek, cupping it softly, brushing his fingers over the bone underneath, tracing his skull like that’s all Steve could see. Was all he was interested in. “And you were so helpful with my little Hagan problem, I think you deserve it.” 

Tommy had been three days ago. Billy drove. That’s what he did now. Drove Steve around wherever he wanted to go. Helped whenever he needed it. Mostly loading and unloading. Holding people down. Being the muscle. Keeping people quiet. Making sure their eyes were open. Steve liked that. Liked people watching him work. Liked to see the will to fight turn limp and tearful upon realisation.

Tommy never locked his door. Never had apparently. Steve had been in his house many times. Knew exactly where to find him, knew his mom was working out of town for a week after a little reconnaissance. Steve was still the town’s darling after all. Tommy put up more of a fight than most. Almost got away if Billy didn’t stop him at the door. Because he did that now too. Kept watch. Kept watch for cops and onlookers. Nosey neighbours. Made sure no one got away. No possible loose ends that would need to be tied up.

He'd looked up at Billy so betrayed.

Steve stabbed Tommy fourteen times in the kitchen of the Hagan house. One for every year they had been friends. The last one was in the heart, so powerful Billy heard a rib crack from the other side of the room.

Disobeying the King had broken Steve’s heart. So he had to break Tommy's in return.

Blood was everywhere. Steve was covered in it as he panted over Tommy’s body, choking and gurgling on the last few moments of life. Looking up at them both helplessly, like maybe this was just a nightmare and he'd wake up soon. Steve waited until all was silent, got to his feet and set the knife on the kitchen table, regained his composure and swept his hair back with a bloody hand and a deep sigh. During the act he looked manic. Possessed by pure evil. Eyes wild and crazy. Unblinking. Not missing a single moment of his own handiwork.

“I don’t want Mrs Hagan to find this, she was always nice to me," he said calmly, eyes never leaving Tommy’s body. It was an order without the words.

Clean this up.

So Billy did, without question. Grabbed rubber marigolds and bleach from under the sink and scrubbed and scrubbed until the kitchen was sparkling again. Tommy was rolled up into a bedsheet and dumped like old luggage in the trunk of the BMW. Billy drove them out to the outskirts of town when it was nearly dawn, a little side road Steve had picked out especially. He liked to display. What he was doing was art at the most carnal level.

"We used to come here when he was wanting to experiment," he explained calmly, like he wasn't propping up the body of his former friend against a rock for a hiker to stumble across on their morning trail. "Wasn't gay if it was out of town. It's not gay if you don't take it Stevie."

Billy had just smoked. Kept the engine running for the headlights and watched. He could have ended everything right there. Crushed the maniac under the wheels and ran. Someone would surely believe his story. He was innocent. But he didn't. He just stood and smoked. Waited. 

Internally, he'd been trying to convince himself this was all for self preservation. Billy knew he was on Steve's imaginary list. He had to have been. Everyone else had been picked off and there wasn't a single hope he wasn't next. But Steve never said a word about it. Never gave off a look or an attitude that he was even contemplating it. He gave Billy smiles and compliments, reassurances that everything was okay, Billy was good at this, that he needed Billy's help, couldn’t do it without him. And something deep deep down clung to those kind, blood soaked words. 

Billy had never been told he was good before. Always a bad kid, a troublemaker, only fit for a chain gang. Even in elementary school. Good grades but a poor attitude. Constantly in the way of everyone's good time, fit for nothing. So many times he'd heard his father's rage towards him, both in front of and behind his back. Cruel words snarled like Billy was nothing but an old dog that just wouldn't die. Didn’t fit in with the new family. A ghost from the past.

Steve told him he was good. Almost constantly. And he’d never really liked Tommy that much anyway.

With how those dark eyes glittered in the dark of Steve's room, looking directly into Billy's very soul, calling to him like a siren in the middle of a storm, a date night sounded like a great idea.

***

Max and Susan were away for the weekend. Billy remembered it being on the family calendar pinned to the wall by the door the last time he was home. The day of Nancy. Written in bold black ink and circled three times. They were visiting some aunt or cousin or whatever. Billy hadn't really been paying attention to the conversation other than when the phrase 'boy's weekend' innocently left Susan's lips and Billy's very core turned the ice at the thought of there being absolutely no barrier between him and his father’s rage for three whole days.

A lot had changed since then.

For as much as Billy detested his father, he knew his routine. An ex military man. Always kept impeccable timing. It had gotten Billy in trouble more than once. Being a minute late for curfew and having to spend the night freezing in his car, shivering under a leather jacket and not much else.

He could feel Steve practically vibrating with excitement in the passenger seat as Billy cut the engine pulling up to Cherry Lane. He squeezed Billy's thigh firm but tender. Reassuring but serious.

Don’t back out now.

"You ready for this stud?"

Billy could only nod looking up at the house and what he knew what inside. It was late and a Saturday night. Neil would be passed out on the couch in front of whatever movie was on tv, half drunk on warm beer if Billy wasn’t there to be the punching bag.

He wasn't scared. Wasn't really thinking about the consequences of all of this. This was revenge now. Payback. For years of abuse both mental and physical. For being beaten down and made to feel lower than dirt. For every foul word and sharp backhand. For every dinnerless evening and night alone willing himself not to sob into a pillow because boys don't cry William. For being made and twisted into a creature that was now beyond human, beyond all control, but Steve understood.

They shared the same soul, the same creature. It rattled around them deep inside. Jerked and pulled and warped and swelled and became unstoppable. Billy just needed someone to unlock the cage. Steve had the key that fit perfectly.

Billy squeezed Steve's hand before they left the car. Billy still had keys even though he hadn't been home in close to a month. No one came looking for him. He didn't expect them to. He very well could have been dead in a ditch the way the body count was growing and the cops were being incompetent. But it all just added fuel to the fire.

The entire time Steve's grin was delicious. That same manic look back in his eyes that was always there when they did this. Like a shark when there was blood in the water. It made Billy’s heart flutter. For this one they swapped places. Managed to get the surprise swoop and have Neil pinned with a hand over his mouth before he could properly register what was happening. Before he could spit one last drop of venom in Billy's direction.

Steve had given him back his switchblade. A present for being so loyal and helpful. A sign of trust that it would never be used on himself. Billy twisted it into his father's neck with no remorse. Buried the blade so deep it hit bone. The gush and waterfall of blood was warm on them both. Billy stepped back from it to watch realisation and anger and then abject hopelessness wash through steely eyes that had been nothing but cruel his whole life. Steve laughed. Cackled towards the ceiling, biting his lip like a schoolgirl. Made sure to get blood on his hands like he was washing them under a wild spring. Billy felt some drip off his cheek, stain his shirt as he just panted, heart hammering in his chest and thrumming through his bones as Neil was let go to twitch and die on the carpet. Finally gone.

Steve took Billy's head in his hands gently, cupping his jaw and thumbing up to his cheeks. Everything was slick and warm. Spreading blood everywhere that had been clean. Marking his teritory.

"Oh baby, I just wanna look at you, I'm so proud of you!" Steve spoke comfortingly. Like a mother would after their kid won a third grade spelling bee. His eyes sparkled like diamonds. He was genuinely proud of what Billy had done. And that made Billy warm inside. Emotions mixed and twisted as it sunk in what Billy had done. He was crying a few solitary tears before he knew it, but they were gently brushed away by caressing thumbs.

"Hey, hey its okay, he’s gone now" Steve cooed. "The first is always the hardest. Especially if it's family." 

