#nikko atticus.

[huntedarte]

location: hawthorn plaza time: sunday afternoon who: @sntsatticus

The hardest part about living within civilization again is remembering that they can't just go wherever they please anymore. While part of that is the literal boundary of the city lines that contain the curse on their body, there's also the faction lines that carve up the city. It's still hard for them to keep track of where they are and aren't really allowed to go, and they find the limitations more frustrating than anything.

Hawthorn is peaceful, quieter than Primrose Park in the wolf territory. It feels a little bit like being back in the woods on their own again, a bittersweet feeling that Arte just can't let go of. The clearing they found is one of many, secluded enough that they feel a little more at ease. Besides, what could the witches do that hasn't already been done to them already?

But they're testing their luck by lingering for longer than an hour and it's been nearly two by this point. With a regretful grumble, Arte slings their bag over their shoulder and begins the hike towards the entrance, where they can cut back towards the garage. They're not expecting to run into someone this far off the main path and they freeze, eyes round as they stare at the witch. The spicy scent of her magic makes their nose prickle. "Just passing through. Don't want any trouble."

[kiristephens]

location: des and nikko's cottage who: @sntsatticus

It's just after sundown and it doesn't create the fierce burn she had experienced soon after her transition. She had to try once, for science. Still, Kiri is draped in a long cloak, and she deliberately steps in the shade provided by the trees. Unless Desmona's schedule has changed in the last three years along with everything else, Nikko should be there alone. The sight of the cottage is bittersweet. Her first home in this city and so much has changed since she lived there.

She steps under the eaves of the house and knocks at the door, waiting for her godson to open it. Her hands are already out and ready to reassure him, both verbally and with sign, though she knows it's likely to be an ugly shock to him still. The sight of her missing finger makes her stomach lurch and she hopes he would still be able to understand.

"Hello darling. Yes, it's really me. No, I'm not a ghost. Would you please invite me inside?"

[laurestcphens]

Her unbeating heart tightens in her chest at his words, like a long-forgotten memory. A family. That was what they were, despite the way they'd been shattered apart over the last three years. She can see clearly now where she failed, and while Laure doesn't have it in her to apologize for her grief, she can understand that she had not been an ideal figure because of it.

When Kiri suggested taking him in after Desdemona's death, Laure truthfully hadn't thought much of it. She envisioned him as a pet of sorts, one that Kiri would look after and handle. Memories of her own children and grandchildren were distant, that maternal spark buried under centuries of solitude. A part of her enjoyed watching her wife assume that role and have that piece of mortality that even Laure had been able to enjoy.

But then Nikko had approached her, not like a far-off relative, but as someone he wanted around. That surprised her, this tiny slip of a child managing to sneak right past the walls she had erected over the years, landing on the heart of her first passion. She remembers setting him up with quality paper and brushes from her own collection, letting him immerse into creation until the shadows grew long and Kiri returned from the apothecary to find him fast asleep against her frame while Laure looked over the art he had made.

She nods now at his question, not a single doubt in her mind that she would be there as much as he wanted her to be. To teach him to hunt, to snatch and compel, to move throughout their world like the royalty they were. Laure smooths a piece of hair out of his eyes. "I'll teach you. As a family," she reaffirms, fingers spelling out her words and a crooked smile on her face. "But tomorrow. Even if you're a vampire now, rest can still be useful. We have all the time in the world."

He nods, solemnly, looking at her like she holds all the answers of the universe on the palm of her hands. "As a family," he whispers, uncertain, shy of his insecurities. For the past three years, he has been walking on eggshells around Laure on the rare times they saw each other, and now that Kiri was back ⸻ Nikko wouldn't fool himself into believing things are normal. He doesn't know where the two stand in their marriage now, honestly doesn't want to ask, but he doesn't believe Laure will let Kiri go so easily. Nor will Kiri let Laure go.

He suddenly remembers when he moved in; five and small for his age, barely speaking a word to the women around him. Desdemona had been murdered, he had watched, and he was thrown into a new life with new people. He didn't forget his politeness, thank you's and please's all he would really say ⸻ But he mostly stuck to himself, in corners and shadows, just watching this new world around him. His new room was too big ⸻ he owned very little when he moved in; the essential clothes and a few toys scattered in the empty space. It was jarring, but Nikko knows it must have been harder to his moms ⸻ a grieving kid simultaneously starved for affection and scared of touch? He hardly believes that's what they wanted for their life.

