#richard (without a surname)

[shibabunny-asteriarays]

Got Richard and Natalia today too!

[introvertedpedant]

Stephen Dillane as Richard (without a surname) in Boxing Day (2021) - Set Six

[psychotic-nonsense]

In October of 1967, Steve Harrington is born in Hawkins, Indiana.

He's raised there, forced to live under the strict expectations of his parents, Richard and Samantha. Barely escapes their clutches, freedom fueled by the kids and adults that take the role of guardian and family when the time is right. Keeps himself in check with the always impending apocalypses that arise beneath his feet.

In June of 1985 - when Steve Harrington is 18, while Richard and Samantha Harrington are visiting New York for an extended work trip - Veronica Harrington is born.

She was carried and raised in secret from their hometown. They take care of her between their business hours, dropping her in the hands of nannies and babysitters galore. They don't even think of Indiana during Veronica's early childhood, too focused on work and making sure their daughter starts up right.

In October of 1986 - when Steve Harrington is 19, aged further by ending the Vecna War, yet tamed by his newfound love in Eddie Munson - Richard and Samantha Harrington return to Hawkins.

They don't ask about what happened to their son. They don't ask about the town. They don't ask questions, just give responses to them. Sneering at Steve's friends, complaining about the state of the house, commenting at the disfunctional chaos their home has become.

In November of 1986, Richard and Samantha Harrington disown Steve.

They just let him go. They at least give him a folder of his legal documents, but otherwise just tell him to get out of their house and never use their name again. Claiming Steve doesn't need anything from the room because the Harrington's own everything in it. They don't call him son, they don't say goodbye, they don't acknowledge who's actually taken care of the house, they don't admit most of Steve's former room has changed with money Steve earned himself, they don't dare to give him any money or care where he goes. They just say they're sick of dealing with an unworthy mistake of a child, and force him out of their house.

In November of 1986, the Party's adults adopt Steve.

He runs to them first after everything happens. Held himself together at the start, but broke down the second the words were out. While everyone was trying to comfort Steve, Wayne Munson and Jim Hopper were the first to succeed. They know firsthand that this family would never be the same as blood, no matter how much that blood has boiled and burned before, but the love will be stronger and it will be here. When everyone seconds it, Steve finally accepts it. He becomes a child of the Party - he's everyone's son and everyone's brother, taking whatever surname he sees fit.

In November of 1986, Steve Henderson and Eddie Munson leave Hawkins.

Despite all this good, Steve can't bear to stay in this damned town a second longer, where everyone knows who he is and will soon know everything he isn't. And it's not like Eddie was looking forward to sticking around Hawkins either, especially without his Steve. The kids are the first to agree, surprisingly, and the adults promise to find a way for the boys to get out. Later that week, when Richard and Samantha leave the house to prepare for Veronica, Steve and Eddie break in to take everything that's rightfully theirs. While they're there, not sure what prompts him, Steve makes a bag of his clothes with shoes and his wallet tucked within it, shoving it into his closet. Dustin's mom uses an old favor to get the boys an apartment in Chicago, the Party has one last farewell, and the two boys are gone.

From 1986 onward, Veronica Harrington is raised in Hawkins, Indiana.

Richard and Samantha are adamant in their daughter coming out exactly how she should. They steadily convince the town to forget the Harringtons ever had a son and lock the room on the second floor next to the stairs without ever touching the inside. They raise her with formality and pride at the top of their expectations, wanting at least one child to come out right.

But Veronica is the spitting image of Steve's honesty and care. She puts on a facade when needed, but even at a young age, she wants nothing more than to be someone's light in the darkness. She plays with every lonely kid at school, and tries to make people laugh at the business parties she's dragged to. It's not received well by her parents, but Veronica is much too strong willed and stubborn to let it phase her.

In April of 1991 - when she's 6 and they're so much stronger around their hearts - Veronica Harrington meets Steve and Eddie Munson for the first time.

It's the year Erica is set to graduate high school. Steve and Eddie have been making the drive for every holiday this year, ordered determined to give her the best senior year she could have. It's Easter Sunday, and Wayne somehow managed to drag his boys away to church - a Munson custom, as even Eddie insisted they go.

While at the snack table post sermon, a little girl comes up to Steve, mistaking him for her father. He and Eddie gently comfort the girl, introducing themselves and offering to help the girl find her parents. That's when Veronica introduces herself, striking Steve deep in his heart. Still, he keeps quiet, even gifting her a little origami crane made from napkins at the table. He calls her "chickpea" for the color of her dress, tells her to keep the crane secret and safe, "If ever you need to find your way back home, you hold that close, and it'll tell you."

Meanwhile, Wayne has come across Richard and Samantha in the crowd opposite the kids. Exchanging formalities, Wayne mentions his son and nephew are in town, news the Harrington's are surprised at, as Wayne didn't seem like the father type. However, trying to keep face, they remain civil and insist on introducing their daughter.

Cue Veronica running to her parents with Steve and Eddie in tow. Cue Steve calling Wayne dad right to Richard's face. Cue the Harrington's immediate leave from the church, Veronica waving behind her with a crane placed carefully in her pocket.

From then on, Veronica Harrington's life changes indefinitely.

Her parents' expectations grow tenfold. She finds out she's horribly allergic to chickpeas. All of her friends must be approved by her parents, and any that don't fit their image are ordered to leave her.

Veronica takes these changes in stride - is her class's top student, captain of the softball and volleyball teams in junior high, keeps the friends she wants in secret from her parents - but she can't help but keep the crane in a little box in her room. Gets a necklace with a little origami crane pendant, holds it whenever she needs to make a hard choice. Can't help but expand herself in secret, learn things her parents would never approve of - lock picking, other languages, sleight of hand, a clothing style that's nothing like the dark blues of her family, all warmth and light. She explores every room in her house, yet is unable to find her way into that room upstairs next to the steps.

In May of 1998, Veronica Harrington discovers the truth about her brother.

She's about to be a freshman. Her class was touring the high school in preparation, and while passing the athletics hall, her eyes hit the swimming trophies. Each row stuffed with trophies, and each one with a name that stabbed her right in the stomach: Steve Harrington.

After that, she couldn't bear all the secrecy anymore. Late that same night, she finally uses her lock picking skills to break into that room. And though it's devoid of life, it is a bedroom, so evidently lived in. It's frozen in time, twisted sheets covered in dust, old papers crinkled from being stepped on but not picked up, old clean clothes still sitting in the hamper. It's a boy's room, clearly, and Veronica is careful walking around this place of memories.

She does still explore, quietly clicking on lights around the room, too cautious to touch the overhead lights. She looks under the bed, finding a bat and a trash can lid, both embedded with rusty nails. A shirt that still smells like fresh laundry yet has a back stained permanently with long red lines down the shoulders. Dozens of stapled documents labeled NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT, detailing horrific events that each have that same name signed at the bottom.

With shaking hands she checks the closet, and finds it mostly empty. All except for a deep green graduation robe and cap, a cream Hawkins High letterman, and a duffel bag hidden in the back corner. The cap has a 1985 tassel, and the letterman has Harrington branded on the back with basketball and swimming patches galore. And the bag, when she checks it, looks like a survivalist pack someone would make in an apocalypse. At the top sits a wallet, and inside is an ID for a Steve Harrington, who has the same face as the one in her origami memories.

And Veronica is done. She wakes up the next morning and throws Steve's jacket on the kitchen table, startling both her parents mid sip of coffee. She finds herself in a screaming match with her father, demanding them to quit lying to her, begging to know who her brother is.

In a fit of rage, Richard tells her. Tells her everything Richard and Samantha never saw in Steve, about Veronica's secret birth, the disownment, Steve's disappearance from the Harrington house and Hawkins. She's reminded of that one Easter Sunday, and is told how Richard and Samantha faked Veronica's allergy to keep her mind from being tainted by whatever curse befell their bloodline before. Orders her to never say that name again.

In a fit of rage, Veronica bites back. Calls her parents cruel and overly expectant. Comes clean about her secret freedom. Says she'd rather be nothing than ever carry the burden of the Harrington name ever again.

She hides away in her room after the fight. Cries in her closet with her origami box cradled tightly to her chest, begging it to take her home because this place isn't anymore, maybe never was. Cries for the brother she never even got to meet, who went through so many horrible things yet still got put through this same punishment. Cries for the future she won't get to have, losing her hope for a new beginning that will now never be.

At the start of June, 1998, Veronica runs away.

She makes it through the rest of May in near silence. She writes notes for all of her friends at the end of the school year, and one for her parents to inevitably find. Finds 75 dollars in Steve's old wallet, stuffs the duffel bag the rest of the way with her belongings, and says goodbye to Hawkins.

She takes the first bus she can find out of town. Doesn't care that it's going to Chicago, doesn't really care where she's going now. She befriends an old homeless man riding the bus as well, becomes another interesting name in his "Book of Wanders (Pronounced as Wonders)." As Veronica's telling the story about unknowingly meeting her brother, she remembers the crane in her bag. She reaches in to retrieve the little box, then the crane, nearly crying seeing how disheveled and unfolded it is. Broken and doomed, just like her. But looking at it now after so long, she thinks she sees something written inside it. Despite it shattering her heart pieces, she carefully unfolds the little crane.

At its center, in old, bleeding blue text, reads, "Find the Swooping Bat if you've lost your way."

The old man laughs then, taking Veronica's hand and placing it onto her chest, over her heart. "It's fate," he whispers in the dark bus. "There's a place called that in Chicago."

Veronica uses her money to rent them both a hotel for the night, giving the old man a warm bath for the first time in weeks. She gifts him the clothes as well, saying it's, "an honorary thanks from my brother, for helping me get here." They bid each other farewell in the morning, the old man telling her to keep hold of fate.

She finds her way to the Swooping Bat easily, hand on her necklace guiding her way. It's a quaint little diner, popular enough to be comfortably warm when she walks in. A young lady in a wheelchair - Max, says her nametag, with pins saying things like, "Summer work blows" and "USC grad or bust!" resting on her collar - guides her to a booth next to the sunrise.

"Anything I can get you today?" Max asks when Veronica's seated.

Veronica's fully ready to order everything on the menu, what with how delicious this place smells, but then she remembers her funds. 5 bucks, if she's lucky. "Just a chocolate milk, for now. Biggest one you have, please." She somehow plays off Max's skeptical look, her eyes sweeping over Veronica's no doubt disheveled and no-food-in-36-hours appearance.

It somehow works out, and Max is wheeling away. Veronica allows herself a moment to collapse, stomach growling in pain and eyes burning with the realization she has no idea what she's going to do now. She just has this last bit of hope to hold onto, and without it, she'll be nothing but a husk.