That had been Steve's first. His own father. He'd confessed one night in bed, both of them sweaty and hard. Like talking about this kind of thing was a turn on. It certainly was for Steve. Made him hard as a rock. He muttered his sins into the back of Billy's neck as he fucked into his protege so vigorously the headboard slammed off the wall and threatened to snap. Scraping his teeth over tanned skin as he let memories fly. About how he'd poisoned his father and just watched him convulce on the hallway floor. Just watched as the man begged for help but received nothing but the cold eyes of his own sixteen year old son.

He always came hard to that story, knuckles white, fingers digging into Billy’s hips and leaving bruises for days.

Billy tucked his head into Steve's neck, wrapped his arms around the thinner waist and let himself be held in return. Let himself be kissed. Let himself taste copper pennies and iron and smoke and spearmint gum from an hour before. And excitement. Let himself be pushed up against the wall of the hallway he'd walked through countless times and feel his partner hard against his hip. Let thighs slot together and bodies start rutting. Both running on adrenaline and excitement as a slain monster lay defeated on the floor. No longer part of the story. Groans being eaten. Hair being pulled. Bodies running tighter and tighter until the inevitable conclusion and cum soaked denim aftermath.

Steve panted warm against Billy’s temple, lips stained and swollen. Before this would have never been allowed. Never ever. Now Billy was free. Unchained. Knew deep in his heart and his head he would follow Steve to the ends of the earth as thanks for this wonderful gift. Words would never be able to describe how grateful he was. 

It was the best day of his life.

[theonceoverthinker]

Friday the Flirteenth (1/?)

Summary: Qrow likes to avoid others on Friday the Thirteenth. He claims he’s doing it for everyone else’s sake, and that they’re better off if he spends the day alone in his room. Clover’s not having any of his self-loathing bullshit -- not today, and not ever, if he has anything to say about it.

AO3

A/N: You ever come up with an AMAZING pun and then find a way to write a fic around that? Well, that’s happened here! I’ve wanted to release this for SO long, and finally, I can...at least release part 1! Yeah, illnesses have made this a hard fic to finish, but fortunately, I have enough here to release a respectable first chapter to what will hopefully be a respectable MC! I hope you enjoy it! Tagging @fair-game-week!

BIG thanks to my beta, @skybird13. Sky, you’re the best, and I hope you understand that. Coordinating with you with my works makes me feel so confident in them. I want you to know more than anything how much I value your help and support, not just in this fic, but in everything, and I hope we’re friends for a long time to come!!!!

()()()()()()()()

Chapter One: Fourteen Hours, and A Whole Lot of Peanuts

Qrow Branwen liked peanuts. 

They were cheap, could be found just about anywhere in Remnant, had a pleasantly salty taste, and served as the perfect snack on days where he had no intention of stepping so much as a toe outside of his room.

So, in anticipation for Friday the Thirteenth, Qrow bought a LOT of peanuts.

When one had a semblance like his, a day dedicated to the very concept of bad luck was one that couldn’t be dismissed without some burden on their conscience. In fact, Friday the Thirteenth more than most any other day put extra responsibilities upon Qrow’s shoulders -- a responsibility to not cause any more trouble than necessary, a responsibility to stay away from anyone who he might accidentally harm, and a responsibility to keep the other two responsibilities secret from all who might try to intervene on his behalf.

And, just as he usually did, Qrow accepted those responsibilities and kept himself at a distance from all.

Fourteen hours. He just had to stay in his room alone for fourteen hours. 

He’d lasted a lot longer on his own many times before.

It wasn’t that big of a problem, at least not in previous years. Thanks to a lifetime’s worth of practice, Qrow knew the most secluded spots in all of Remnant to hide in on occasions like this, and the fastest routes to get to them from pretty much anywhere. And with no one but enemies on his trail, there was little risk that the day provided to anyone, or at least, anyone who didn’t deserve it.

But things weren’t so simple this year.

This year, he had his nieces and a gaggle of kids as traveling companions.

This year, he resided in an Atlesian military base, one that restricted access to any type of real seclusion further than the privacy of his own room.

This year, he despised the man he had formerly dedicated his life to.

This year, things were complicated, and his semblance always loved running amok when things were complicated.

But, as he reminded himself, some of those complications ended up turning into triumphs.

Sure, it was the first year without the hope Ozpin provided. But it was also the first year where  Qrow had a different kind of hope to keep him going. It was a kind of hope that made itself tangible through his nieces’ determination, his own efforts to fight off the allure of alcohol, and as of late, an encouraging smile and a flirty wink from a kind man with a semblance that seemingly counteracted his own…

Clover…

Clover...

Well, in a life of complications, Clover stood out as one of the biggest he’d ever faced. His very presence complicated everything in Qrow’s headspace all over again.

Still, that wasn’t a bad thing.

At least, Qrow was pretty sure it wasn’t.

Clover...Clover was really something else…

If someone were to ask Qrow to describe Clover after their disastrous first meeting, he’d have more than a couple of choice words for them -- cocky, pedantic, narcissistic. But things changed once they started working together, and as he learned more about Clover, while all of those descriptors were still true, the words themselves took on an entirely new shape for Qrow. What was cockiness just days before was now self assuredness, what was pedantic was revealed to really be caution on behalf of those he worked with and for, and what was narcissistic was actually a confidence that he created for himself, a confidence based in real pride in who he was and how that pride amounted to far more than just his semblance.

Additionally, a new word came to mind, too -- warm. It was a genuine warmth that flowed through each and every one of Clover’s words, and accompanying that warmth was a trust in those fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of them. It was hard not to return that trust in kind with some of his own, and for the first time in a while, Qrow felt no need to resist doing just that. 

It surprised Qrow sometimes just how much he had already divulged to Clover. Part of the reason for that came out of a desire to put his best foot forward for their assigned partnership. Part of it was a warning in the interest of Clover’s safety. But some things couldn’t be explained away so easily, and could only be attributed to a real sense of trust.

Frankly, it was nice having something like that again with someone. 

And it wasn’t even just Clover’s personality that painted the portrait that was Clover Ebi. Looking at Clover was like looking at a cloudless sky on a spring day. He was bright, bold -- brilliant, even. His smile was caked in charm -- true charm -- and his brow was shaped with a resolve to keep promises Qrow knew he probably could, promises he likely made to himself, Ironwood, and his country. 

Maybe there was even a promise to Qrow somewhere in that mix. 

No -- there was no maybe. He was sure there was.

But there was a coolness in Clover’s being too, both in his demeanor and his personality. There was an untold story in his eyes, one uncared for by his teammates, and only allowed to exist through fleeting expressions here and there during moments where he let his guard fall down. And that same jaw that held his charm like a jug held water held tension there too, as if there was an entire book’s worth of things he wanted to say, but for whatever reason didn’t. It was enough to make anyone who saw those things pretty curious about what hidden depths might be underneath that veil of job-dictated professionalism.

Qrow spent far more time thinking about all that he had left to uncover about Clover than he would ever admit.

After all, there was a lot to ask about what went on in that man’s mind, especially when it led him to befriend him, of all people.

But that wink Clover gave him on their first mission together made Qrow wonder if befriending him was all Clover wanted to do.

And regardless of how he felt in return, Qrow had to wonder whether or not he should try to stop him before Clover jumped further down the rabbit hole that was his life.

Qrow was bad news.

Then again, just about everything having to do with Clover was good news, and perhaps the exact thing that rabbit hole of his could use in its life was a lucky rabbit’s foot to help fill it up.

Wow...that was sappy.

Even on his worst days, Clover seemed able to bring out a little bit of sappiness in him. Go figure.