And then, six months in, he got sick; just a flu going around the kids in his school, making him have to stay at home for a week to prevent further spreading. Kiri had work, and Nikko wasn't used to being allowed moments where he could just be ⸻ in his too big for him pajama, sleepy, messy hair and pale hands gripping blank sheets with a frown on his small face. Timidly, quietly, he gathered all the crayons and markers he owned, a ghost of a child walking to this mythical woman with doe eyes, whispering, will you paint with me?

Something changed that day. Something he still feels now, when he looks at Laure, heart squeezing inside his chest and words caught in his throat. He doesn't think he tells her enough, how important she is. His hands trembles when he signs, "will you teach me? How to be like you?"

[synashburn]

Who: @sntsatticus

The dancefloor is Syndra's place to be - switching from dance partners every so often with the classical songs that came with the classical dancing. The woman's having fun behind the mask that granted her anonymity, she could show her worst and not a single soul would care. Not here. It got the witch smiling from ear to ear the entire time, envisioning the whole place going up in flames. Even if it wasn't real - it damn pleased her imagination enough as she held onto many dance partners.

Eventually bumping into someone familiar to the blonde, her eyes meeting with the one's behind the fellow witch's mask. Greeting her not with a hello - but rather a remark.

''A broken arm - awww, I should break your leg along with it, y'know-'' not exactly reminiscing about all the past times the girl when younger had kicked the shit out of her shins, ''-to call it even.'' Maybe that helped Nikko realize who exactly she was dancing with.

''Just kidding, of course! I would never do that to my dear friend's family, just like you totally didn't mean to hurt me, I'm sure - now twirl - and the past is the past. Now... is your mother here too?'' She wouldn't dare hurt the girl if that almighty witch was in the same room as she was.

[nsilocastillon]

For: @sntsatticus

It's bustling with the living and the dead — the flip has been and gone for the night. Blood permeates the air, swirling around the house as it wets hungry tongues. Nsilo doesn't always spend her evening in amongst the fray of those wearing Anemoia rings, but she's got one of her favourite guests in-house.

And she doesn't like to share this one too often; so she's staking her claim on a bit of delightfulness, a tantalising flavour of an Atticus.

Castillon's lounged on an L-shaped seat; cushions of various softness beneath and around her, entrapped. A square table with an emerald teapot sits centrepiece — four matching cups are stacked beside it, waiting to be used. Nsilo's devious gaze is only pinned on the woman's head that lays on her lap, eyes peering up at her; their wicked smiles full of suggestion and amusement.

"You can't help yourself, can you?" Nsilo muses, smooth fingers run rivers through NIkko's hair as it pools across her lap. Her arm is occupied in Castillon's grasp as the vampire gently kisses the exposed spot of the witch's wrist. Nsilo's thumb ghosts the length of a vein once. Then she lifts her mouth away; it's an intimate gesture, in their corner world. Nikko's a gambler. And she's rolling more than one set of dice tonight. It's very well known that Nsilo's never bothered by staff, or guests when she is engaged with another. It's just her, and her current interest.

There's no magical blood in the tea tonight, but Nsilo doesn't plan to go without.

[tomaspriestley]

You were reckless (From Nikko)

"How?" Nikko's known him a while now. He's been traversing Port Leiry for the better part of a year, at least. (He's losing track, he realises) And his friend has always been a rock, encouraging his shenanigans. Nikko's always by his side, during every shift in chaos too.

Then Atticus went and died and has been avoiding Priestley like the plague. He doesn't even think that he knows that Tomás is having a real issue with his memory and forgetting some actions; he's losing pieces over the last month and more, and he's finding it really difficult to weigh that over the fact that Nikko died and has been avoiding him.

Priorities are skewed. "You went and got nerfed, dude." It's a lot blunter than Tomás intended, and he's instantly feeling guilty by saying it. "I... didn't mean that." What he actually meant was, "I really missed you." And it's almost like I need you. He misses Thursday nights at Wraithwave FM. Was it Thursdays? He's struggling to remember, and it's been like that for the better part of a few months now.

"I'm not reckless," He's still around, even if he's a little worse for wear. "You have to tell me what happened, it's been... I haven't seen you, and you were one of the first friends I had here. You lied to me and it hurts, and I know it's not the best time." It sounds pathetic and stupid and childish. But the boys were always a little childish, around each other. "I can't believe you died, like... what's more reckless than that?"