She's not sure how long she sits there, staring at the sunrise and letting sound and AC whisk her mind away, but there's suddenly a little knock on her table. Her head snaps up, and there's Max again, setting down a giant glass of chocolate milk... alongside a loaded breakfast plate.

"It's on the house," Max rushes to explain, all fondness when Veronica scrambles to get her wallet. "Courtesy of the owner. And between you and me," she whispers with a wink, "just take the damn food, kid."

Veronica stumbles over herself for a moment, rendered near speechless, before she finally comes back. She begs Max to thank the owner profusely, before rushing to dig into the pancakes before her. She's halfway done dousing the stack in syrup by the time Max wheels away, when there's suddenly someone laughing.

"Of course," says a choked-up voice behind her. "Can't have any chickpeas starving in my booths."

Veronica nearly drops her fork. She turns so sharply she gets dizzy. Seven years can't change a person that much, surely, because though he's bigger in the torso and he has glasses on the bridge of his nose and his hair is cut so close, he still has the same softness in his voice and the same slouch in his stance and the same moles around his eyes and his smile is so bright despite the tears in his eyes, and though Veronica can barely see through tears herself, it's not like she needs them anyway to know it's-

"Steve!" she cries, scrambling out of the booth to meet her brother halfway. The relief of it all working out has the rest of her restraint collapsing, forcing harsh sobs out of her and into Steve's shoulder. The siblings hold each other in the middle of a restaurant, a voice in the background asking everyone to leave them be. Steve doesn't stop whispering, even as his chest heaves with broken gasps between tears, "You're save, Veronica, I got you, I got you, it's gonna be okay, you're safe here, it's okay, sis, it's okay..."

"That you, lil' chickpea?" whispers a different voice once they've calmed down. Veronica reluctantly pulls away and finds a man kneeling beside them, a hand on Steve's shoulder and similar tears in his eyes. His hair and tattoos remind her of the tamed wild from seven years ago, covered in black in the middle of church yet glowing brighter than the stained glass, the one that Steve looks at in past and present with a glowing love Veronica never saw between her parents.

"Yeah," she whispers, wiping her tears away before placing a hand atop her necklace. It catches Eddie and Steve's eyes and make them beam with pride and relief. "Yeah, it's... it's me...."

[hellframe]

Henry Winter, flirting

The first day of his visit to Francis’s country house Richard had a little voyage with Henry and Camilla in a boat. And here we have this introduction to Henry’s habits:

“He had a habit, as I was later to discover, of trailing off into absorbed, didactic, entirely self-contained monologues, about whatever he happened to be interested in at the time"

Richard was wrong, of course. Henry’s monologues were not ‘entirely self-contained’, they had particular purpose — at least, two of them were an instrument of mild pressure on Camilla, including this one which Richard heard during their voyage:

"That day he was talking about Elizabeth and Leicester, I remember: the murdered wife, the royal barge, the queen on a white horse talking to the troops at Tilbury Fort, and Leicester and the Earl of Essex holding the bridle rein… Camilla, flushed and sleepy, trailed her hand in the water… It was many years later, and far away, when I came across this passage in The Waste Land: Elizabeth and Leicester beating oars…”

T. S. Eliot left notes for these lines of his poem, citing History of England:

Author of this letter, Alvaro de la Quadra, was a Spanish diplomat and Catholic clergyman, he apparently had a right to marry a couple. For many years Leicester was queen’s favourite and suitor for her hand, but she didn’t want to marry — didn’t want to share her power with anyone, and used her claimed virginity as a political asset. Eventually, Leicester got tired of waiting, and married another woman, which broke the queen's heart.

In view of these facts, the boat scene in TSH looks so ironic. Richard’s surname, Papen, means ‘priest, cleric’ in North German, and he also was a foreign figure in their group, like that Spanish bishop in England. However, Richard wasn't able to marry anyone.

I guess, in such a manner Henry was telling Camilla: "I’m ready to be with you right here, now. But don’t make me wait for too long". And Camilla was flushed, because she understood this reassurance mingled with warning.

Another instance of this mild pressure was quoting passages about Emma Bovary, whose chaotic love choices ruined her life: Sa pensée, sans but d'abord, vagabondait au hasard, comme sa levrette, qui faisait des cercles dans la campagne… “Her thoughts were wandering at first without any purpose” — could it mean "Camilla, make up your mind, or you’ll end up like madame Bovary''?

From Henry’s point these monologues were probably a sort of flirting, an indirect way to show romantic interest towards Camilla.

Come on, Henry, why spend so many words, when you can say Cubitum eamus?

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: The Madwoman

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contains: asylum; outdated/problematic/ableist language; feelings of humiliation, hopelessness, and helplessnes; bullying; uncomfortable nonsexual nudity, lady whump

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 4350 || Approx reading time: 18 mins

The Madwoman

Teaser: Bree nodded, glancing up to inspect her seemingly benevolent jailer. He was a pale man, dark-bearded and bespectacled, with brown eyes wreathed in the red and grey hues of one who never got quite enough sleep. And no wonder. Would it haunt him, the sight of her watching and weeping as Baden departed, free as a bird while she remained an inmate of the asylum?

“Mrs. Hatchett?”

Bree stared at her feet, loath to meet the gaze the man who approached—terrified to see what expression waited in his eyes. She wondered if he could read what was in hers.

His footsteps were slow and soft against the wooden floor as he drew near. “I didn’t properly introduce myself,” he said, seating himself next to her. The bench built into the wall was uncushioned and hard as a rock, but he did not complain. Nor did he sit too closely; he left enough space between them that they could speak comfortably and unobtrusively, but their elbows did not brush.

Perhaps, Bree thought bitterly, he did not want to get close to her. Breanna Hatchett, the madwoman.

“I’m Dr. Armstrong,” he said, clasping his hands in his lap. “I’m an assistant physician here. We met earlier. I work under Dr. Richards.”

Dr. Richards. The all-powerful superintendent with the authority to scribble his name on a piece of paper and lock her up without a chance to plead her sanity, all because Baden had made his case first.

“Hello,” she said flatly, not meeting his eye. The floorboards must have once been a warm golden colour, varnished and glistening. Now they were dull and greyish, worn from years of being trod upon. She could bring herself to add no more to her greeting.

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

She swallowed. His voice was so cordial, as if he meant every word. But he couldn’t. He’d signed the page. He’d signed his name: A.A. Dale. He was just as guilty as Baden. And Gysborne. And Richards. She despised him.

A tear burned her cheek, rolling until it slipped down the slope of her jaw and dampened the collar of her dress. “Armstrong,” she repeated dully. “The paper said Dale.” 

“Oh. Yes. It does.” He sounded surprised that she had noticed the discrepancy. “Armstrong Dale is my full surname, but I prefer to be addressed as Armstrong.”

“What’s the first A for?”

Why was she asking? She didn’t truly want to speak to him. But striking up such conversation, even for a few scant moments, kept at bay the awful truth: that Baden had gone from Greyhurst Asylum and left her behind, imprisoning her in a way that said to the world he still cared for her and ensured her safety, when in truth her incarceration protected only his own immaculate reputation.

She could ignore Dr. Armstrong, certainly. But if she did not indulge the doctor in his discourse, she would be forced to admit to herself the awful reality—that there was some dreadful catharsis in stripping away the artifice behind which she’d hidden for much of her life. That it was almost a relief to bare the truth: just like Will and now his brother, she was a prisoner.

She always had been, and if Baden had any say in the matter, she would remain so until she was dead.

“You have a keen memory,” he said. “My given name is Allan.”

Bree nodded, glancing up to inspect her seemingly benevolent jailer. He was a pale man, dark-bearded and bespectacled, with brown eyes wreathed in the red and grey hues of one who never got quite enough sleep. And no wonder. Would it haunt him, the sight of her watching and weeping as Baden departed, free as a bird while she remained an inmate of the asylum?

She doubted it.

Allan Armstrong Dale was studying her, too, she saw, with a calm and dispassionate gaze. The pity she thought she had seen earlier was wiped away, and he scrutinized her now with only quiet, clinical curiosity.

“I expect you have some questions,” he said.

Swallowing a fresh onfall of tears, Bree looked back at the floor. “How long am I to be kept here?” What a selfish question it seemed, when Will’s brother would be interrogated and maybe even tortured the way Will had been, and Will would be hunted for crimes he had not committed.

Accusations which her self-serving lies had only corroborated.

“That depends,” he said. “Enough time to allow you rest and recuperation until you are cured.”

“But how long will that be?” she asked, clutching the fabric of her skirt, still damp from the rain. Although the outer layer had dried, her petticoat remained claggy and sticky against her skin, a disgusting sensation she would simply have to endure. Until Baden saw fit to return with more of her clothes, she had nothing else to wear.

“Many patients are discharged within several months,” said Dr. Armstrong.

Pain burst into her bottom lip as she bit down on it. Months. Months. How much time did Will have before Baden caught up to him?

Drawing in a long breath, Bree raised her gaze again. “Dr. Armstrong,” she said, “I am not mad. My husband is mistaken.”

Sorrow flooded into his eyes.

“In fact,” she said, her voice trembling, “if you—if you will grant me another examination, another assessment, I…” She blinked back tears. Calm. She had to stay calm. “I’ll prove to you I’m sane.”

“Mrs. Hatchett…”

Bree couldn’t help it; she flinched. And her visible reaction to the sound of her name was not overlooked by the doctor.

“Mrs. Hatchett,” he repeated, “allow me to be candid with you. Three physicians have ascertained through medical examination that you are suffering from a nervous disorder.”

“I’m suffering from no such thing.” Bree swallowed. “Mr. Gysborne doesn’t count. He’d do anything Baden told him to. Sign anything, whether or not he believed it to be true.”

Dr. Armstrong frowned at the implication of her words, but he went on, “The evidence Constable Hatchett provided was, in a word, damning.”

“But—”

“And you have not,” he interrupted gently, “offered a single compelling counterargument in defence of your sanity.”

With tears spilling onto her cheeks again, Bree went over in her mind Baden’s rant against her. “There are many things,” she said, “that my husband doesn’t understand.” That he could not understand.

To her surprise, Dr. Armstrong said, “I’m listening.”

And he was, she realized. But when she opened her mouth, the words caught in her throat. What could she say? How would it help her to confess that she had willfully, not under duress, freed Will from prison? Or to return to the story of how her arm had been cut, when it would require explaining that she had been helping to reunite the members of a criminal gang?