But, whatever fate had in store for him and Clover could wait to be further unearthed until tomorrow. Hell, he might even have time to muse on what that might be today, because for the next fourteen hours, it would be just himself, his room, and an overabundance of peanuts fighting against the slowly whiling hours of time.

Jeez...greater good or not, even Qrow could admit just how sad that was...

Maybe his abandonment of his morning coffee would at least grant him a nap and make the day go by faster…

He’d certainly prefer it that way.

Before he could even attempt to take advantage of his coffee’s absence, two knocks hit his door.

Perhaps it was foolish to think no one would bother him today -- after all, in Atlas, there was always something going on -- but he had a day off of Huntsmen duties while most everyone else he knew didn’t. He’d hoped against hope that meant that he’d be left in peace for the day.

Apparently, it didn’t.

Just his luck…

“Hello?” Qrow called out, reluctantly standing up.

“Qrow?”

Immediately, he recognized the voice, the voice that had burned itself into his memory within a matter of weeks and now had a summer cottage nestled somewhere between his brain and heart.

And there he was, letting that sappiness invade his thoughts again…

Of course the one person responsible for inspiring it was the one visiting him on the absolute worst day to do so.

Qrow approached and opened the door.

Just as he suspected, it was Clover who stood on the other side, as chipper as ever. After willing himself to hold back a grimace at the unexpectedness of his or anyone’s visit, Qrow noticed two cups of coffee in his hands. 

“You missed your morning cup,” Clover stated, offering one of the ones in his hand to Qrow. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Despite himself and everything the day represented for him, Qrow let down his guard ever so slightly at the awkward way Clover explained himself. He wasn’t thrilled about someone showing up on his doorstep, but that’s not to say it wasn’t nice to see a friendly face at all, especially in the face of the rest of his sure-to-be lonely day.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cup with a light smile he allowed to surface.

“So,” Clover said, elongating the vowel for a few seconds as he expectantly stared at Qrow.

“So?” Qrow repeated, matching Clover’s delivery and adding in a bit of confusion. 

“IS everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Qrow said, shrugging.

Clover quirked his brow. He didn’t look convinced, and unwilling to give Qrow so much as the chance to rectify that. 

“It’s not, though, is it?”

Qrow fought the urge to bit his cheek, but paid the cost of that with a tremor in his voice.

“W-what do you mean?”

“You not coming down for coffee is strange on its own,” Clover elaborated, “but you haven’t even left your room and it’s nearly ten. Usually, even on your lazy days, you’re out and about by half past eight, at the latest.”

“So I slept in a bit,” Qrow defended, shrugging in what he hoped would be a casual enough manner. “What’s the big deal?”

“It wouldn’t be a big deal at all if it wasn’t Friday the Thirteenth.”

Qrow blinked, flustered even more so than when Clover had started pressing him. Clover merely looked at him expectantly. 

How did he-?

Sure, Clover had a calendar, but why would he-?

Damnit, Clover...

“It’s a day for bad luck,” Qrow explained, his mood dark out of instinct more than malice. “Given my semblance --”

“It’s a day for superstitions,” Clover insisted.

“You seem to like yours just fine.” Qrow made a circle with his finger that encompassed the various lucky charms on Clover’s outfit.

Clover smiled as if he saw the rebuttal coming from a mile away.

“These are just here to make the uniform pop,” he said, laughter bubbling underneath him, as if Qrow had just walked into a trap. “And judging by how you clearly seemed to take notice of them, it looks like they’ve done their jobs quite nicely.” 

Just as he finished speaking, Clover winked right at Qrow, something that was very quickly becoming a habit of his when they were around each other. Fria must’ve imbued that wink with some of her magic or something because it always felt just a bit overpowering.

Qrow made a noise that would’ve sounded more at home in his bird form than the form that actually delivered it.

“Okay, but even still,” Qrow said, quickly pushing to make Clover forget about that sound, “you know what kind of things are out there in this world. Magic exists, fairy tale maidens and Grimm are running amok -- who's to say something like Friday the Thirteenth isn’t real, too? What reason do I have to trust that my semblance won’t go haywire on a day devoted to it?”

“If you stay in your room,” Clover countered, just as quickly as Qrow had with him, “you’re making things worse for yourself. Come on,” he said, his tone brightening alongside a fresh, new smile. “We can go get an early lunch. There’s a fantastic sushi restaurant just on the outskirts of the academy that you’ll love. Their rolls put the ‘ah’ in ‘tuna.’”

Now it was Qrow’s turn to quirk his brow. “And if I leave my room, I’ll risk making things worse for everyone else. I’m not leaving. Maybe we can go to that restaurant tomorrow.”

Qrow expected Clover to keep pushing back with yet another comment, but instead, he just took a patient, deep breath.

He then shrugged.

“And I was so excited to take you there, too,” Clover lamented. “But, oh well. Have it your way, then.”

Without giving Qrow so much as a second to respond, Clover gently pushed him to the side, walked inside his room, and sat down on one of the chairs across from his bed. Qrow was stuck somewhere between being utterly stunned by the action, and not at all. After all, this was pretty standard Clover Ebi behavior in that it was utterly unpredictable.

That’s not to say it was necessarily welcome -- or that Qrow would admit it even if it was.

And this morning, he was feeling particularly stubborn in his quest for solitude.

“That wasn’t an invitation to join me,” Qrow snipped.

Clover simply lounged back into the plush chair, easing his knees as his legs spread forward. “Well, if you won’t come out with me, then I’ll simply have to come in with you.” He then pulled something out of his pocket, something that instantly brought another grimace to Qrow’s face, all the while smiling. 

“Up for some cards?”

Qrow groaned.

He knew it when he woke up, and he was even more sure of it now: This was gonna be a long, long fourteen hours.

[thelostboys-rp]

New characters!

The muns’ minds are always busy with new characters so here’s an introduction to the characters you’ll be seeing in our stories or have already come across them.

Lance Emerson

Face claim: Julian McMahon

Born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona, Lance’s childhood was comfortable and filled with privilege. His mother was the COO (chief operator officer) of a corporation, and his father a traveling businessman—both came from well-to-do backgrounds. Lance was the first-born son out of five children and was the clear favorite. Living in a gated community, he attended the most prestigious private schools the country had to offer. Money was never an issue for him or his siblings, but he was well aware that his parents gave him the biggest allowance of them all, and he had more freedom to do whatever he wished. He developed an aggressive and superficially passionate charisma that drew people to him like moths to a flame. This gained him plenty of followers who admired his sharp wit and business perception that he learned from his parents. 

Read more

Rory Hawthorne

Face claim: Jensen Ackles

The biological brother of Leon, Rory was only five years old when he lost his life. Both boys carried the skin-walker gene, but only one of them would be allowed to embrace it; the other had to die.

Rory's young soul was sent to Purgatory, when he was forced to quickly adapt to a strange, dark world where only the strong survived. After much running and hiding, Rory came across a collective of monsters, lost souls like him. They took him under their wing and taught him how to fight. During this time, Rory was able to adapt to his surroundings and develop his own, unusual powers. The rage he felt toward his own brother had never left him, and thus created malevolent energy within. While his physical body died at the tender age of five, his spiritual body grew into adulthood.

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Mason Sawyer

Face claim: DJ Cotrona

Mason Sawyer was second in command up until the moment Dick Roman met his end by a group of hunters, this sprang Mason forth as the Leviathan’s new Master and leader. He quickly established his dominance over the other Leviathans and began his master plan to convert all humans into livestock for the Leviathans to slaughter and eat. 