@sntsatticus

[cityofruinrp]

With our masquerade event now over, please see below for a list of the current key items now in play and who they belong to! You may also find this list on our key items page for easy referencing or on the spreadsheet linked in our discord. Our skeleton keys earned by posting an outfit for the masquerade event will be found only on the spreadsheet!

Sleeping Potion The sleeping potion is a milky white odorless potion that will make someone fall to sleep for 12 hours after ingesting.

Held By: Grace Xiong, Cyrus Ripley, Madison Paige, August Choi, Eliza Holloway, Aoife O'Sullivan, Chamomile Greensmith, Annalise Halstead, Rose Halstead, Marcia Cruz, Vera Montgomery, Thomas Skinner, Morgan Moss, Nolan Thatcher

Potion of Poison The poison will induce stomach flu like symptoms after ingesting, and lasts for 12 hours. 

Held By: Valka Hadley, Aurelia Kennedy, Desmona Atticus, Lara Rivkin, Nikko Atticus, Arte Ryan, Blair Davenport, Anika Booker, Mila Nivokova, Cordelia Verges, Vanessa Koblizka, Felicity van Brunt, Nsilo Castillon, Hester Lomidze, Talullah Kia, Zane Patel, Chamomile Greensmith, Reid Halstead, Nadia Holme, Syndra Ashburn, Elias Hunt, August Choi, Eliza Holloway, Mavi Badem, Aviel Gillinski, Theodora Blackthorn, Dahlia Alcott, Nikko Atticus, Freyja Carter, Heron Yearwood, Annalise Halstead, Willow Raya

Red Gemstone Can be exchanged for a favor with the Vampire Council. 

Held By: Lara Rivkin, Vicente Rosas, Lucia Mazzoni, Grace Xiong, Cameron McCormick, Nadia Holme, Elyse Kerr, Cordelia Verges, Desmona Atticus, Markus de Villiers, Ezra Lomidze, Orphia Sinclair, Lilia Noallies, Matteo Lazkano, Annika Booker, Nisha Eleazar, Theodora Blackthorn, Nsilo Castillon, Tomas Priestley, Freyja Carter, Zane Patel, Liam Slater, Felicity van Brunt, Aoife O'Sullivan, Asa Holland, Aviel Gillinski, Remi Felix, Oz Saffet, Jac Feng, Kevin Ma, Dahlia Alcott, Michael Booker, Kore Matsui, Valka Hadley, Cyrus Ripley, Ash Blythe, Elias King, Birdie Templeton, Syndra Ashburn, Tallulah Kia, Blair Davenport, Aurelia Kennedy, Chamomile Greensmith, Vanessa Koblizka, Tressa Shaw, Rafael Garza, Natasha Kassin, Svetlana Lomidze, Narcisse LeBlanc, Nicole Stueck, Eric Honeyfield, Apsara Urvashi, Annalise Halstead, Willow Raya, Malcolm Deveraux, Marcia Cruz, Eliza Holloway, Dani Feng, Vera Montgomery

Blue Gemstone Can be exchanged for a favor from the hunters. 

Held By: Hester Lomidze, Laure Stephens, Madison Paige, Rose Halstead, Morgan Moss, Autumn Howell, Aria Boughton, Nikko Atticus, August Choi, Mila Nivokova, Reid Halstead, Thomas Skinner, Heron Yearwood, Harley Hunt, Arte Ryan, Kelly Kane

Clairvoyance Potion This potion allows the user to scry on any location or person. The duration of the potion’s effect lasts for an hour.  

Held By: Birdie Templeton, Aria Boughton, Nisha Eleazar

Duality Potion This potion must be imbibed by two separate witches. After consuming, the two witches will be able to swap powers for 12 hours. 

Held By: Grace Xiong, Eric Honeyfield

Moonbane Talisman This talisman allows werewolves to turn during the full moon without any pain - thus making the transformation much quicker (30 minutes). After one full moon, the talisman shatters.  

Held By: Felicity van Brunt, Theo Blackthorn

Enhanced Strength Potion For one hour, after ingesting, the user is filled with strength equivalent to a vampire’s. 

Held By: Valka Hadley

Invisibility Potion For one hour, after ingesting, the user is completely invisible - including their clothing. 