“I did forge his signature,” she said, deciding to avoid the subject of Iustitia aecum entirely. “To join the literary society.” How long ago that seemed now. With her damp handkerchief, she brushed away her tears. “But I did it because I knew he would never allow me to attend.”

An odd look came over the doctor’s face.

“And I couldn’t bear the thought,” she said, “of being forbidden to participate. To lose access to my friends, and all those wonderful conversations, and the opportunity to learn and read…” She paused, chewing on her lip. “So I didn’t give him the chance to say no.”

Schooling his features back to impassivity, Dr. Armstrong said, “There are some who would, perhaps, argue that it is within a husband’s rights to disallow his wife’s involvement in a society with whose ideals he does not agree.”

“And I would argue,” Bree shot back, “that it is not his job to police my actions, but to be a police officer. To uphold the law and keep his citizens safe.” She swallowed a sob. “And he can’t even do that.”

For a long while, Dr. Armstrong was silent.

Bree watched the window, letting him stew in the story she had not told. As it always did in the throes of autumn, the sun was setting despite the early hour. In the dying light, the few leaves still clinging to the trees had turned murky, rusted oranges and rich browns little more than muddy shades of grey. Bars, like the ones that had once stood between her and Will, obscured her view of the outside world almost as much as the sinking sun.

Will, who she had set free—and ultimately condemned. Will, who would suffer yet again because of her. Will, who would die. Jamie would get his penalty for being the leader of Iustitia aecum, but Will would be executed. Because of her.

“Is your arm in pain?” Dr. Armstrong asked suddenly.

With a startled gasp, Bree twisted her handkerchief in her hands, cursing her wandering thoughts and inexpedient distraction. The doctor thought she was mad; daydreaming and working herself into a panic while he was trying to have a civil, sane conversation would do her no favours. “No. Not anymore. Thank you.”

“I confess,” he said, “that I don’t understand.”

At the puzzled, probing quality to his voice, Bree swallowed and kept her eyes on the window.

“This cut, in the exact right—or perhaps wrong—circumstances, could have been devastating. Left to bleed or get infected, it could have killed you. It is no small wound. Someone did this to you, yet you stayed and then defended the man who hurt you. Why?”

The man who hurt you.

You stayed.

“I was frightened,” she told him. “I have always been so frightened.”

Dr. Armstrong’s brow furrowed, and she knew she had not said enough.

“Some things...” Her throat ached in the wake of this failure and so many others. “Some things are stronger than reason.”

As he opened his mouth to reply, the clang of a bell rang through the ward, and whatever he had intended to say was lost. “Shall I escort you to the dining room, Mrs. Hatchett?”

The name tore at her, vicious as teeth and claws. “Don’t call me that.”

Dr. Armstrong blinked. “Don’t call you what?”

“‘Mrs. Hatchett.’”

“But…that is your name.”

Of course, he spoke the truth. Of course, that was her name. Didn’t he understand? That in itself was the problem. “I know, but please, I beg of you. Please don’t call me that.”

Slowly, Dr. Armstrong nodded, and Bree recalled what he had said about preferring Armstrong over Dale. “What shall I call you, then?”

Dull warmth spread through her chest, dim as embers but emitting the faintest glow, nonetheless. “My maiden name is Cooper. Or Breanna will do. Just…not…” She gulped, shuddering. “Not that.”

“All right, Mrs. Breanna.” How strange it was to hear her given name follow Mrs. How terribly she missed being Bree. But how much better it was than the alternative. “Let’s proceed to the dining room, and then I’ll continue my visits.”

The dining room was small and crowded. Bree’s heart quivered as the doctor guided her inside and directed her to a table occupied by at least ten other women, some of them her age and some older. A slim measure of relief stole into her at the revelation that they all, to her eyes, looked perfectly civilized, some even kind-eyed and friendly. A few were fashionably attired, with lovely dresses adorning too-thin figures and disguising the wretchedness that lurked in each melancholy countenance.

“Good evening, ladies,” said Dr. Armstrong, eliciting a round of greetings. “This is Mrs. H—” He paused, then gestured and deferred to her. “Why don’t you introduce yourself and have something to eat?”

Bree blinked, and her resolve to detest him crumbled.

As if the lady next to whom she took a seat could read her mind, she said, “That new doctor’s not so bad, now, is he?”

“New?” Bree glanced back at the retreating physician, watching him quietly greet the patients at each table.

“Mmm hmm.” The woman might have been approaching fifty years, with streaks of silver in her hair and wrinkles around her eyes. How tired she looked, Bree thought, and yet there was a tenderness to her face that put Bree at ease. “Only started…oh, last week, perhaps?” She gave Bree a small smile that could not conceal the sorrow in her gaze. “And what’s your name, darling? I’m Mrs. Strickland. Eugenia Strickland.”

“I’m Bree…” It felt wrong, giving Will’s name for her here. “Breanna.”

“Pleasure to meet you, dear.” Mrs. Strickland laid a soft hand over Bree’s. “Did you only arrive today?”

Bree jumped when someone gave a loud shout across the room, and the sound of silverware clattering to the floor split the air.

“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Strickland patted her hand. “You’re all right. That sort of thing’s bound to happen, even in this ward.”

“This ward?” Bree repeated faintly.

Mrs. Strickland nodded, and she did not elaborate, for dinner was being served.

It was unappetizing—boiled fish, the smell of which made Bree’s stomach turn. The poor, unenticing creature was accompanied by a small pile of potatoes, also boiled and dismally devoid of salt, crowned with a most meagre dash of yellow butter.

Bree could only stare at the plate.

“Come now, love,” said Mrs. Strickland quickly, seeing that she did not move and her eyes were filling with tears. “You must eat up, or the nurses will report that you’re refusing meals.” A quick squeeze, and then her hand was gone. “You mustn’t give them more reason to believe you’re unwell.”

Bree looked up from the food, astonished. Was Mrs. Strickland just as sane as she was?

“I don’t think I can,” she whispered, swallowing the sickly taste already brewing in her mouth.

“Well,” said the woman apologetically, “you really must try.”

Bree picked up her fork and forced herself to take a bite.

Dinner was underscored with quiet chatter, though not everyone participated. The other women were kind, mostly—those who weren’t merely remained silent and ignored her. Bree wanted to weep at the sight of so many hollow cheeks and haunted stares.

“Did you see the new girl?”

Bree stiffened at the sound of a voice—not one of the other patients, but a tall, blonde-haired woman in a black dress and white cap who was looking right at her with an unmistakable smirk upon her face. Bree’s stomach plummeted. It was the nurse from earlier.

“Did you hear the story?” the nurse asked smugly. “I did. I was there when they brought her in.” Her bored-looking colleague shushed her half-heartedly, but the woman went on. “You want to know why her police officer husband dumped her here?”

Bree suddenly found she could not make her body move. The effort of lifting her fork to her mouth seemed a monumental undertaking. All that mattered was what that golden-haired nurse said next.

The nurse sneered, “She ran off with some criminal.”

The other woman gasped.

“Didn’t make it far, of course, but, oh, what a scandal.” The nurse’s eyes glittered. “If you look hard enough, you’ll even see for yourself. The indecent little mark that man left on her neck. Well…not so little.” With a widening smile, she brushed her spiny fingers along her throat, a prattling laugh spewing forth. “I saw it. It’s obscene.”

“You’re making things up, you insufferable gossip,” said the woman next to her, but now her gaze was wandering across the room, too.

Bree ducked her head, blood rushing in her ears as her face flooded with heat.

“I most certainly am not,” the blonde nurse giggled. “Could I dream up such a story? A constable’s wife running off with some good-for-nothing jailbird for a nice, dirty f—”

Before she knew what she was doing, Bree slammed her fork back down onto the table, sending a crack and a thud through the room.

Mrs. Strickland jumped at the noise, shock giving way to bewilderment and then fading to understanding as she followed Bree’s gaze. “Oh, you must ignore Miss Dugford,” she said quickly. “She’s a terrible gossip, and mean-spirited to her core, but she’s Dr. Richards’ niece, so she’s not going anywhere.” Blanching, she glanced furtively around the room. “She will try to rile you up. She does it to everyone. You mustn’t rise to her, or she’ll run straight to her uncle. She’s gotten more than one poor girl sent to another ward.” Lowering her voice, leaning closer to Bree’s ear, she said, “This is the nicest ward, Breanna. You don’t want to get on her bad side and end up somewhere else.”

But Bree’s heart was still pounding, blood still screaming, breath still choking. How dare that nurse open her mouth and speak on matters about which she knew absolutely nothing? And how dare she speak so brazenly about what was supposed to be only between her and Will?

A memory struck—Baden tipping her chin up to reveal the bruise to Dr. Armstrong and Dr. Richards, displaying her body like it belonged to him, turning what had been a beautiful moment of shared ecstasy into something shameful, perverted, and humiliating. And now this woman, this Nurse Dugford, was doing the same thing—in front of everyone.

“Maybe if we ask nicely,” Miss Dugford said, cloying sweetness oozing through every word, “she’ll show you, too. If she’s willing to lift her skirts for a filthy thief, surely showing off a little bite on the neck won’t be a problem.”

With Mrs. Strickland’s warning ringing in her ears, Bree said loudly, her eyes on the nurse’s, “Don’t you dare come anywhere near me.”

Dr. Armstrong, speaking with a fatigued-looking girl who could have only been sixteen or seventeen, looked up, immediately on alert. Dr. Richards, who was circling the room in silence with cool indifference on his face, turned to peer at Bree, too. He did not look pleased.

Miss Dugford crossed her arms. Although she met Bree’s gaze, she kept talking to her friend. “And, oh, you should have heard her! How she cried and cried. Insisting all the while that she’s perfectly sane.”

And with her full, pink lips curled and crooked, her eyes still on Bree’s, Nurse Dugford smiled.

***

It was with relief that Bree abandoned her not-even-half-eaten supper and allowed herself to be led from the dining room, but that relief was short-lived, for the nurses took her to a bathing room and bade her and everyone else to prepare to wash up.

“What’s happening?” she squeaked to Mrs. Strickland.

“It’s bath night,” said the woman, seeming to droop as she nodded toward the rusted metal tub. Her fingers moved slowly and wearily, untying the cord at the end of her silver-streaked braid.

“But…” Bree looked around, the few bites of dinner she’d choked down sitting like lead in her stomach. “There’s one tub, and…” She counted quickly. “Twenty of us.”

“Yes.”

The implications made Bree’s skin crawl. “But what of privacy?”

Mrs. Strickland sighed and patted her arm. “What of it?”

Bree watched in horror as the girl at the head of the line removed her clothing, bit by bit, until she was stark naked. In front of everyone.