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AJ Frog

Face claim: Chandler Riggs

Number Thirteen is a dhampir, and the biological son of Alan Frog. Having been developed in a secret lab unknown to Alan, the child was created as part of a eugenics experiment by vampire hunters who desired to create the ultimate weapon against the undead. Raised in a sterile underground bunker, the boy was the thirteenth attempt at creating life and the only one to survive past the first year of his life.

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Eris

Face claim:  Draculangelica/Angelica Rose

The goddess of strife, chaos, and discord, Eris is the essential “shit starter” and queen of grudge holding. Compared to all the gods and goddesses, she is among the least liked, given the hostility and negativity that arise every time she’s present. She delights in people’s misery, regardless if they’re considered good or bad; she chooses no sides, only her own. The only time she is every truly happy is when people are miserable. All arguments, no matter how big or small, stem from Eris. Her need to start trouble sparked one of the greatest wars in ancient history which saw the destruction of Troy during the Bronze Age, and it started off with Eris being snubbed.

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Rachel Benton

Face claim: Nikki Reed

Born into the criminal underworld to a family of assassins, Rachel grew up learning how to fight and kill early on. She also learned about her heritage as a werewolf, but all of her family members refused to give into "the curse" and discouraged her from allowing the nature of the beasts to consume her. While maintaining their human form, she and her family were still much stronger and faster than normal humans. They were also capable of killing others without triggering their true forms. On her sixteenth birthday, Rachel was recruited by a rival crime family to be their personal mercenary. Unable to resist the wealthy temptation they offered her, she left her family without a word. 

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Belladonna Alexander

Face claim: Darya Goncharova

Belladonna was orphaned as a young girl after the deaths of her loving parents by the Roman Catholic Empire.As a child she ended up a prisoner and became the Roman Catholics King’s Sorceress. She was a kind, headstrong, caring, brave, and extremely attractive young woman with a slender, voluptuous build, and average heart, gray eyes, the lightest skin complexion, and long straight black hair.

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DJ X

Original actor: Seb Castang

Alternate face claim: Ian Somerhalder

Xavier was born in 1452. As Xavier grew up, he was taught the many painful ways to torture a human when they were to be put to death. When reaching legal age Xavier took on a job of being an executioner. In a lot of ways, you would think one wouldn’t get pleasure out of preforming these kinds of acts out on another human being, but Xavier did. Xavier enjoyed his job to the fullest and would sometimes suggest new ways that one could be punished. Many people including Xavier’s parents thought of Xavier as a cold sadistic human being because after each person he executed he was known for always having a sick looking smile on his face.

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Chanel Dixon

Face claim: Loren Gray

At the age of fourteen Chanel began running various hustles on random people for money. It wasn’t something she was proud of, but to kept food in her stomach she had to do what was necessary. Her mother and father were always strung out on various types of drugs – to stoned out of their minds to even remember they had a teenage daughter who was practically starving to death because of their drug addictions.

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Caroline Fox

Face claim: Candice King

Caroline was a popular girl  in school, the captain of the cheerleading squad. Always organizing the parties and always displaying a high degree of leadership among her friends. Beautiful and chic, she was also extraordinarily strong and determined, much like her mother. She was extremely loyal and protective of her friends. She had a sensitive and loving nature. Despite having a confident exterior and high social prestige, underneath it all Caroline was very insecure and neurotic which often tended to make her an overachiever at times, creating flaws and complexities within herself, leading to various matters that factored into her development as she worked to overcome them. 

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Cassidy Quinn

Face claim: Elizabeth Olsen

It was several years into their perfect Santa Carla life when everything changed. Twelve-year-old Carson was babysitting a seven-year-old Cassidy and a group of rabid vampires attacked. They were playing outside just after dark even though Cassidy had been telling Carson that they needed to go inside, but he was hell bent on them staying outside. It turned out he was being mentally influenced by the creatures watching them from the woods. These were not normal vampires – they were more like wild animals. By the time the attack was done, both kids were seriously injured and had lost a lot of blood. Thankfully, Cassandra has come home not too long after the vampires had run off and she called an ambulance to try and save their lives.

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[undercoverwizardfanfiction]

ROTTMNT FANTASY AU

Mud is Thicker the Blood (1)

Sick Day

Summary:Compilation of Donnie growing up being raised by his adopted family the Mud Dogs

He had been feeling fine that morning, but thankfully he has a family to take care of him

Gift for: @void-inked-pen birthday

Characters: Donnie, Loathsome Leonard, Malicious Mickey, Dastardly Danny, April O’Neil, Myrah

Pairings: You’re in luck! all the pairings for this fic are just past this door *gestures to wall that has a badly painted door under it and the laundry basket above it that’s suppose to be some sort of trap*

yes this is the same story twice. but this one shows up in the tags so it stays

“What is this supposed to be?”

Even though Len had been using as polite of a tone as possible, Danny still gives him a heated glare. He uses his spatula to scrape the blackened flat pastry off his frying pan and onto Len’s plate with the consistency of a dried brick. ”They’re called crespelle’s. My Dads used to make them for me and my siblings all the time.”

“Are they supposed to be…” Mickey pokes it with his flipper, “rocks?”

Danny lets out another angry huff. “I couldn’t remember the ingredients, alright??” he says, flipping another burnt disc onto a plate. Len uses his chopstick to poke at the burnt food. For someone who had known the sting of hunger many times and learned to not be picky, he finds himself wondering if he can sneak out back and compare the taste of the burnt disk to dirt.

The sounds of footsteps tells him the last member of their little family was coming down to join them. “Morning,” Danny calls. ”I got a nice big breakfast for my only grateful family member with taste!” Danny says as he starts stacking another plate.

Donnie is pulling on his hooded cardigan as he reaches the bottom step, eyeing the breakfast with a concerned eye. “Doooo I want to know?” he asks before looking to Len with a look that clearly says ‘remember how I never forget ‘best parents day’? you owe me’. It takes more than a little willpower to keep from laughing but manages to duck his head to hide his grin before turning to Danny.

“How about we spare my kid this time? He’ll never hit his height goals if he eats this.”

Danny unties his apron and stomps over and pours himself a cup of coffee all while grumbling about ‘uncultured swine.’ This time Len can't stop the snort that escapes him this time but when Donnie takes his spot at the table his smile falters as Donnie pours himself a cup of hot coffee. Leaning over the mug with a sigh, his normally dark jade complexion feels a shade lighter than usual and more than Len’s comfortable with. “You feeling ok?” he asks, moving his chair to Don’s side of the table. He puts an arm around Don's shoulders and without waiting for an answer he presses the back of his hand to Don’s cheek. The teen squirms at the contact but was unable to pull out of his grip.

“Dad, Dad, I'm fine I just didn’t sleep well. I had a bad dream again.”

“Why didn’t you come get me? You could have slept in my bed.”

“You got home late last night, I didn’t want to wake you,” Don says, still trying to twist his head away from Len’s hand.

“I’m the Dad here, Donnie. I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around.” But when he’s unable to find anything close to a fever he pulls away. He looks to Danny hoping he’d see something Len missed but the rat shrugs at him.

“Is it still ok to go tutor April today? Please? I’ve been cooped up here all winter.”

Len wants to say no, but sighs at the pleading look Donnie gives him. It had been a longer winter then usual, he didn’t blame his son for needing some space. He was no longer a five year old but he still had a hard time telling him no for no good reason. “Yeah, but if you start feeling sick you come home ok? Or ask Myra to help you home.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” As Donnie downs his last bit of coffee he stands back up. Len had turned to poke at his breakfast again when he feels Don's arms wrap around his collar bone and rest his cheek on Len’s head. “I love you Dad. Thanks for being obnoxious and worried.”