Held By: Autumn Howell, Elyse Kerr, Morgan Moss

[prvncesswrath]

💝 prince of the night

Atticus: What are you doing right now? Are you busy?

Atticus: I've been looking at furnishings for our other home in Nikko... It was looking rather barren right after we bought it, no?

Atticus: I'm in the bedroom... Perhaps we could cuddle for a while and browse through a bit of catalogues. If you like.

Atticus: Je t'aime.

Micah: Mhm. Balcony. Looking over of some e-mails. The signal has been quite atrocious lately. Never too busy for you, mon cœur.

Micah: It kind of is. What exactly are we needing? We have not been to that vintage store in a while, no?

Micah: Oh, you know I can never say no to that. To you. Just a few more of these and I’ll be good to go.

Micah: Je t’aime aussi. Have you taken your medicine? How are you feeling today?

Micah: If you’re hungry I could bring some food?

[sntsatticus]

Her lungs tightened and burned inside their flesh prison, legs aching with the strain forced upon them in the dark of the night. Her ears are filled with the thumping of her heart, eyes barely detecting her surroundings, Port Leiry but a blur of houses and stores she cared little for. Losing control wasn't common for an Atticus, yet Nikko couldn't find her footing. Or, in this case, the breaks of her bike. If she ⸻ When she finds Edgar, she will end his little fun with a scolding. A furious shout rips from her throat, mind unsure of where exactly she is, having lost track of the monster long ago. Her asthma was being pushed to its limits, and Nikko knew she herself would be the target of a furious scolding too despite being on the brink of death. 

A yellow light fills her vision, a figure taking shape in front of her widening blue eyes as she notices the bench. Not being able to stop, she instead jumps out of the bike, relying on her sore legs to do the job. They don't. She half stumbles half runs forward until her abdomen crashes against the back of the bench, causing her to bend and nearly topple over. The little air in her lungs rushes out in a grunt, more animal than human, and without moving, she asks, "Have you seen a black cat running around?" to the poor person there.

setting: the streets near Alleycatz at night Open to: Anyone

Sitting down on the curb outside the Lanes, Autumn's eyes scan through the latest on any one of a half dozen feeds that are, by this point, fed every inkling of how depressed and doomspiral she's been over the past few months. Her uber is, as the Universe has ordained, pretty late, and a terse and detached text through the app lets her know that it has, in fact, been canceled, eliciting a nearly silent tsh and shake of her head. At first she's about to call a new one in, but then something spiteful overtakes her.

Her car being in the shop is the pits, and Autumn stands, shouldering her bag and crossing the lot, but then she stops at the edge. People don't walk home alone in Port Leiry at night.

"Tch", Autumn scoffs at herself. That's stupid. Straightening her Alleycatz button-up, she chides herself for buying into tourism, and then, as if to prove something to herself, Autumn crosses over from car park to sidewalk, and starts the mile walk home. It's only a block before she stops on a bench outside of a park, housed in orange streetlight, and calls another uber, too unnerved by how Port Leiry seems to change at night. Like its watching you, all long shadows and dark spaces between closed up shops and apartment buildings that seems to have a gravity to them as you walk by; its different than when she was a kid.

[ask-steampunk-america]

"Oh no..."

// Send in your favorite Steampunk Hetalia character and your favorite outfit from the meme I've made. Finnian and Franklin will get them!

List of characters that has been revealed under cut:

Arnold F. Jones (America)

Roberto Vargas (South Italy)

Ludwik Beilschmidt (Germany)

Gisbert Beilschmidt (Prussia)

Ivar Braginsky (Russia)

Volya Braginsky (2P Russia)

Finnian Bonnefoy (France)

Franklin Bordeaux (2P France)

Shannon Bonney (Ireland)

Scully Kirkland (Northern Ireland)

Nikko Honma (Nyo Japan)

Kenji Honma (2P Japan)

Zheng Wang (2P China)

Kisho Honda (Japan)

Hector Karpusi (Greece)

Salih Adnan (Turkey)

Julius Valerie (Rome)

Atticus Manius (2P Rome)

Oscar Kirkwood (2P England)

Timothy Kirkwood (2P Sealand)

Filippo Vasco (North Italy)

Rainer Ermentrud (Austria?)