“Come on, then,” said Miss Dugford to the next girl as the first one stepped into the bathtub and immediately began to shiver, whimpering audibly as a nurse began to scrub violently at her skin and hair with a lump of beige soap. “Hurry it up.”

“They can’t make me do this,” Bree said, backing away. “I won’t bathe in front of everyone.”

But another nurse nudged her back into line. “Yes, you will.”

Hugging her arms to her chest, Bree said, “I will not.”

“You will,” said Miss Dugford, listening from the front, “or we’ll help you along, and you wouldn’t want us to use force, would you, Mrs. Hatchett?” Her head tilted to the side. “And you’re a right mess from the rainstorm, there, dear, so don’t you want a nice, lovely bath to clean up and look less…” She smirked. “Less like you came straight from the barnyard?”

Mrs. Strickland reached for Bree’s hand and squeezed. “Now, Nurse Dugford, I’m sure she’s just nervous. It’s her first night here, after all. There’s no need for such…” She took a deep breath. “Comments.” To Bree, she said, “It’s nothing to be afraid of, Breanna. Quick as a flash, and then you’ll be on your way to bed. Won’t that be wonderful?”

Bree shook her head. How could the others accept this? Stripping naked in front of one another, no privacy to speak of? And the way each girl left the bathtub shaking uncontrollably, it had to be ice cold…and by the time Bree even got to it, the water would be filthy, if it wasn’t already.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Sounds like Mrs. Hatchett needs some help getting undressed,” said Nurse Dugford, a snide smile crossing her face. “I didn’t think that would be a problem for her.”

Bree recoiled when the other nurse extended her hand, fingers reaching for the buttons of her dress, too distressed at the prospect of being forcibly disrobed the care much about Miss Dugford’s lewd insinuation or the titters that went through the group. “No! Don’t touch me.” Tears were already threatening to spill down her cheeks. “I don’t. I don’t need help.”

“Come on, love,” said Mrs. Strickland sadly, and Bree saw she was unbuttoning her dress, too. “You’ll be all right. It’s just once a week. You’ll get used to it.”

No, Bree vowed as she gave in, fingers shaking wildly with each loosened button. She certainly would not.

When she plunged into the frigid, greyish water, Bree bit into her tongue hard enough to send a burst of blood swishing through her mouth. The nurse with the soap and washcloth scrubbed her skin so vigorously, she wondered if that wouldn’t bleed, too—if it wouldn’t send swirls of bright red into the horrendous murk that was supposed to pass as bathwater.

The nurse did not return Bree’s clothes, but instead handed her a slip of coarse grey flannel, stamped and numbered: G.I.A., Ward 7, slip #103. To be used as her nightgown, she said. Bree found her request went entirely ignored when she asked through chattering teeth for a towel to dry her soaked, tangled hair.

“There’s a good girl,” Mrs. Strickland whispered. “I know. It’s horrific. But you made it through. We all must do what we can to just make it through.”

Bree buried her face in her hands. As Mrs. Strickland stroked what were surely meant to be comforting circles onto her back, Nurse Dugford and her colleague giggled.

Half-dizzy with exhaustion, humiliation, and fury, Bree allowed herself to be led to the room where she would sleep by a dark-haired nurse who guided her through the draughty, winding halls. She was sullen and unfriendly, but she wasn’t Miss Dugford, and Bree did not mind that she was silent.

Silent, that is, until they came to a room with starkly painted white walls, a single bed, and no window. As she ushered Bree inside, she said, “All right, Mrs. Hatchett. Give me your shoes, please.”

“What?” Bree gaped at her. “I’m not giving you my shoes.”

“Yes, you are. You can’t keep them overnight. It’s one of our rules.”

“Absolutely not,” Bree said. “You’ve already taken my clothes. I will keep these, thank you very much.”

“You will hand them over,” the nurse said impatiently. “It’s the rules, Mrs. Hatchett.” The woman tapped her foot against the floor. “Now. Chop-chop. Give me your shoes.” She gestured to a small chest outside the door. “They’ll be right here ’til morning. Locked in and kept safe.”

“If they’re just going to be right there,” Bree snapped, “then why should I give them up?”

The nurse pursed her lips, refusing to respond, and the answer came to Bree anyway: to discourage attempts to flee in the night, of course, for what woman with any sense of propriety would run around outdoors in stocking feet and a threadbare slip that barely qualified as a nightgown?

“Now be a good girl and do as I say,” the nurse said when Bree did not continue her complaints. “Or else I shall call the doctor, and we’ll have to give you chloral to calm you down.”

Chloral. Bree did not know what that was, but it certainly didn’t sound like anything that was going to help her.

With a frustrated sob, she tore off her boots, then flung them at the nurse’s feet.

“There’s a good lass,” said the nurse, “although you ought to have more impressive manners for a lady, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Bree said, wrenching off her stockings.

The nurse sighed. “Good night, Mrs. Hatchett. I’ll be locking you in now. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

Bree shook her head. Mortified tears were already slinking down her cheeks. Furious at her own weakness, she scrubbed them away.

The sound of the key turning in the lock induced an eruption of wracking, heaving sobs. This couldn’t be real, and yet it was. She really had been hidden away, not deposited like a jewel in a safe but imprisoned behind bars and locks and keys.

Bound, too, by fear and guilt.

Will haunted the edges of her thoughts like a phantom. How was it possible she had woken up only this morning, nestled in his arms and with his lips on hers? How could everything have gone so dreadfully wrong in less than a day?

And Jamie—arrested—all because Curt had been searching for her—because he’d recognized her—and Jamie had merely been caught up in her recapture—

All of them must resent her. Jamie, Colette, Geoff—they all had to hate her to her very core. Will, most of all. No doubt, after everything, he wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

Would he have been better off, she wondered, pressing her face into the lumpy pillow to muffle her sobs, if she had never seen fit to enter his life? At least his brother would still be free. At least he wouldn’t be facing execution.

Would they both have been better off, had their paths never crossed?

At least she wouldn’t be here.

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Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

✨ @starlit-hopes-and-dreams | @clairelsonao3 | @gala1981 | @pleasestaywithmedarling | @kixngiggles ✨

[legless-fish-on-rollerskates]

Okay obviously any movie adaptation of a book is going to be trimmed down. I get why they didn't spend time on certain things like Nora and Alex's dating history and Ellen's PowerPoint. It makes sense with the way movie beats work to show them getting outed immediately after they reconcile instead of having the extra act of them writing more emails acknowledging their love and fake dating Nora and June to try and take some heat off and Henry coming out to Phillip. Some changes like Henry's surname being different and having a king instead of a queen I know were about not offending the irl royal family and while I'm not exactly a fan of the monarchy I don't really care that much. Pez just being "Percy"? Kinda sad but again, I don't really care. I even understand cutting things like Bea's struggles with addiction, Catherine's depression and detatchment from her children, and Richards being the one who outed them with Raphael Luna as the triple agent - they have value to the story and I wish we could have seen them, but from a filmmaking perspective I can see how they would take up a lot of time to properly include. There were a lot of things I loved about this movie, which I'm adding to the bottom of this post so as not to be a total downer. Overall I think it was a good movie and a relatively faithful adaptation. But also there are some changes I am less a fan of.

So, my biggest issues with the RWRB movie:

Amy being trans is never mentioned? It's literally one line in the book could it not be one line in the movie? (At least they didn't cast a cis actress, so presumably the character is still trans, but we could have said that. She could have at least worn a pin that would not have been hard)

Bea is younger than Henry 🤨 What even was the purpose of this change?

Look I'm not even gonna talk about June we've all talked about June plenty already

Alex already knows he's bi? His idiot crisis is a huge thing! It establishes so much about both his and Nora's characters! Was it really so important to reduce things by five minutes that we couldn't get a quick "wait I like guys???" "congrats you are literally the last to know"

Nora being bi is never mentioned?? I get that without June you'd have Pez focus his affections on Nora but having a thing with a guy doesn't make her straight! She could have at least said something when Alex came out to her! (Also without June you lose the poly undertones of Nora June and Pez which I at least thought was pretty important)

Just gonna reiterate, because the more I'm thinking about it now the more upset it's making me - They erased Nora's bisexuality and Amy's transgenderism and June doesn't exist? Congrats you've killed all the story's queer women

Ellen and Oscar are supposed to be DIVORCED that was IMPORTANT

No inspiring Alex speech to the crowd while they're waiting on Texas - this moment could have been so much more active than standing in the hall waiting and hoping

Alex gives his coming out speech BEFORE they get permission from the crown?? That doesn't even make sense! One, he never talked to Henry about it, and two, the white house would never have risked international relations by letting him do something like that without the king's permission

Getting permission from the crown was way too easy. In the book Catherine literally had to blackmail Queen Mary into letting them come out. You're telling me the king just went, "Are you SURE Henry are you REALLY SURE okay fine"? It way takes down the tension of the climax and also kind of invalidates all of Henry's fear that he's been struggling with the whole movie. It would be way more powerful for him to stand up for himself against a grandparent who was outright against him rather than one who just wasn't really thrilled about it

Why was Henry fully dressed jacket and all after their first time did Alex not reciprocate or what

That being said, things I loved about the RWRB movie:

"And I thought Alexander Gabriel Claremont Diaz was a mouthful" - "He is"

"History, huh?" in the V&A (I'm sad this wasn't in the emails because it means no wider HH movement from the public, but it was really sweet how they did it)

Visibly obvious red-rimmed eyes from both Henry and Alex (though Henry more) throughout most of the third act - just a little detail that I appreciated

Alex's conversation with Henry about being a person in politics who looks like him when his dad didn't have that growing up

Henry full on swimming away so fast when Alex tried to tell him he loved him, no mosquito excuse in sight. This was just really fucking funny I don't know why

Exchanging the necklace for the ring - works really well, great excuse for him not to add the ring to the necklace (for those who don't know, they tried this first but the lump was really obvious and it screwed up the costume so they had to figure out a different way to do it)

Henry continuously playing the piano throughout the movie

"She's not a republican, is she?"

Literally everything Zahra Bankston does and says she is perfect I love her

Mike Holleran is just as irrelevant in the movie as he is in the book. I continue to find this hilarious

Henry differentiating between the persona of HRH Prince Henry and the person he is to himself, specifically the fact that he defines his true self as Henry Fox

The equerry vs butler argument, purely because before we watched the movie I was giving a recap to my dad of the important characters and described Shaan as "basically Henry's personal butler" when he didn't know what I meant by equerry. I'm sorry Shaan I didn't mean it

[asoiafcanonjonsnow]

JON SNOW || MAB DAROGAN

According to Welsh mythology, Mab Darogan or the "Son of Destiny" is a messianic figure that would force the Anglo-Saxons and the Vikings out of Britain and reclaim it for the Celtic Britons.