“Aw. Love you too, silly gecko.” Len pats his arm in reciprocated affection. Donnie grabs his shoulder back and hurries out the front door. “Have fun!” Len calls after him. Only then did he look back to Danny. “He looked pale right?”

“Yeah but honestly it could have been the breakfast,” Mickey says, picking up a disc, “I even felt sick when I saw it.”

“First of all screw you,” Danny points at Mickey with his spatula, “Second of all, if he’s not feeling well he’ll come home. And third of all, next time you all can make your own crespelles.” Danny drops his last disk onto a plate when the shattering of ceramic fills the air. The three thieves blink at each other for a sec before Danny raises up the food slowly to show the plate underneath had been cracked in half from the sheer force of the crepe. With a defeated sigh, Danny drops his spatula. “Ok whose all for throwing these at trees and seeing if they shatter??”

Len and Mickey both raise their hands with a grin.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“Donnie?”

Despite the softness of April’s voice Don jumps so hard his elbow hits the stack of April’s school books. It’s only by his reflexes that they don’t join the rest of April’s dirty clothes on the floor. It takes him a few moments to regather his scattered thoughts before looking to April. ”Did you say something?”

“Yeah, your name, like five times.” His oldest friend peers at him from over her glasses. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

Donnie would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t painfully aware of the migraine that would return if he did. Unfortunately, it had been haunting him ever since he woke up that morning. “For the last time yes. Uncle Danny made breakfast and it's just hurting my stomach. Now, the compound would be 23.6% more effective if you set the witch fire to exactly 129 degrees cinder.” He scribbles on the paper for a few moments before sliding it over to her. April casts him a suspicious look before looking over the paper again.

“If you ever convince your Dad to let you go to school, my Alchemy teacher would cry tears of joy. Again.” She pauses “They cry a lot.”

Don tries to smile but his aching head only allows him a half grin. As April starts adding his notes to hers he reaches for his yunomi of tea, not thirsty so much as needing the warmth for a subtle cold that clings to his skin.

There’s the sound of a door opening downstairs followed by the sound of a woman shrieking and dozens of items hitting the ground. ”A-April dear!!! I could use some help!” calls the unmistakable voice of the Mayor of witch town.

April was already out of her seat. “Coming Mom!” she calls hurrying for the door. “Don’t do my homework Dee!” she calls behind him.

“I would never!” Donnie says [even though he had already been reaching for her note book]. A few years ago he had the brilliant business idea, in lieu of being able to go to school himself, to do students' homework for them for a small [not so small] fee.

Of course before he could even launch his venture his Dad had found out and outright forbade it.

This time he’s unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The effect is instantaneous as the lights in the room become painfully saturated. He tries to cover his eyes but his world is already spinning.

It’s the last thing he feels before he blacks out

(#)#(#)

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed,” Len says in a tone that can only come from nine years of parenting experience. It does its job on Mickey who’s shoulders bunch up to the sides of his head, and even though Danny is trying to pull off ‘I don’t know how you think you can guilt trip me’ by leaning back in his seat. But it's hard to look innocent when the two of them are covered in mud.

“IT WAS DANNY’S FAULT!!” Mickey shrieks pointing at the rat. “After we knocked over a tree with one of his crepy things he told me that he knew alchemy that would make mud into chocolate and-and-“

Danny’s ‘calm bad boy’ dis option went out the window (which was also broken because of a wayward flying crepelle). “Who the hell raised you to be a snitch?!” the rat hisses.

“You did!! I learned it from watching you!”

The rat opens his mouth to argue before thinking. “Ok fine but I always taught you to get paid first.”

Len slaps a hand down his face. Normally he and Danny have reversed roles but he should have recognized that wild look in the rats eyes when Mickey was using one of the leftover crepelles as a tool sharpener. But Len, forgetting they were not in fact grown men but children pretending to be adults, had left them to their own devices.

There is a knocking on the door that makes Len sigh again. ”I have a fourteen year old and he has more common sense than you two.” He says in a way that is probably supposed to make them feel ashamed, but Mickey snorts loudly with his flippers over his mouth.

He opens the door to a flash of light that forces him to cover his eyes for a moment before his eyes adjust to the familiar form of the mayor of Witch Town. “Myrah?” He rubs at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to come get Doniel, he has a fever and passed out while tutoring April.”

Len felt as though a cold chill had passed through his body, it was the only reason he hesitated. “Y-yeah just give me a sec.” He ducks back into the house, where Danny is already waiting.

”Len what’s-“

“Donnie passed out, I need you to come with me,” already the air of lighthearted teasing and jabs went out the window. Len is back down the stairs with a quilt from Donnie’s bed as Danny is grabbing his coat and tossing Len his. He almost feels bad for Mickey who can only watch on as the two exit. Myra waves her wand, the bright light from earlier returns, creating a portal in front of them. Len barely waits for the portal to form before stepping through. A moment later he is standing in the familiar oversized living room. He had been to the witch family house many times and each time was always surprised how disproportionate all the furniture was, (which made sense considering how tall Amaranth was).

The child in question was lying on the bright pink sofa under a thick blanket. There was a washcloth hovering over his head, every few seconds wiping at his brow. April looks at them when they enter with panic in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened Lenny, I went to help mom with groceries and-and when I came back-“

“Its ok April, it's not your fault.” Len takes her place by Donnie. His son's brow is furrowed underneath a layer of perspiration. Even though he already knows the answer, he presses the back of his hand on Don’s brow. His already racing heart is now beating so fast it almost hurts in his chest. He replaces the blanket Myra had given him with the one he had brought, wrapping him up in it before scooping him up into his arms.

“I’m sorry Len, if Amaranth had been here she could help but...” her fingers tap together anxiously as she watches the child in his arms. Len was always touched by how much Myra and Amaranth cared for Donnie. He never felt the need to have a partner (though he and Donnie both made enough ‘mom’ jokes about Danny to last a lifetime) it warmed his heart to know someone outside his family loved Donnie almost as much as he did.

“I know, thank you.” He moves past the mayor to where the portal was and in another flash he's back in front of his house where Danny is waiting. The rat reaches out and takes him around the shoulders and herds him inside. “He’s burning up Danny, I-I don’t know what happened, I felt his forehead his morning and he was fine, you saw me do it.”

“I know, I know.” Even though Danny claimed that he didn’t remember any of his medical training he’s already looking over Donnie. Trained eyes looking for anything that could tell him what was wrong. After a few moments Danny says to Len, “Get him into bed I’ll be there in a sec-“

“Ah-shouldn’t we put in him some ice?”

“No, the last time we tried that he almost went into shock before I stepped in. He’s a turtle, he can’t handle it.”

“I-I know.” Len unconsciously cradles Donnie closer to his chest protectively. He could still remember the terror of the time when Donnie got the Fall Flu and had a fever that burned his hand. They had gotten so desolate they had put him in a tub of ice to combat it. They had thought it was working until Don had fallen into a deathlike stillness. It was only then Danny had realized Donnie was going into shock and pulled him out so quickly they had knocked over their makeshift tub.

Now Len couldn’t tell if the shivers he was feeling were from Donnie’s sleeping form or from his own fear. Not until Danny put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look into his eyes. “Can you get him to bed please? I’m going to mix together some medicine that Amaranth taught me and I’ll be right there, ok?”

Len nods “Ok, ok.” He lowers his cheek onto Don’s scalp as he carries him upstairs. It's only when the parent and child are out of sight does Danny let out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his scalp under his hat and forcing himself to calm down. He had never realized how much he depended on Len keeping a calm head. He hadn’t realized just how much he depended on that til they brought Donnie in. During missions Len had an eerie calm about him that he thrived off of. But it was moments when anything threatened the health or happiness of his child that threw Len in the deep end and forced Danny to step in.