Gabriella Korina (Nyo! Greece)

Jeff Knight (Australia)

Carter Knight (New Zealand)

[tomaspriestley]

For: @sntsqnns

A haphazard collection of herbs and spices is sprawled on an ancient coffee table. Tomás has been sniffing them curiously (and pulling an array of faces) whilst sprawled on Atticus’ couch. He plucks one up, and puts it down — calls through some kind of question to go with it.

Hey Ms A — what’s with the cinnamon and weird green thing, are you cooking? And what’s with the jars — ? Is that a mushroom growing in a skullcap bowl?

Something about those being magical and hallucinogenic; whether they are, could be and is the skull real?

Often, Tomás finds Nikko’s house — well Des’, to be kind of nature sprite in the forest aesthetic, he’s been looking for the door to the secret lair for months.

Apparently, Nikko’s late leaving the radio station. So he’s waiting for him, and Desmona always has a good story to keep him entertained — he likes to write it up too. “So when are you gonna tell me which book to pull off your shelf so I can see the secret rooms Ms. Atticus?”

[nsilocastillon]

For: @sntsatticus

At first, there had been a momentary flash of hesitation. Glancing the girl over Markus' shoulder — and then oast the gleaming mask of a woman. It's unlike Nsilo to be entirely distracted in a game of wit but, she might not have been so attentive if her mouth did not throb at the knowledge that a witch is wandering free in the bustle.

Nsilo doesn't recall leaving the girl with a broken arm, no matter their roughplay. Castillon may have even been so kind to heal that too, had she known.

She wonders amongst the glittering jewels and the bluster of this room who might be so careless as to leave that kind of evidence of ill-intent. She'll find out. A certainty when she excuses herself from this pleasant but — quickly tiring game of a woman bothered. Typical, she can do far better in protecting her hand than revealing it face-up.

Nikko's breaking away from a figure across the room and Nsilo's a tiger stalking a prey, waiting, waiting — wading through the overgrowth of bodies until she comes to snare the witch in a trap of an arm around a waist, and the doorframe of the neighbouring dancehall. Nikko's all silver and sparkling — but there are hairline cracks, like shattered glass.

Nsilo can see up close, the bruises blossoming beneath the pale. It's unsightly, in a way that's glaringly obvious there's no accident involved; what kind of foul play then? She'd only seen the young Atticus shortly ago, in Castillon's bed — clawing at the silks in the morning, yearning for more.

"Pray tell, little witch, I don't recall you being so breakable," Nsilo leans back, allowing room to see the breakage and the stark white of her decorated cast. Standing near, she straightens — admiring the idea that she might never have known if she did not know Nikko. She's also on the backend of a taunting mood from her interaction with Markus and his new arm candy, so she cannot help but tease Nikko with the whitest of lies: "Maybe I'm too gentle with you." It's for a reaction.

[kiristephens]

She can feel and hear the way his heart pounds in his chest, not unlike the way used to wake from night terrors, only now, it sounds like a drumbeat to her enhanced hearing. She wonders if he is afraid of her now, or if this is simply the instinct of any mortal creature when faced with a vampire. As a witch, she had not been as unforgiving of vampires as some of her peers. She refrained from echoing their common sentiments, that vampires were an abomination, a slight against nature. Yet there are times now where Kiri feels as though there is truth to what they said.

His quiet declaration is equal parts fierce and vulnerable, and it makes her unbeating heart feel like it might have life again for a brief moment. Nikko has never needed to protect her, for that has never been his job. She reaches out to brush some of the hair out of his eyes, absently thinking to herself that he should get a haircut soon. She opens her mouth to tell him to put his concerns out of his head, that he only needs to focus on the fact that she is here now, not about where she had been.

But the words die on her lips as he chokes out a confession, tears spilling over and trying to pull away as though ashamed. She doesn't let him go, even as her mind processes what he is telling her. His magic had always escaped her full grasp of understanding, much to her chagrin. It was a type that she was unfamiliar with and couldn't help him navigate, and she wonders if maybe she should have tried harder. But still, she shakes her head firmly. "You couldn't have known. None of this is your fault."

Head resting on her shoulder, he feels like he is floating adrift in the emptiness of universe collapsing - at the bottom of a void he can't claw out. She is freezing cold where once there was only warmth, his heart hammering inside frail ribcage and lungs heavy with an unnamed feeling. It is not fear - Nikko tells himself it couldn't be fear; he has no reasons to fear his mom. But the grey, bleeding mother stares at him with black empty eyes, and his breath trembles nearly as much as his hand. He has no reason to be afraid - but her skin is so cold, and a single drop could end his life here. He hopes the runes don't start bleeding.