In ASOIAF, Jon Snow is assassinated while he's about to rail against the Boltons who have usurped his family's castle and currently rule the North. It's possible that after his eventual resurrection, he will still want to fight against the Boltons and drive them out of his ancestral house. After he succeeds, the people of the North who have suffered under Bolton's rule will see him not only as their rightful ruler since he's the heir to their late King Robb Stark but also as a savior (aka a messianic figure).

Through the centuries various historical and mythological figures have been linked to Mab Darogan.

Jon Snow shares some parallels with two of those: the mythical King Arthur and the historical Henry VII of England.

Both Arthur and Jon are illegitimate kids of royalty. King Uther Pendragon fell in love with the married Igraine and either forced her to be with him or she also fell in love with him depending on the version of the story. Similarly, Prince and Heir to the throne Rhaegar Targaryen fell in love with Lyanna Stark, who was engaged to another man, and according to rumors in Westeros, he kidnapped her and raped her. However, it's more likely by various hints we get through the books that the affair between Rhaegar and Lyanna was consensual. Both affairs lead to wars and Uther and Rhaegar dying without meeting their sons.

It is worth noticing that in some tales, Uther and Igraine are married after her first husband's death so Arthur isn't illegitimate. In ASOIAF universe, Rhaegar could have possibly married Lyanna as Targaryen aren't against polygamy and thus making Jon his legitimate heir. Not that it actually matters, because just like Arthur is the true heir to his father even in the versions he's a bastard, similarly Jon Snow is the narrative heir of Rhaegar who can save the world regardless of his bastard status or lack of it.

Let's move to the similarities between Henry VII and Jon Snow. Martin has already shared that the War of Roses was a major inspiration for the book series. At the end of the War of Roses, it's neither House Lancaster (inspiration for House Lannister) nor House York (inspiration for House Stark) which emerges victorious but instead the new King is Henry Tudor who starts his own dynasty. The said King wasn't the most likely candidate to the throne as he wasn't closed related to any of the previous Kings, like Jon isn't related to either Tommen/Joffrey/Robert/Stannis/Renly. Instead he drew his claim through kinship to older generation Kings with whom he didn't share the same surname. Jon is also related with all Targaryen Kings despite not sharing their surname.

Henry's father died in battle before he was born, like Rhaegar died on Trident. Both Henry and Jon were raised by their uncles who shaped lot of their views. Henry spent a long time in exile hiding from his opponents and similarly Eddard Stark raised Jon Snow to the far north to keep him away from King Robert's wrath- in case he found out about Jon's existence. Besides, even after leaving Winterfell, Jon went to the Wall which counts as a sort of exile away from the rest of the Kingdom. Henry returned to England from exile and fought and won the english crown against King Richard III. Jon is dying as he tries to raise an army to fight Ramsay Bolton in order to reclaim Winterfell. When he's eventually resurrected, he's gonna continue his fight against Boltons and probably like Henry Tudor he will come out victorious. Could he also battle the possible King candidates of the South? That's something up to speculation.

Coat of Arms of King Henry VII of England.

Another interesting thing about Henry VII is that his coat of arms included a white dog and a red dragon, which is very similar to a possible Jon Snow's coat of arms (a red dragon for House Targaryen and a white direwolf for House Stark).

The famous badge of House Tudor (Henry VII's House) consists of the combination of the white rose (House York) and the red rose (House Lancaster). Could Jon Snow also combine both Targaryen and Stark colors on his own badge? Or maybe he'll adapt the blue rose which is significant to his parents'story?

Above is portrayed the rose of House Tudor while below there are those of House Lancaster and House York.

[shibabunny-asteriarays]

Got Richard (Orchestra), Asbel (Christmas), and Elize (and Teepo)(School) from this first of the final four rounds of 100 free pulls!

[natequarter]

so there are quite a few ways to refer to monarchs, right? those include:

regnal number (james iiiii, edward lxix, and so on)

surnames, like stewart or plantagenet

dynastic names, or at least what we people of the present have retroactively made into dynastic names, like tudor or plantagenet (plantagenet was only used as a surname by the plantagenets for the last five minutes of its rule)

epithets, like richard the lionheart, alfred the great, cnut the great, bloody mary, and edward the average, except not edward the average

locative bynames (bynames essentially being the predecessor to surnames and denoting a specific characteristic of a person; very close to epithets in some scenarios, but essentially nicknames), like edward of caernarfon or edward of windsor. these don't get used much by monarchs, as they tend to be dropped in favour of a regnal number. the most famous example of this is probably stephen of blois

patronymics... very rarely. harold godwinson is the only case of this i can think of

occasionally, titles - some kings were not born heir to the throne, and as such are sometimes known as james, duke of york, or henry, earl of richmond, especially when discussing their pre-accession lives

and nicknames! epithets tend to be a bit more lofty than these, which are usually boring french descriptors - william rufus, henry beauclerc and henry curtmantle are the only real examples i can think of. technically, epithets are the same thing, but curtmantle is far too boring to be considered an epithet in good faith, if you ask me

why do i list all these? because they make referring to a monarch a lot easier. one king, rather irritatingly, defies most of these descriptors: king john. on his own wikipedia page, he's called "john, king of england." it's not that he didn't have a byname - he did: john lackland. but if you're trying to discuss him without insulting him all the way through, it's not very appropriate. he doesn't have a surname, because john plantagenet a) wasn't used and b) sounds awful. he doesn't have a patronymic or locative byname, because john of oxford is also crap, not to mention confusing. he didn't have a noble title, because - well, lackland. and most frustratingly, he doesn't have a regnal number, because john was never supposed to be a royal name. (this may have had something to do with the fact that english kings were obsessed with henry and edward.) so basically the only decent way to refer to him is king john, or john, king of england, which, like everything else, sounds crap. fuck you, john.

[introvertedpedant]

Stephen Dillane as Richard (without a surname) in Boxing Day (2021) - Set Four

[hsslilly-blog]

20 and 25 for Claire

hi!!! thank you for asking <33

20) What hobbies does your OC have?

claire likes insects very much and she used to collect them in high school and throughout her years majoring in biology! her collection was very varied but she was very fond of beetles (and she was biased towards ladybugs, because they were cute, but she also really like the ironclad beetles) and moths. she really liked butterflies too (she loves the chalkhill blue), but they’re very fragile and she’d be worried she damage them so there weren’t many of them in her collection. she stopped collecting around the time she got accepted into hollywood u and moved to los angeles. and she would never tell you this, but she did grow very self-conscious about her interest in insects after moving to an environment without many… bug enthusiasts.

claire also really likes rollerblading. she used to rollerblade all the time in high school, and she still does it on weekends. she enjoys reading quite a lot, too. and claire lovesss baking! she doesn’t like cooking very much, but she likes finding and trying new desserts and sweets recipes, and she always spends a lot of time decorating cookies whenever she makes them.

25) The name you chose for your OC, why did you chose it?

claire has a 50s/old hollywood theme going on, so i wanted to give her a name that reflected it. i wanted a name that fit right into a film’s opening credits scene. i also wanted her to have a shakespearean name, but i didn’t want any of the more well known/more recognisable ones. i arrived on a minor character from the tempest, only mentioned by name: claribel. i liked it! actress claire bloom (seen in richard III, 1955) is responsible for the nickname. etymologically, claire means “famous”. i borrowed the surname from actress gloria swanson. she stars in sunset boulevard, claire’s favourite film :)

also, i wanted it to match my hss prime mc’s name, blair. the names are very similar, which is funny to me. plus, both names are traditionally masculine (in scottish gaelic for blair and in french for claire).

[mccnscil]

[ richard madden | he/him ] A new face takes refuge under Dark Skies. HENRIK MIKAELSON, an 33 year old WITCH, is one of those from the FUTURE learning to navigate this changed world. People say behind their back that they’re COCKY but the truth is that they’re really VENTURESOM. Their style can best be described as A SURNAME THAT CAN STRIKE FEAR, AN AIR OF CONFIDENCE THAT NEVER SEIZES, A POWERFUL MAGIC RUNNING THROUGH HIS VEINS, and we’ll see how that helps them fit in.

the last thing he remembered was being mulled by a wolf after begging nik for hours to take him to see the wolves transform. the then 13 year old boy, re-awoke into a new world, a strange world and a time so far away from where he was born and raised. the mikaelson name, one known to the past and only a few remained. he was taken in by a witch and raised by them, learning to control his magic and it was something he thrived in. triad hunting them and so him and his mentor were always on the move and it is why he never met any of the remaining mikaelsons. henrik can come across as a bit cocky, over confident but that is just him, a slight cover up for the damage that remains with him being mulled to death. the night the timelines collided, he was out, teaching a young witch some magic and in a blink of an eye he was in a new orleans of the past, the air seemed different. he has no fear really, he just has hopes that this world is one without the triad rising and the possibility of meeting his siblings.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

The Great OC Alphabet Caper: Moth Edition

Doing this again, this time for characters from The Unfortunate Moth, with bonus information on Silver Glass! (Which may change when I start actually writing it.) In alphabetical order under the cut (spoilers ahead):

Leo

Name: Leopold Colman (I’ve gone back and forth on whether this is his real name or an alias. Currently it’s an alias)

Age/Pronouns: 23, he/him

Brief physical description: Tall, black hair, grey eyes. This Artbreeder portrait is technically of Arthur from Gracemeadow Manor but also fits Leo (yes, my male OCs -- and many of my female OCs -- have very similar descriptions. I have a type.):

Brief list of defining traits: An actor, an aspiring playwright and set designer, an artist... and also an assassin. 

Excerpt:

The main impression the cabin made on Yo-han was of absolute chaos. Sheets of sketches lay piled haphazardly on the chair, spilling over onto the floor. A suit was unceremoniously draped over the half-open wardrobe door. Since the chair was unusable, Colman was half-sitting half-lying on the bed and using a suitcase as a footrest. The suitcase was too full and looked like it would burst open at any minute.

Yo-han was hardly a tidy man. He had an amazing ability to get ink over everything when writing, he could never find his shoes without turning his cabin upside down, and he never bothered to fully unpack but instead hunted through his suitcase for what he needed. All the same, this was excessive. How could Colman bear to live in this mess?

Colman looked up from the book he was poring over. "Oh, hello, Mr. So! Have you caught the murderer yet?"

Yo-han let both the mispronunciation and the question pass without comment. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Colman's face fell. "Then you haven't caught him yet."

"Perhaps you can help me," Yo-han said.