“Mickey,” he says without looking behind him, knowing the poor eel was fluttering around not knowing what to do. “Will you please go upstairs and keep Len calm? Help him how you can til I get there.”

“Y-yeah ok.” The eel hurried to do as he was told. In that moment Danny allowed himself one more sigh before reaching under the cabinet and pulling up an old beaten box, filled with herbs and remedies he had swiped from houses over the years. He pulls out a notebook he had filled with some of Amaranth's recipients and pulls out a mortar bowl and pestle. Picking through a few jars of tiny shards and grinding them together before taking out an empty incense holder and pouring it inside. He made sure to secure the lid and take up the glass bottle under his arm before hurrying up the stairs.

A part of him had been scared that Len’s own fears would drive him to ignore his warning about the ice, but he entered Don's room just as Len was pulling a blanket over him. “Good job.” Danny moves past him to kneel by the bed, turning and handing the incense to Mickey. “Can you light this please? It’ll help clear the bacteria out of his lungs.” As he was twisting open the glass bottle he heard Mickey spark behind him before the smell of lavender filled the air (he ignored Mickey gagging behind him). He tips the tip of the bottle to test how much liquid was inside. Luckily, they still had enough for Donnie (he’d have to steal more later). He dabs his thumb with the light pink liquid before running it across Don’s burning forehead. ”There.”

“Is he ok?”

Danny had to commend Len on not asking him a million questions. He reaches back and pats his old friend on the knee. “The Willow Extract should help take his fever down, but if It doesn’t help in a few hours we’ll go to witch town.” He doesn’t get a response, but when he turns to look at him, he sees Len staring at his son. His dark eyes full of concern and fear that only a father could have. Danny stands up and steps back. “Len why don’t you sit with him for a bit, and I’ll make you some tea.” He makes eye contact with Mickey and jerks his head towards the door. After taking a moment to pat Len on the shoulder he follows him out the door.

Len finally lets his face drop into his hands with a shaky breath before the sound of a weak cough reaches him. When he looks up again he was filled with relief to be looking into Donnie’s feverish dark pink eyes. “Hey,” says a weak voice.

“Hey baby boy,” Len sits up on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tried to kill me with one of Uncle Danny’s devil pancakes.” He barely has enough wind to finish his sentence before he has to gasp for air. “Will you sit with me please?”

Len can't help but smile, holding the side of Don’s face with his hand for a moment before climbing over him and laying on his other side. Don turns his head and tucks his head underneath Lens chin. “I’m s’rry,” Don mumbles, “I-I didn’t know I was sick.”

“I know you didn’t, you’re not a good liar remember?” Len lowers his cheek onto his scalp. “You get that from your Uncle Mickey.”

“And you?”

“Nah, I’m a great liar,” he smirks down at Donnie, “I’m not going to teach you how to lie though until you turn eighteen,” he pauses, “Hundred.”

Donnie lets out a laugh that sounds more like a raspy balloon, but Len can tell he’s trying not to fall asleep again. He rubs Don’s arm over his blanket. “Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” The teen gives a nod of acknowledgement before rolling towards him. A few moments later he's fast asleep again, breathing easier than he had been a few minutes ago.

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Thirteen: Angry

Day Twelve -- Masterpost -- Day Fourteen

All she needed was a single hour. Just one where she could relax, focus on her research, and not be bothered by anything trivial.

The door to her workshop slammed open and Doctor Kofaranin Yasiq heaved the weary sigh of the overworked. “What is it now?” She barked as she turned from the open journal she had been writing in. 

The crew member in her doorway at least had the gall to act sheepish when her sharp gaze turned on him. “Er...Beggin’ yer pardon, Doctor, but uh...th’ Cap’n says we’re to be raidin’ th’ merchant ship soon and er…” He stepped aside. “He don’t want th’ Magpie gettin’ too ‘andsy while arrows are flyin’.” 

Right behind him stood the small and slight child that had been adopted by the crew. Terazin also known as Zin also known as a number of other nicknames, gave a slightly awkward wave. Her large pointed ears poked out of the cloudy dark hair that framed the girl’s face. They twitched upwards at the attention the doctor gave her.

Kofaranin made sure to look directly at the crew member who delivered Zin when she hardened her stare. “And keep her entertained, I suppose.”

“Er, not, not in as many words, Doctor Koffin…”

She waited for long enough that he started to fidget in place before she responded with a sharp. “Fine.” Koffin beckoned the child inside. “Come along, I have things to do before the inevitable disaster.” 

A negative emotion flashed across Zin’s face before she smiled and signed at the crew member. “Good luck! Find lots of loot!” Kofaranin interpreted from the child’s gestures. He at least gave a smile and a nod before waving farewell. As soon as Zin had entered, the doctor shut the door tight. If she hadn’t been anticipating injuries from this venture, she would have locked it. As it stood, the door would stay shut until either she opened it again or someone else barged in. 

Turning around, Koffin could see that Zin was already preoccupied with the various bottles and tools that were scattered about the tables she used for research. Most of them were held in place by way of specialized indentions in the wood, which were quite handy considering the constant movement of a ship at sea. There would be time to play with the tools later, though. She needed to prepare.

“Zin, I’d like your help setting up.” The doctor knelt down and opened a large drawer that was underneath the biggest of her work spaces. This one was completely flat, and polished to an unnatural shine. Still, there were a number of dark brown stains that no amount of cleaning had been able to remove. A hazard of the job. Taking out a large white sheet, Koffin placed it on top of the table. 

With the slightest amount of hesitation, the girl tiptoed her way to the table. It took a couple of tries, but soon the sheet covered the space on all sides. On top was the pig-like mask that the doctor used for her procedures and a leather bag of tools. 

Now all that was left was to wait. 

Terazin had sat on the single bolted down chair in the workshop while Kofaranin had begun to write in her journal again. The girl was swinging her bare feet with ease and pointedly not looking at the doctor. That was fine. The less interrupted she was, the more she could get done before the fighting started. 

Her luck wouldn’t hold out.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kofaranin could see Zin lift a hand towards the doctor’s coat. She did that motion at least four times before Koffin let loose a sigh. “Would you like paper, or would you prefer to sign?” She turned to the child.

Zin winced and started signing, clearly indicating her preference. “I wanted to know if you are okay. You seem,” Here she hesitated and her ears drooped a little. “Angry.” That particular sign was of an enraged face and a clawed hand coming towards it. 

Of course the child noticed. Children notice all sorts of things about adults that no one realized until it was far too late. Koffin gave a sigh and tucked some of her thin black hair behind her own slightly pointed ears. “I am. Angry, that is.” Zin’s already large hazel eyes widened further. “And not because I was told at the last minute that I had to care for you.” The doctor pointed a pale, currently gloveless finger at the girl. “If you have any misunderstandings about that, I ask you nip those in the bud, Reneh.

No, what I’m angry about is this mission.” She continued on though Zin had put a hand on her chest at the Elvish word. Reneh was a gender-neutral term of endearment, one meant to be used for individuals who had a familial love for each other (rare as it was to find among full blooded elves). Koffin’s face reddened at the sight of the girl’s sudden admiration and she coughed before she explained further. “It’s ill advised during this season to attack ships, regardless of how desperate one is to impress the crown. The heat increases the miasma of the world, causing sickness and further irritating wounds taken. Not to mention the potential for rot increases manyfold in the summer--” 

The doctor ranted about her misgivings about the mission for long enough that it took a sudden jolt of the ship for the two to realise that the battle had started already. Koffin could pick out arrows being fired from crossbows on both sides, and screams coming from the ship next to them. The workshop’s portholes had tinted glass, but there was light enough that she could see the aft of the merchant ship that the Merry Tale was attacking.