It's not fear, he tells himself again, but pity doesn't settle well in his throat when he gulps. He doesn't like the idea of pitying her - She is the strongest person he knows. But his heart aches, shatters, hurt so badly he can't breath, at the mere idea of her suffering so he clings to hear, willing himself not to cry. "I won't let them hurt you," he whispers, bones burning where he has broken them as a reminder of his useless. But he has gotten better with bodies now, has he not? He can raise them from the groun. He can make them fight. He would die if it meant protecting her. Isn't that what sons are for?

If you want to help her, why didn't you listen to us? He gasps, goosebumps breaking on his skin. He didn't lie to him, no matter how hurtful the truth is. To hear. To say. The least he can do is - "They were telling me you needed help all this time," admit. He has never said it out loud, his secret. His lie. But here, now, with her back and the dead suddenly quiet - He can't bear this on his own anymore. "I should have listened to them. I shouldn't have assumed they were angry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorr-" a choked sob escape his lips, wet and making his body shake. He pulls away, the familiar numbess washing over him. His head hurts and he feels tired, his body too small for the amount of souls inside of him. "The- The dead. They tried to tell me, they tried to warn me. I didn't listen."

[sntsatticus]

⸻ Nikko Atticus list of precious and necessary possessions

[sntsatticus]

case     file          :          atticus     ,     nikko          well if I could apologize put the light back in your eyes

2001     ,     port liery          you will heal and you'll rise above

memoir          :          you wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and panicking, empty voices caressing your fingers, void staring at you with a oozing crimson smile / / there’s an anger inside of you; hidden beneath layers of carefully constructed patience, and unusually quiet voice. it builds with each breath you take, much like the ticking clock you carry in the pocket of your pants. it sits still between your ribcage and your lungs, making a home of the sore bones you call your own. the anger hungers like a wolf, yet you don’t want to wear its skin. the sheep seems unfazed by the herding, but that’s not who you want to be either. (you didn’t like the shepard.) the anger builds and builds, an unpredictable black hole in your chest / / pomegranate juice drips from your red stained fingers like the waterfall in your eyes, trembling hand placing the seeds carefully on your waiting tongue. you don’t seem to recognize the world anymore, unsure of the place you occupy in the darkness. the shackles binding you are undying. / / you are too kind, too trusting, too forgiving, too naive, too much of everything. a childlike wonder resides in you lungs like fireflies dancing around a beautiful bonfire. you are too easily manipulated, and you talk too much. it seems you don’t fit in the mold of your family’s name but you can’t escape their clutches. / /

basics.

full name . . . ; nikkolas atticus

nicknames . . . ; nikko, freak, baby boy

association . . . ; loyal to his moms only

species . . . ; recently turned vampire

birthplace . . . ; port liery unknown

occupation . . . ; linguist student , radio host , living sacrifice

date of birth . . . ; january 1th, 2001

date of death . . . ; january 1th, 2001

status . . . ; single

sexuality . . . ; straight

gender . . . ; trans man

pronouns . . . ; he/him

languages . . . ; english, french, latin, italian, gaelic, portuguese

to note . . . ; has athsma, adhd, autistic coded, suffers from panic disorder, drug addiction, has developed a strong resistance to poison, has insomnia and night terrors, is deaf (uses aid, signs, and knows how to read lips)

scars . . . ; brow-bone scar, a fant line that reaches past his eye and grazes his cheekbones / / runes carved on his back, some bleeding and raw from recent use / / top surgery scars

tattoos . . . ; has a few on his arms, one saying 'big foot is real and he ate my ass'. the other are just drawings and symbols

piercings . . . ; none

positive traits . . . ; charming, loyal, intelligent, honest, selfless

negative traits . . . ; troubled, aloof, haunted, easy to fright, easy to manipulate

connections . . . ; desmona atticus . . . mother / / edgar allan paw . . . cat / / kiri and laure stephens . . . mothers / / blair . . . sister / / the ghosts . . . sometimes best friends

BIOGRAPHY.