"Won't you sit down?"

Yo-han looked pointedly at the chair. Colman laughed sheepishly and set down his book. While he removed the sheets from the chair, Yo-han craned his neck to read the book's title without having to go closer. Richard II. Hmm. He'd assumed Colman's acting career was confined to the sort of musical comedy that relied on twee songs and scantily-clad women to get an audience.

"Would you like some tea?" Colman asked, piling the papers haphazardly on top of a cupboard.

Yo-han slightly revised his opinion of the man. Clearly he had some manners. "No need to go to the trouble. I won't be here long."

Colman dropped the last sheaf of papers on top of the pile. He watched without apparent surprise as they promptly slid off and fell to the floor. Yo-han resisted the urge to suggest he should take housekeeping lessons.

Trivia:

I got his first name from a character name generator, but I chose his surname as a reference to Ronald Colman.

Has killed at least four people.

Genuinely likes Phil (in spite of murdering her aunt), and the feeling’s mutual. At some point in the future they’re going to get married.

Máté

Name: Máté Király

Age/Pronouns: 26, he/him

Brief physical description: Tall, brown hair, brown eyes.

Brief list of defining traits: Takes a grim view of life. Is secretly married to Octavia.

Excerpt:

Cabin 178 was almost depressingly devoid of anything to show its occupant's personality. Mrs. Patton-Langdale had a framed photograph and her own alarm clock. Miss Patton had her murder mysteries. Yo-han himself had his calligraphy set and photo album. But Máté Király had his suitcase and nothing else. No photographs, no letters, no books, no trinkets of sentimental value, not even any sign of a hobby. Yo-han found himself wondering how the man passed the time.

Király gestured Yo-han to the only chair in the room. He sat on the bed himself and took a cigarette case out of his pocket, then changed his mind and put it away. Whether that was because he thought it would be rude to smoke in such a confined space, or simply didn't want to give away the slightest detail about himself, was up for debate.

"What do you want to know?" Király asked in a marginally less chilly tone. Yo-han got the impression he was trying to be friendly but was badly out of practice.

"I want to find out as much as I can about your employer and her niece," Yo-han said.

"Here's something for a start: Miss Ophelia didn't do it."

Yo-han had never investigated a case where everyone was so convinced the main suspect was innocent. It was almost enough to make him suspect Miss Patton in spite of himself.

All he said on that subject for the moment was, "I am inclined to agree with you. But more about that later. Would you mind telling me how you came to work for Mrs. Patton-Langdale?"

"She fought with her latest secretary and fired him. So she advertised for a new one, I applied, and she hired me because I can speak German."

Trivia:

Is fluent in Hungarian, German, Romanian, and also speaks some French and Russian.

His first name is a reference to Hungarian actor Máté Kamarás.

Octavia

Name: Octavia Patton

Age/Pronouns: 20, she/her

Brief physical description: No specific description, but probably looks like Phil.

Brief list of defining traits: Lady Not-Appearing-in-This-Book. She’s mentioned repeatedly but only “appears” in a letter she writes. Phil’s sister. Married to Máté.

Excerpt (this is her letter):

Dear Phil,

I've just heard everything! How dreadful! And they tell me it was an actor who committed the murder! I feel quite ashamed on behalf of the theatre as a whole.

You might have heard that I sent a letter to Máté. I tried to warn him in code, but my code was so safe he couldn't decipher it. Here's the full story: a body was found in the lake near Aunt Rachael's house. (I suppose it's your house now. How funny!) The police wanted to question Aunt Rachael about it. Then they found out she'd been murdered, and they discovered the dead man was working for the man who hired the assassin, so they think he was the first assassin sent to kill her. But she was a match for him!

Funny to think of old Aunt Rachael shoving an assassin down the stairs then hiding his body in the lake. But the police say that's what happened. I suppose they know best.

I've written to Máté too but I might as well explain it to you. J in my code meant those mystery books by Jemima Gibbs-Taylor. You know, the murder mysteries I showed you, that you said were silly. I thought you'd understand.

Send Máté home soon please! I'm so lonely without him!

Your affectionate sister,

Vi

Trivia:

Her first name is a reference to Miss Pole from Cranford. Her surname is borrowed from some of my relatives.

Phil

Name: Ophelia Patton

Age/Pronouns: 22, she/her

Brief physical description: Tall, brown hair, grey eyes. My mental image of her has changed since I made her Artbreeder portrait, so it no longer fits her.

Brief list of defining traits: Is having a Very Bad Time.

Excerpt:

Phil had never felt so numb. Not when her aunt was killed, not even when she was arrested. She left the room in a sort of daze. Máté and Mr. Seo accompanied her to her new cabin. Her old one, of course, was roped off as part of the crime scene.

Máté looked so alarmed that she wondered if he thought she was likely to harm herself. She could almost have laughed at that. Mr. Seo asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. She shook her head silently. Talking was too much effort. When they left her alone she collapsed onto the bed and replayed everything Leopold had ever said to her.

Had he been acting the whole time? He'd come to see her when she was arrested. He'd sworn he believed she was innocent. Well, of course he had. No one knew the truth better than him. He'd visited her as often as he was allowed to.

That drawing...

Phil took it out of her pocket and unfolded it. Regret, Mr. Seo had said. An apology. Was it genuine? It had to be, because who had he been trying to fool? In the end it had just incriminated him.

She wondered suddenly if he'd deliberately incriminated himself. If he'd found the one sure way of proving her innocence.

It was wishful thinking. No matter what he might say, it was impossible a murderer could truly care about anyone.

Phil traced the outline of the flowers. They were just outlines without colour. Had he meant them to be white or had he forgotten to colour them?

The drawing blurred. Phil angrily dashed the tears away. It was no use. They kept coming back. She dropped the paper, buried her face in her pillow, and cried herself to sleep.

Trivia:

Gets a relatively happy ending; according to my plans for the sequel, she takes over her aunt’s business, buys a new house, and eventually marries Leo.

Her behaviour around Rachael is based on my own experiences with abusive and mentally unstable authority figures.

Rachael

Name: Rachael Patton-Langdale

Age/Pronouns: 45, she/her

Brief physical description: No specific description

Brief list of defining traits: An absolutely terrible person. It’s amazing it took so long for her to be murdered.

Excerpt:

Rachael was planning something unpleasant for someone. Phil had seen the symptoms before. Unusual abstraction, frowning and tapping her fingers against her lips, not noticing when she was spoken to, maintaining a stony silence; they were all unpleasantly familiar. Phil immediately began reviewing her recent behaviour to see what might have set Rachael off. Her normal yelling was bad enough. But this sort of behaviour always preceded a particularly nasty outburst. The sort of outburst that lasted for days and could sometimes become physically violent. (Mostly to Rachael herself; during these explosions she would slap her own face and accuse the target of her wrath of driving her to do this. At these times Phil honestly believed her aunt belonged in a padded cell.)

Phil spotted the symptoms as soon as she walked into the dining room. What could have happened to cause this in a few minutes? She didn't know, but she immediately switched from trying to provoke Rachael to being as conciliatory as possible. She'd planned to read her magazine during dinner. Instead she kept her handbag firmly closed and greeted Rachael more politely than she had at any time since they left home.

Rachael stayed silent all through dinner. It played havoc with Phil's nerves. She kept her head down, then worried that was making her aunt even angrier. She pretended to be absorbed in her meal, but when her knife scraped against the plate she tensed and waited for an explosion that didn't come. She tried to act naturally but felt like a puppet operated by a trainee puppeteer. Every minute she expected Rachael to accuse her of something. Phil almost wished her aunt would just so she would finally know what was wrong.

Trivia:

She’s based on one of my former teachers.

Yo-han

Name: Seo Yo-han

Age/Pronouns: Early/mid-30s, he/him

Brief physical description: Average height, black hair, brown eyes. My mental image of him has also changed since I made his Artbreeder portrait, so it no longer fits him either. (Now I picture him as looking like Woo Do-hwan.)

Brief list of defining traits: Can’t go anywhere without finding a mystery. Also can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business (I wonder if these facts are connected...).

Excerpt:

In all the chaos of the last two days Yo-han had almost forgotten why he was originally going to Australia. Now that he thought of it again, the politician and the disappearing mistress seemed utterly unimportant. "I have another case waiting in Australia."

"Not another murder, I hope."

Yo-han nodded, internally debating the probabilities of the case ending in tragedy. "Not another murder, I hope."

Király finished his cigarette. He dropped it overboard too and stared down at the water for a minute. "I never would have thought it was him."

There was nothing Yo-han could think of to say that didn't sound trite.

"Do you think he really does care about her?"

Yo-han thought of the times Colman had sought out Miss Patton's company. He couldn't see anything the man had gained from that. As he had calmly admitted during their talk in the cell, Colman had decided on how to commit the murder from the minute he got his hands on a plan of the ship. Had he amused himself by deliberately befriending a young woman, knowing the whole time he was going to kill one of her closest relatives?

Yo-han had met criminals who had done similar things and derived ghastly pleasure from it. But somehow he couldn't picture Colman doing that. Those criminals had never been able to hide their true feelings for long. He remembered what he had thought of Colman's reaction to Miss Patton's arrest.

If he had been acting, he had given the performance of a lifetime.

"I don't know," he said at last. "But I don't think it matters in the end."

"Miss Patton might disagree."

Yes. Miss Patton might disagree. "It would almost be worse if he does care. Whatever the nature of his feelings, whether romantic or purely friendly, they weren't enough to make him stop."

There was little to say after that. Yo-han and Király stood together on the deck in silence and watched the shore grow darker as the sun set.

Trivia:

His name is a reference to two of my favourite Kdrama characters: Seo Moon-jo (Strangers From Hell; a hilariously ironic namesake for a detective) and Kang Yo-han (The Devil Judge).

Not fond of his father or stepmother. Is fond of his half-brother, though.

Bonus Silver Glass content!

Alec

Name: Alexander Lennox

Age/Pronouns: 24, he/him

Brief physical description: None yet

Brief list of defining traits: The main suspect. Was unhappy in his marriage. Has recently become very religious. Is keeping an important secret (and it’s not that he murdered his wife).

Excerpt: None yet

Trivia:

His first name is a reference to one of my relatives and his surname is borrowed from some of my friends.

Originally his surname was Gilmore. I changed it when I discovered there’s a real person named Alec Gilmore.

Gwladys

Name: Gwladys Lennox

Age/Pronouns: 27, she/her

Brief physical description: None yet

Brief list of defining traits: A thoroughly unpleasant person. The surprise isn’t that she’s murdered, it’s that the murderer didn’t actually mean to kill her.