She clenched her teeth and went to grab her mask. “It’s like he’s asking to get hurt…him and the crew...” Koffin muttered to herself as she fidgeted with the straps on the inside.

Another jolt from the ship turned her attention back to Terazin, who was squinting from her to the porthole. Slowly, the girl’s face brightened. It was as if she was coming to a revelation. As usual, it was easy to read the child’s expressions. Perhaps it came from her inability to speak? Koffin tabled that idea as Zin started to sign. “I know why you’re angry.” 

“I’ve told you at length why I’m angry.” She tugged on her leather gloves as she spoke. “I doubt I left anything unsaid.”

“You’re not angry because you have to heal the crew.” Zin grinned triumphantly, showcasing the latest couple of gaps in her teeth. Koffin would have to examine them again to be sure of how many other baby teeth the girl was going to lose. She nearly missed catching the latest, very excited signs. “You’re angry that they’re getting hurt!”

Kofaranin froze as if she were caught in a lie. Except...that was far from the case. She didn’t know what to say, for once. 

“Your face says I’m right!” Zin clapped and twirled, though it was interrupted by yet another jolt. Really, this battle seemed to be gettin far more violent to the ship than usual. Unperturbed, the girl kept signing, though it was much harder to keep up in Koffin’s shocked state. “You work so hard to make all of the potions and keep everyone healthy. Sure you can be scary, but that just means you love us so much!” She paused, her elation temporarily halted. “Right?” The sign was her hands with their pointer fingers out, tapping on top of each other as she nodded and tilted her head with the question.

Clearing her throat, Koffin ignored the rising temperature in her face. “If I must assure you of my feelings, then I can say with utmost certainty that I--”

“DOCTOR!” A burly woman knocked open the door with one of her massive shoulders. “CAP’S BEEN HIT!” Sure enough, the figure she held in her arms was indeed Captain Cevonnis Torrent. He gave a weak smile, his false teeth having apparently been lost during the fight. His red jacket was unbuttoned, revealing both the crossbow bolt and the blooming amount of blood on his white shirt. 

Fury overtook the doctor. “Leave him on the table and get out there, Janika. Make sure no one else gets hurt or so help me--” Janika had already placed the captain down and was running as Koffin spoke. “Zin, get me the small saw and the second largest extractors.” 

Having been given orders, the girl hurried to comply. It took only seconds before the doctor was ready. “Now stay with the chair until I’m finished. I don’t want you to inhale his miasma for too long.” With a hesitant nod, Zin ran and clung onto the bolted down chair. “I hate you. You and every member of our crew.” She muttered darkly to the Captain as she pulled on her pig-like mask. 

“Glad to see your usual method of affection is well intact.” Cevo quipped as if he wasn’t severely wounded. “For a second there I’d thought you’d meant it.”

Instead of replying (not that she could have been heard very well while wearing her mask), Koffin stuffed a medicine-soaked rag into his mouth and began her work.

None of her crew were going to die today if she had any say on it. Even those as annoying as Cevo.

[arizonaboyscout]

— && guests may mistake me as ( nico tortorella ), but really i am ( arizona giordani + genderfluid + they/them ) and my DOB is ( 02/24/1992 ). i am applying for the ( masseur ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( #209 ). i should be hired because i am ( + imaginative, genial, & effervescent ), but i can also be ( - dissident, self-destructive, & absent-minded ) at times. personally, i like to ( daydream, practice tarot and palm reading, unironically spend hours watching tiktoks, & dance like no one’s watching ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration!

yo. it’s me. ya friendly neighborhood kitty. anyway, underneath here, you’ll find a lil bit about the eternal kid (trigger warning: drugs)

BACKSTORY

arizona’s nickname growing up was ‘airhead’ because they’re perhaps the most scatterbrained person anyone could meet. they’ve always meant well, but they’re far from what anyone would describe as traditionally intelligent. they’re easily the kind of person who wouldn’t be able to name more than six states or who would need a calculator for very simple maths

despite this, arizona has developed very prolific emotional intelligence that makes them very good at communicating

they used to do palm readings for the traveling carnival that their parents worked for as soon as arizona turned sixteen

around nineteen, arizona did a reading for a man who would later go on to be a very successful adult film executive. he remembered arizona’s pretty face and later returned to offer them a role in a film. against the wishes of their parents, they agreed (most certainly due to the stroke of their ego) and went under the name “lucky star”

lucky star tried it all unapologetically: the adventurous sex, the long list of problematic boyfriends, the constant presence in the west hollywood nightlife, and, of course, the coke

six years of arizona’s life moved in a sort of drug-induced haze. it was all so fast-paced and filled with far more trouble than anything remotely relating to wholesome. it left them feeling empty and the self-isolation that they caused to avoid the potentially shameful glances of their family made them feel alone

one particularly bad night ended with arizona checking themselves into a rehabilitation facility. somewhere in the cloudiness, they determined that they needed help. recovery was and is a long process, but it has taught arizona how to be more comfortable in their skin without thinking of themselves as an object

they also picked up the trade of massage therapy during rehab. it helped to appease their deep-rooted need for physical intimacy and desire to please. they take their job very seriously, though

arizona ended up in chicago after leaving hollywood. it was a chance to start over, but this time without the naive lens of their home in the carnival or the cloudy haze of their young adulthood

EXTRA STUFF

they have a fourteen step skin care routine for the morning and a ten step routine for the evening. this makes sharing a bathroom with them very annoying

sharing a space in general is also a little annoying for others because they will walk around with as few clothes as possible (they’re overly warm by nature)

don’t even get them started about glitter

they’ll clean up wherever they go, though. not even remotely a messy roommate

will do literally anything for a Klondike bar

...or a $5 bill and an I.O.U

arizona believes wholeheartedly in the supernatural and cannot be convinced otherwise. shant elaborate further

[masked-disciple]

1, 4, 5, 6, 11, 15, 21, 22, 23 for the writers ask?

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Currently, I’m working on a fic titled A Monstrous Manifesto, which is a fic entirely inspired by Cat Valente’s poem of the same name. Every line is a chapter, every noun is a part of that chapter, and every single beast named corresponds to a Spectre, allowing me to dig directly into their heads and demonstrate their full psychology. 

Progress stopped unfortunately back in July on part four - a fiend, which I picked Deadly Beetle Stand for, because I just couldn’t get into his head. Kiril played soundboard for it and I’ve been humming and hawing over him trying to figure it out, but let’s be real it’s gonna come to me in a dream.

Because see here, most folks who’ve read my works, if told to point to my best, it’ll either be a) my breakthrough with Armour Adventures (which tbh if I redid I’d do better on), b) In Kismet Marcescence (which I need to sit down and plot out properly before I continue), or c) rather unexpectedly to me, Green Grows The Asphodel. Guess everyone likes that soft MiAlba where Alba gets his bastardization arc, but also I let him speedrun it in Broken Shine The Stars and people seem to like that one too, so.

The thing is with AMM is that this would be my greatest work. Like AA, it’s gen, but here’s the one advantage I’ve realized I actually have over pretty much everyone else in this fandom: I am myself a monster, fictionkind and all. I’m a Devil and a feral little beast, which means when you offer me Spectres - warriors of the dark and death who are all based around animal motifs - I take one look and go “oh! You’re like me!” and proceed to write them as actual monsters while having some unspoken and long-winded conversation about what it means to be human, what it means to be shunned, and what it means to belong among the broken.