TW: INFANT DEATH, VIVID DESCRIPTION OF BONES AND BLOOD, CHILD ABUSE, HUMAN SACRIFICES, MASSACRE, DRUG ADDICTION, CANNIBALISM, HORROR, GORE, BODY HORROR, BULLYING, CHILD NEGLECT, DESDEMONA A+ PARENTING, POSSESSION (ALLEGEDLY), CAR CRASH

INT . . . the shivering small figure of the child watches, no tears in her eyes while the imposing silhouette of mother approaches. the child stands with no shoes, blood dripping from the brow in green eyes, hand covered crimson from where it oozes out of a hole created by a sharp bone, twisting in ways it should not. the mother asks why, and all the child answers is . . . they told me to jump. 

There is no celebration when Nikkolas Atticus is born ⸻ an unwanted child of an unwanted daughter, covered in blood and grime as the walls around an old coven caves in. Dead, before a first breath is taken. Funny thing, death. Takes the innocent, fuels the pervert. The first death is not remembered, the veil breaching can still be felt on cold pale skin. A hole too small dug in blood covered soil, magic seeping down the roots of an ancient tree ⸻ Charcoal stained fingers drawing runes on an unmoving chest, red lips muttering old words forgotten by the small minded. Dirt in the lungs of an infant opening its eyes for the first time, something not right filling the empty space its soul had left. A birth, a funeral, and a rebirth ⸻ Who else is lucky enough to say they lived through all three? 

A baby is a baby in hospital nurseries or the graveyards of a cult, and even if this one didn't cry much, it needed to be fed. An infant is an infant and it doesn't know the difference between milk from breasts or chopped bleeding fingers of a dead man. Nutrients are nutrients, in the end. 

Lady Desdemona was not fit for motherhood ⸻ Cold, stiff, lacking affection and patience for the child watching her with knowing eyes. Love starved babies are incapable of feeling loved for a long time, studies say. The child believed his mother loved him ⸻ that love is made of barbed wire, high expectations, runes carved on his back. She fed him, clothed him, provided him a home ⸻ nothing more was needed; no bedtime stories, no comfort after nightmares, no words of affection. She pretended, of course, in front of godmothers and fellow witches visiting the lonely cottage she called home. The ghost of a child would watch visits from corners, half hidden in the low light. It doesn't talk much ⸻ It has nothing of importance to say.

 Is a mother a mom if she doesn't love you? She must have, for she allowed the child to watch rituals older than time, glimpse into the writings of a woman taken by madness. She did not see him as a kid, but a lamb for slaughter. Being the executioner's favorite lamb is love. 

When she plunges the knife in your neck, she whispers i love you i love you i love you ⸻ Nikkolas was never put on the sacrificial stone. Instead, he was pinned down by unknown hands reeking of gasoline while he watched the horrors inflicted on Lady Desdemona. On him. Body dropped into the cold, black lake behind a home empty of love or safety. He sank ⸻ The world became quiet, for a moment. It was when he felt it ⸻ a breeze past him, a touch of something freezing, desperation guiding his bones up and up and up ⸻ out of the waters and into a house destroyed. In the police station, covered in blood with his arm in a makeshift sling, he waited for the godmother. 

A face familiar yet strange, a woman whose warmth was the only he knew. Home was not in a cold cottage anymore, but a house smelling of flowers and death. It doesn't speak very much ⸻ it needs therapy. A ghost wandering the halls of a house it did not know, haunted by the grotesque dead around him. 

He was still the whisper lingering in the quiet spaces between breaths, a shadow at the corner of your eye that vanished when you turned. His existence felt like a fracture in reality, a thing half-formed, half-faded, teetering on the edge of being and not. He moved through the world like a ghost, though his chest rose and fell with borrowed air, his heart beat faintly, as though it didn’t belong to him. There was a softness to him, but not the kind that comforted. It was the softness of withering petals, of clouds veiling the sun, of forgotten things left to dust. 

His presence was a weight and an absence all at once. You looked at him, and he almost seemed real ⸻ until you realized you could not remember the color of his eyes or the sound of his voice.

He was drawn to the spaces between life and death, to places where grief hung heavy like fog and despair soaked the ground. He lingered in hospital corridors, by the bedsides of the dying, in abandoned homes where memories pressed themselves into the walls. It wasn’t intentional ⸻ these places called to him like the underworld calls to a forgotten queen.