Excerpt: None yet

Trivia:

Her name is a reference to a minor character in Jeeves and Wooster.

David

Name: David Eames (this is definitely an alias, but I don’t know his real name yet)

Age/Pronouns: 25?, he/him

Brief physical description: None yet

Brief list of defining traits: Alec’s valet. Gwladys hated him for reasons unknown. Fond of fishing.

Excerpt: None yet

Trivia:

His surname is a reference to John Eames from The Small House at Allington.

Adding Moth’s and Glass’s taglists: @akindofmagictoo, @lightgriffinsect, @original-writing​, @zonnemaagd​, @boldnightmarishreverbs​, @oh-no-another-idea​, @verba-writing​, @writingpotato07​, @sarahlizziewrites​ (Let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

[numbugwritingblog]

The Miracle Mind of Serene: the Tale of a Girl and a Ghost (Chapter 2)

Previous Chapter

Index

---

18/01/2018

Serene swung back in her chair as she turned to face her phone, her telekinesis typing away at the computer without her even looking. “So! First of all, Mortis, I’m going to need you to gather up all of the information you can think of about Richard.”

“Well,” the phone blared out in that deep, distorted voice that it had whenever Mortis was talking through it. “He’s a bitch.”

Serene shook her head. “No, no, I mean anything that can help identify him. Stuff like surname, species, address, age at the time you, er… died.”

“Well…” Mortis paused for a moment, the only sound being that of Serene’s keyboard going clickety clackety on its own. “He was around 20, 30 years old, and… well I don’t know what his address was, but the people he brought into the United Federation arrived by boat on the South-East coast, and he’s a rat - that’s both literal and an insult.”

“Mortis, you can’t just call someone a rat like that.”

“... He’s a bitch. Is that there.”

“That’s… I suppose…” Serene turned back to the screen as the keyboard finished typing, her initial search starting. “Say, when did you die again?”

“1967.”

Serene stopped entirely, slowly turning in her seat to look at the phone. “... The 60s? Do-... Do you know how old he’d be then?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’d be like 50 or something.”

“No, he’s going to be 70 at the very least, maybe even 80.”

“... Fuck me.”

“He’ll be an old man who’s lived through most of his life by now,” Serene explained. “You sure you still want to find him? And not, I don’t know, find something else to do?”

“No. Finding him and drinking milk are the only two things I want now.”

“But-” Serene blinked in surprise at that last statement. “Wait, milk? I-”

“Milk is fucking delicious.”

She shrugged. “Alright, fair enough… But, well, what are you really going to do once you’ve found him and you’ve given him a piece of your mind?”

Mortis was quiet for a moment, before speaking up. “I assume I’d just fade away on the spot, like this is that unfinished business kind of deal.”

“You assume?” Serene asked aloud, staring at Mortis for longer. “Don’t you know what being a ghost even means? Maybe from other ghosts or-”

“Nah,” Mortis interrupted her outright. “I’m the only one I’ve ever known of, so I have to guess at what’s going on.’

That was when the doorbell suddenly rang, Serene flicking her head over to the approximate entrance.

“Eugh,” Serene grunted out as she rolled her eyes. “Just a moment, Mortis.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Oh, probably just a fan wanting to meet me,” she explained. “I always get some from time to time. Hard not to be famous when you’re the only psychic in the world.”

Mortis let out a huff, dropping out of the phone and following along behind Serene.

Serene immediately put on a smile moments before opening up the front door.

What she wasn’t expecting to see was a male buffalo in a suit, his I.D. labelling him as a government agent. “Serene Cirillo, you’re under arrest.”

Serene paused, her eyes slowly going wide as her smile faded very quickly. “Wh… Under what charges?” she mumbled out. Already her body was getting tense, hand clenching the door handle tightly.

“You violated your official agreement and went off surveillance”. The officer moved aside to escort Serene out.

Serene cleared her throat, holding out her hand. “Let me get my lawyer, because there’s clearly been a mistake-”

“At 9:01 PM last night you went off surveillance without approval.”

Serene glared at him, her eyes starting to have a faint white glow. “... I got approval. You can check the voice logs at 6:13 PM yesterday, the 17th.” She didn’t question how she knew the exact time down to the minute, right at this moment she knew something was wrong. Afterall, how could they forget? They never forgot.

The officer didn’t react beyond speaking further. “It likely is a misunderstanding, then, but until it’s cleared up you’re coming with us.” He then moved aside to give Serene the chance to walk out peacefully.

Serene hesitated, before seeing Mortis pass by and possess the agent right in front of her. “Mortis, no!” She held him in place, Mortis unable to even check the agent for any weapons. “Get out of him, now!”

“You know it’s bullshit,” Mortis hissed out in the officer’s voice. “There’s no way that they just-”

“Just stop,” Serene cut him off without pausing. “This is just going to make things worse. I’ll just get this misunderstanding sorted out, it won’t be long at all. Please.”

There was a long pause. Before finally Serene could see Mortis leave.

Serene then let the agent go, watching him drop to his knees as he hacked and coughed.

“I am following you now,” she explained immediately. “I am exercising my right to remain silent.”

The officer glared at her, but said nothing else as he let her lock the front door before cuffing her and bringing her along.

---

“Name?”

“Serene Cirillo.” God, even in interrogations Serene was still being asked the same routine.

“Age?”

“21.” Not a single thing had changed, despite the fact that it was a police officer instead of a neuroscientist.

“Occupation?”

“Can we just skip to the actual interrogations please?” Serene complained, getting to her feet. “It’s me, the psychic girl, and I can prove I’m the psychic girl real quick by using my psychic powers.”

With that she lifted herself off the ground, hovering for a few seconds before she landed back down. “Is that good? Do you believe that I’m the psychic girl now?”

The officer looked to Serene with a raised brow, but sat down in his chair all the same. “My apologies, miss Cirillo, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Serene dropped back down onto the chair, putting her hand on her forehead. “Thank you, it’s just… It’s been stressful. Today and yesterday.”

The officer nodded. “I understand why it’s so stressful, but hopefully we can resolve this swiftly. It says here that you’re under supervision due to your unique psychic powers.”

Serene didn’t say a word, instead nodding.

“And it says here you’re under arrest for endangering others via illegally interrupting that supervision-”

“6:03 PM yesterday, I rang up to organise my given week of no surveillance,” Serene repeated. “It’s in the logs.”

“I’m sorry, miss Cirillo,” the officer said with what seemed to be a genuine look of disappointment. “But the logs have already been provided, and there was no call from you yesterday.”

Serene’s eyes began glowing white again, silent as she processed this information. “... It must have been tampered with, then. I can provide evidence, too.”

The officer raised his brow again, looking back to Serene. “And what evidence is that?”

“Oh, it’s-” she paused, cogs turning in her head. They couldn’t have forgotten. And… And Mortis had to turn the surveillance off on her end… Why is she only realising now? They’re doing this on purpose. “... Actually, can I speak with Mortis first, please? He’s the ghost that’s been following around.”

The officer was very clearly trying to hold back a laugh, every fibre in his being telling him that laughter was a very poor action to take. Despite all of that, he still failed, a quick chuckle escaping his lips. “R-right,” he said, trying to regain composure - but it was already too late.

Serene blinked, looking over to the ball of fire that only she could see. “Mortis, can you hear me?”

Mortis obliged and flew into the officer, his posture abruptly changing. “Yeah, yeah, the sooner you’re done with this the sooner we can get back to business.”

Serene gave a nod. “Right. Before you even answer me, just ASAP, can you fly back home and into my phone, please? Guard it, just in case-”

She saw Mortis leave the officer’s body as he flew directly up.

At that same moment, the officer was hacking and coughing intensely, almost falling off of his seat. He slowly sat back up, eyes wide in realisation that he was just possessed for nothing more than a brief conversation. “You- the ghost- I-”

Serene nodded. “I haven’t been lying at any point in this interrogation, I promise.”

The officer let out a heavy sigh, getting to his feet. “Well for your sake, I hope you’re right. Don’t worry about Mortis, we’ll make sure the phone stays locked up in evidence until it’s time for the court case.”

With that, the officer turned and left the interrogation room, leaving Serene sitting there alone.

He turned to an officer that was waiting just outside, whispering into his ear. “There’s evidence in her phone, wipe it immediately. Don’t bring any weapons, and stick to a group of three or larger at all times. We don’t know what this ghost is willing to do, but he is real.”

---

Mortis had made his way back to Serene’s home (knowing full well in the back of his head that Serene’s bleeding heart was going to make him make it up for the unfortunate driver he used to get here).

The door was still locked, but that was no trouble, as he just phased through the door to get to the other side.

Guarding the phone… was going to be boring. As Mortis prepared himself for the dull task, he noticed something.

Serene’s computer was still on. And it was on a webpage. He slowly moved into the computer monitor right away, looking to see what he could.

…

He couldn’t scroll.

After a few awkward moments of moving between the monitor and the mouse, he managed to see what was on this webpage. Information on Richard. It looked like he founded a restaurant called the Delicious Den.

He could just go there, and linger until he found the little rat and-

Oh, he loved it so much.

… But they knew he’d be searching for Richard now, surely. Now it’s only a matter of Richard changing restaurants and he’d be back at square one. He couldn’t have that.

At least now he was getting help from that naive little girl, at least now he had a back-up if things went back to square one. So when he left the monitor, he made his way into the phone. He then lifted the phone up all the way to the roof. Might as well make it impossible to spot while he waited.

…

He might be able to make the machine do whatever he wanted, but that didn’t mean he knew how to navigate the web. Maybe now was the time to practice, while he’s stuck inside.

He tried to use this fancy schmancy search bar to find something to watch.

a… c… t… i… o… n… space… m… o… v… i… e… s…

…

Enter?

Ahah, that worked!

… What is all of this rubbish? Why does it look so fake? And why’s this one called volume 2? Guess they just can’t make movies anymore…

---

25/01/2018

Serene was confident that she’d come out of this court case with a success. Her lawyer was unusually incompetent, and the prosecutor was a clear expert, expertly weaving his words into compelling nothings. By all accounts, anyone would think this was a complete disaster.

But thanks to Mortis, she knew that her phone was safe.

And right she was, as when it came time to present that phone to court, the evidence that she had made the call was right in there, time and everything. Even despite the prosecutor trying to argue that the audio was faked, there was nothing he could say to throw it away as evidence.

So she was rather pleased with herself as she walked out of court as they pronounced her innocent, even managing to successfully argue for a full month of no surveillance. It was while she was walking out that a grizzly bear stepped out, wearing a government suit. It was the person in charge of her experimentation, General Thomas.