It means that I write Spectres wildly different than anyone who isn’t Kiril (who is on the same wavelength as me and we argue back and forth about the inner details of everyone’s monstrosity), which means when I do it, nobody’s seen this shit before and apparently people seem to think it’s cool. So AMM is the very epitome of that style, of that psychological and philosophical discussion. I don’t really have a background of research in either of those things, so any similarities to works or theories already out there is entirely coincidence. Cat Valente’s poem was the first stepping stone I ever took to accepting myself for who - and what - I am. I owe as much of my identity and confidence to her as I do Zamorakian philosophy, which built my personality and is a major part of how I survived the middle school era of my life. The least I can do in return is offer the best of me out into the world.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

“Somewhere deep below conscious thought, below his training and the life and this Lemurian body, buried under lifetimes of war, buried under the idea that a Spectre was a fighter, his blood remembered how to love the memory of the fallen.” - Beneath Blood Ties

BBT is one of my most unappreciated fics, which makes sense as it’s set almost two thousand years prior to Classic, starring a fourteen-year-old Lemurian Minos and the Saint who raised him, Aries Kirien, whose name is probably still spelled Kiriel at least once in the fic because no beta we die like Gold Saints.

The original inspiration comes from Seanan McGuire’s Once Broken Faith, and the line in question is Toby reading the Luidaeg’s blood memories after the latter told a young Karen that she couldn’t speak Faerie even in her dreams - she speaks it in her blood memories, and Toby notes that her blood remembers.

It stuck with me, though I’ve read OBF approximately a million times. It, along with A Killing Frost and An Artificial Night, are my three top Toby books. And it responded to me as someone who’s fictionkind: I couldn’t speak the language I spoke as a Devil in my dreams, or in the waking world, but I know some part of me remembers it. Would know how. The Chaorruption filters all of that into English because it thinks it’s helping, but if I were a magical creature right now, in this world, I’m pretty sure my blood would remember.

So I wrote about Minos, and the sorrow he carried. The premise of BBT is that a Pope realized some Spectres come back, went around before they became Spectres, and kidnapped the lot of them to train as Saints, leaving them all traumatized as fuck, unsure of who they were or who they followed, and messed up for lifetimes. I also wanted to show more that Spectres were more than what the Holy Wars made of them, and about digging through that exotrauma to remember that they could be kind.

Spectres, originally, would make sense as really just Hades’ servants and the ones who keep the Meikai running. Pretty sure that means they know every single death rite that’s existed in the past three millennia. Pretty sure they know how to be respectful of the dead. Pretty damn sure that below all that soldiering and war, they’re all really exhausted librarians who want to do their job and also dig graves.

But I like this sentence here best, because that’s pretty much the climax of the plot here: that there is, in fact, something underneath all his exotrauma, all the current trauma he’s been dealing with. That below all of that bitterness and war, he’s a better person than what Athena made of him.

Idk, I just think it’s neat and no I’m not projecting being ‘kin on him again. /j

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Albafica, to nobody’s surprise. I mean, come on. A guy with a fuckton of traditionally-feminine beauty whose looks keep getting brought up, is very introverted, has seen some shit, just wants to kill people who hurt what he cares about while also not hurting the people he does care about, really wants you to keep your damn distance, is super touchstarved, and holding onto his humanity with his fingertips? Come on the only things he’s got that I don’t is an actual male reproductive system and naturally blue hair.

Once you realize that especially in TLC Athena’s actions are pretty damn horrific, especially to her Saints, Albafica has the perfect setup to become a Spectre. Seriously, if he’d been offered Luco’s deal but while holding a dying Lugonis, do you really think he wouldn’t have taken it? I explore that more in Broken Shine The Stars, but like. Albafica is the perfect fallen angel of a character. He has genuinely good intentions. He’s hurting so damn bad and only fucking once in his entire onscreen performance is that acknowledged (shoutout to Luco for that one), and if you take his sorrow and let him turn it into anger, he’s a glorious monster indeed. Albafica’s descend into monstrosity and Spectrehood is exactly what would happen if I got angry and also hadn’t been fucking nerfed physically.

I love him way too much.

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Surprisingly, Aiacos. Alba’s hard as fuck to write. Aiacos, though. You’ve heard me go off about Aiacos at length, but like. He’s the very embodiment of the worst person you can become while still loving, still surviving. Aiacos is the type of person we’re all capable of becoming, and we all should be terrified of becoming, because every single choice he’s ever made is completely understandable and that much more horrific for it.

It’s somewhat unsurprisingly easy to get into his head. He’s fun to write because he scares me. Because if I let him do all the dumb, selfish, sadistic-looking, survival-focused things, then I don’t have to worry about doing it myself. I let him look out for only himself when the pieces are down, so I can do better.

Also I haven’t seen anyone else write him that way (Kiril being the obvious exception here), so it’s double the fun because new territory.

11. What do you envy in other writers?

Hey. Hey you fuckers who can plot shit. Give me the number of the demon you sold your soul to. Let me PLOT SHIT.

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Summaries! Titles are easy, I steal them from songs and Toby books. They’re just fancy wordplay and I have literally a list on my fic spreadsheet of titles I want to use. Summaries, though, are very important. People don’t pick fics based on title and tags, they pick based on summary. They’re your hook into the work, so you’ve got to give the audience your premise short and sweet and actually sounding appealing.

Sometimes I can write them no problemo. Other times, they’re a fucking nightmare. I try to imply the tone of the ending in my summary, because I have absolutely been blindsided by the ending in a way I really didn’t like because I thought the summary was hiding the ending. (Example - there was this one fic that made it sound like my OTP was going enemies to lovers, and it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it needed the fucking dead dove do not eat tag, stopped just short of serious nonsexual noncon (which wasn’t tagged at all), and ended very unhappily and it messed me up for days, I did not like it.)

So for my summaries I set the scene, set the tone, and imply the tone of the ending so you have a vague idea of where it’s going. Easier said than done.

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Anime, probably! Manga wouldn’t lend itself too well to my style, but I’d enjoy short anime episodes, I think. I honestly don’t know. Someone tell me what my stuff would work good as. I dunno.

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

For fic, all the time! I write what I want to read, and since six out of seven of the Dohko/Kagaho works on AO3 were my fault, I’d better get used to reading my own writing for pleasure. Fortunately, I like most of my writing recently, so that’s pretty all right!

Don’t ask about what I had up on ff.net. Don’t. It’s old and bad and I didn’t know how to write.

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

Hmmm... I want to rephrase this better as ‘what fic exists only as a concept and has done so for the longest out of all the concepts of fics currently in my head’, and hmmmm. Honestly, it’s either Shion and Aiacos’ romance fic where they also get a daughter (which has a title actually, The Lost Sea Fantasia, but still hasn’t been written); or it’s Wyvern Rose and the Trials of Lightning, which is about 15th century Rhada’s two daughters, the elder of which is surprise-given his surplice and his job when he dies right before Hades does, and the younger of which is kidnapped by a spiteful goddess who doesn’t like the elder of the two.

ToL is a fic that I have somewhat plotted out, but really needs a lot of work. I’m not really sure how to go about writing it, because whenever I sit down to sketch it out, it never comes to me. It does, however, lend itself well as a bedtime / campfire story that Albafica tells Regulus while they’re out on a mission together, as part of Alba sneakily teaching Regu how to be a Spectre without anyone knowing. It’ll stay a concept for a long while until Rose crashes into my headspace and actually fucking tells me more about herself other than “oh yeah btw I’m fucking Julia” like thanks, already knew that from Julia herself, tell me more about you you awful little Judge of a dragon princess.

[ask game here!]