He didn’t understand it, this pull toward the unseen. The ghosts spoke to him, of their trapped pains, of a life they wished not to leave. They would scream, leave marks on his skin, open doors around him ⸻ He could not escape them. He began talking to them, for the living were harder to reach. They didn’t notice him unless he wanted them to, and even then, it was fleeting. When he spoke, his words came like riddles, heavy with madness just out of reach. He didn’t know how to be understood, how to make himself be heard and be loved, with the burdens he carried. He tried. But he wasn't good at healing broken things ⸻ himself. Healing was for the living, for the bright and warm. He was a ferryman, a guide for those too broken to move forward on their own. His was a necromancer’s touch ⸻ not to raise the dead, but to remind them that they lived, that they mattered, even as they faded into silence.

When he pretended not to hear them, they punished him. A fever that refused to come down, an upset stomach, a head cracked open beneath the tree he fell from. Meningitis. He won't make it. He did ⸻ on a cold night, with ears bleeding and the silence closing in on him, his fever disappeared. You can't ignore us now. The dead are ruthless, and Nikkolas struggled to adapt. He learned to sign, to read lips, to keep his head down and ignore the grieving spirits around him. He could not hear nature anymore ⸻ the frogs, the birds, the trees. Was he even a witch? 

Acceptance was harder, and despite settling into a routine, hearing only the dead was maddening. The drugs came then. To tune them out, to hide them. He was only sixteen. For a time, it worked. He was okay. Then the crash happened. Riding with his first friends, sitting sandwiched in the backseat, laughing. The car flipped. The ghosts were not kind when he woke up in the hospital. Why did you let us drive? Why wouldn't you call an uber? Your fault, your fault, your fault ⸻ He tried to tune them out harder. The drugs, the partying, the whoring. Momentary distractions he chased as a starved man in the desert. 

Then his mom died. Missing. He felt sick. Dead. Desperate. He had never appreciated his magic before, but he couldn't stop trying every ritual and every spell to bring her back. The tips of his fingers were stained with rot, sweat blood red as he tried and tried and tried. Death didn't give her back. His lungs became worse, and the drugs in his system nearly took him to the grave. Death refused to let him through the veil. Cursed cursed cursed ⸻

When the stranger ripped his throat open, death laughed. It laughed and laughed and laughed. And then, it brought him back. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS: 

ENDGAME/HADES: Persephone in the garden, singing for their Hades to take her down down down down … This is not a healthy relationship. How could it be, when everything Nikko does is deliberately self-destroying? Destructive little bird, in a cage of gold. He wants the possessiveness, the obsession, the mutual codependency, devotion. Did Hades ever let Persephone go? ⸻ I’m absolutely down to plot anything for them; how they met, when they began fucking, if the obsession is mutual or not! I just need toxic yuri please!

BIOLOGICAL MOTHER: Not a good person. Due to rituals, Nikkolas is technically, blood related, half hers and half Desdemona. And Desdemona doesn't forget that. 

DEMETER: Persephone needs a cage.

VICTIMS: Now turned, Nikko should bite and drink from some people. Please. 

[sntsatticus]

location : hawthorn plaza

who : @desmonaatticus

Her palm stings behind the faintly stained red bandage wrapped around her hand, a throb she almost could shove to the back of her mind if she wasn't gripping the gray sweater too tightly. From a young age, cold has been a constant in the space between skin and bone, a plague Nikko can't rid herself of. Her throat is parched for warmth, but her lungs will never be satisfied, she knows. It is why she shivers under the gentle breeze, why she dresses in the sweater despite the burning sun. She wonders briefly if it's genetics; and shakes her head when she remembers she won't dare ask. Her life has been only mother since she was but a babe, and if there are people outside of it, it's a knowledge that shan't be shared with her. She has no complaints, of course, if there's one thing Nikkola Atticus is, it is a mama's girl.

But it is moments like this that makes her feel unconnected and distant from those around her. Small reminders that she is different, strange, that tugs at her heart and fills her stomach with an uncomfortable sensation. It's not good to dwell on it, she muses, approaching Mona with a sigh. “I can't find Edgar.” Her cat seems to disappear more often these days, and she is quite tired of running after him. The bruised ribs she is currently nursing was the last straw. “I found a frog, though!” She holds up the amphibian with a smile, dimples shining brighter than the stars. A childish joy fills her whenever she is near her mother, any worries almost escaping her brain. “Do you think we are safe, mama?” Almost.