“Congratulations on the court case,” he spoke warmly, extending a hand. “I hope there’s no hard feelings, miss Cirillo.”

Oh, there were plenty of hard feelings. But Serene didn’t share any of them as she shook his hand. His grip was unusually fierce, her hand even hurting a little from it. “It’s okay, General. But I will be making sure the surveillance is actually off from now on. Hope you understand.”

He looked her right in the eyes with his good eye as he ended the handshake. Behind the smile Serene could see something focused, calculating.

“Of course, you can never be too careful. I’ll likewise be making sure that this embarrassment doesn’t happen again.”

Serene nodded, stepping to the side. “Well then, I’ll be seeing you for your next scheduled experiment in a month. Might even ask for two hours in exchange. Bye bye~” As she continued walking, she briefly twirled around in order to wave at him, smiling wide. Now it was a simple case of making her way to the bus stop.

An ear piercing, high pitched screech rang out from her phone, immediately followed by an annoyed huff from Mortis’s hellish voice.

“Wait for me, why don’t you?”

Serene let out a small giggle, turning the voice speaker off before putting the phone to her ear, as if she was making a phone call rather than talking with her ghost friend. “I did, I was talking with the man who was probably behind all of that. The big grizzly bear.”

“Oh him? He was angry as fuck, definitely trying not to swear in public.”

Serene let out a sigh, slowly shaking his head. “I really can’t believe they’d do this. I spent my whole life trusting them, and… eugh. I’m so glad I can trust you to help me out when I need it, I don’t know what I would’ve done with somebody.”

There was a small silence before Mortis answered. “Of course you can trust me.”

Serene smiled wide. She knew she could trust him, she had made the right call. It was then that the bus arrived. “Just a sec,” she said before lowering the phone.

Once she was on and seated, she brought the phone back to her ear. “And back.”

“Thank god, I was dying of boredom.”

Serene rolled her eyes. “Now that that’s dealt with, we’re going to continue looking into your reunion, aren’t we?”

“Sure am, while nobody was at your house I quickly checked what you left open on your computer. Richard was apparently the founder of some Delicious Den place.”

“Right, but…” Serene briefly pauses to look around, noting that around half of the bus has noticed her, some giving occasional looks, some trying to avoid eye contact entirely, and the few kids that are on the bus staring at her in awe. “... I can’t go as Serene. And besides, I’ve just gotten a big success, I really want to spend the night celebrating.”

She heard the long, drawn out groan from Mortis. “Fine, fine. But we’re going there tomorrow, no matter what.”

---

General Thomas was slumped in his office chair, his grip on his mug unusually tight. He was glaring at the files, just knowing what the week’s papers were going to say.

Psychic Girl Found Innocent Thanks to Supernatural Intervention!

All of his plans with experimentation on this psychic girl, ruined because of this stupid little ghost! This was going to set him back years if he can’t find a way to control the situation! Where did he even come from?!

No, no, he couldn’t let failure distract him, no matter how much it humiliated him. He had to figure out why Serene had searched up information about this ‘Richard’ individual, and why this ghost is helping her. Hopefully his employees have already-

“Sir.” He didn’t move, but his eyes glancing up to the agent that entered his office told that he was paying attention. “We’re in touch with Mr. Richard, and he’s asking for our protection in exchange for his information.”

At this, Thomas looked up to the agent, a brow raising. “Protection? From what?”

“From Mortis, sir. Claims that they knew each other.”

General Thomas paused, his frown slowly fading away. This could be the key to solving this little setback. “Very well. Let’s hear him out.”

---

Next Chapter

[bailesona]

also i just wanna yeet some deets abt the new oc in my head:

his name is daniel "danny" estrada, and he's the estranged paternal uncle to elena ruiz, aka aisling's foster daughter.

his fc is ped.ro pas.cal bc i am a weak, weak, weak woman.

he basically gets kicked out of the family for trying to stop his brother, miguel, from continuing into a shady business deal with james palmer, aka the financial genius responsible for funding and financing the company of v. he attempted to call in interpol and arranged for a deal that would keep his brother safe while causing unfathomable damage to the company of v, but his sister-in-law, lana, betrayed him with miguel, leading him to go on the run from the company after leaving behind a small envelope of money and intel in little elena's bedroom.

ten years passed. elena's sixteenth birthday drew near. danny had been unexpectedly helped in his survival; in fact, an anonymous friend left him a key to a safehouse in wyoming, where he kept himself safe, sane, and off the beaten track. he even changed his last name. danny ruiz was no more. estrada, the surname of his first and most beloved babysitter, became his new title. and on the eve of elena's birthday, danny estrada became the first to learn that she was after calling up interpol herself. no deal. no negotiation. no strategy to protect her parents from the consequences of their greedy, loveless motives. she sold them out in a phone call that lasted 1 minute, 7 seconds.

but ten years was a long time. and even though the company was gone underground, and his brother and his brother's wife were both locked up for consecutive life sentences, danny was reluctant to return. it wasn't until he realized elena was being taken in by a foster mother in manhattan, that danny decided to set out and find her.

since arriving in manhattan, danny has found work at stanley's diner. he has also made the decision for elena that she doesn't need to know who he is. that, as of now, she has a chance to leave the batshit insanity of her old life behind her, and start a NEW batshit insanity with aisling and the kids. aisling knows who he is. he knows she knows. but that's all. they never discuss it. aisling figures he's able to deal with the ramifications if it goes sideways.

danny is ultimately a dad without kids. but that doesn't mean he's necessarily a good one. his self-sacrificing tendencies cloud his ability to see if others can do anything for themselves, he flat-out refuses to let anyone help him or talk about his feelings. stanley and richard basically insisted that he go to therapy, but it lasted twelve minutes before he stormed out. danny is a good man, but he suffers from the burden of responsibility that many eldest siblings do, and this weight means that he's almost desperate to remain a one-man-island until his final days. unfortunately for him, he decided to work at stanley's diner.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

        Songli Haldeman, a 27 year old son of Hodr.         He is a bartender at Dr. Feelgood's.

FC NAME/GROUP:  Bai Jingting

CHARACTER NAME:  Songli Haldeman

AGE/DATE OF BIRTH:  27 years, 21 December 1996

PLACE OF BIRTH:  Mestervik, Norway

OCCUPATION:  Bartender at Dr. Feelgood’s

HEIGHT:  6 feet, 183 cm

WEIGHT:  162 pounds, 73 kg

DEFINING FEATURES:  Prescription glasses with various fashionable frames; skin is cold to touch; hair cropped short and frequently dyed blond

PERSONALITY:  Most would consider Li to be a bona fide “ice prince” with how cold he seems at first, but once getting past the frozen walls and establishing a friendship with him, one may be shocked to find he is actually a very kind and generous person.  Given, he has an extremely dark sense of humor at times and can be extremely blunt by not sugarcoating his thoughts.  He is aware that he is not the smartest person in the room and he will not pretend he is.  If Li does not understand something, he will insist on clarification before proceeding.  If he still does not understand – or if he is not granted the courtesy of an explanation – his frustration grows and, if strong enough, may affect the immediate vicinity due to his powers.  He hates when others insult his intelligence which will often result in violent retaliation.  He speaks Norwegian and French fluently and while he does know some conversational Korean, he is still learning, so patience is appreciated.  He absolutely hates summertime and adores Winter, naturally.  He continues to excel at skiing, snowboarding, ice skating, hockey, curling, and other winter sports.  Because of his poor eyesight, Li is unable to see the finer details of things without his glasses; while it is difficult for him to see the stars clearly, he thoroughly enjoys watching the Northern Lights because of the colors.

HISTORY:   Trigger warning:  Abuse, violence, death.

Cao Sunmi’s father was a wealthy CEO involved in real estate development; it was correctly assumed that her marriage to Richard Haldeman had been arranged from the start.  Richard, being the eldest child of the infamous Peak Hotel CEO, Karl Haldeman, was next in line to inherit his father’s company and the union of the two families was sure to be prosperous.  Richard’s first wife passed away shortly after giving birth to their twins, Kingsley and Ainsley, and the children were in need of a new mother, Richard was in need of a new wife.  But Sunmi, preparing for her fairytale wedding at a luxurious resort in the Scandes, knew she was about to enter into a loveless marriage and, in a final act of free will and defiance, engaged in a tryst with a handsome but blind guest she knew would not recognize her and she would likely never meet again.  Due to the close proximity to the ceremony and the consummation of their marriage, the newlyweds did not question the parentage of their son born ten months later on the Winter Solstice.  With Haldeman as a surname, it was only fair to the Cao family that he be given a Chinese name, thus their son was named Songli, or Li by friends and family.

Li was a … spirited child.  He was not the smartest in class (though his mother argued it was due to his poor eyesight, causing him to struggle with reading lessons); he was not gifted in the arts; he had difficulty with math; but he knew how to weave a story!  At least he was aware that he lacked academic intelligence, but it frustrated him when he could not understand something, and he HATED being called “stupid”.  In fact, it landed him in several fights.  These outbursts often landed him into trouble academically and domestically – particularly with Richard, who often took out his own frustrations on his son by having him do strenuous tasks.  However, everyone soon realized Li had an innate talent for winter sports, seemingly at home on the slopes and frozen lakes, be it skis or snowboards or ice hockey, he was absolutely exceptional.  

It was through a youth hockey league that he finally bonded with his older siblings, Kingsley and Ainsley.  Oftentimes, the trio was inseparable, spending hours upon hours skating or watching the Northern Lights.  The twins were the first to discover Li’s powers along with him, noticing his ability to freeze water with a touch, freezing over a forest pond for skating, drawing water from the air and turning it into snow, creating sculptures from ice, infinite snowball fights, forming fantastical snowboarding courses in secret that were frequented by the guests of his parents’ Mestervik resort.  Mr. and Mrs. Haldeman questioned from where this mystery course had been built overnight as it had come as a shock to not only them, but also the resort staff.  When a couple of housekeepers admitted to seeing the trio heading that way the night before, Li finally confessed to his parents about his powers.  While they initially found it terrifying, Richard ultimately saw the financial benefit.  

For a while, these were the happy times.  Even if Li could not have a good academic career, at least he had great support from his friends and excelled athletically.  Before graduating high school, he had even won national championships and had been recommended by coaches to try out for Norway’s official Olympics team.  Richard, being greedy, knew that his son being away from the resort meant losing their courses and subsequent draw of tourists, so he hired a couple of hitmen to attack Li while he was practicing late at night.  And while these men successfully snuck up on an oblivious Li and broke his right leg, they met their own untimely demise when the boy defended himself.  Being both afraid and angry, one touch and a scream froze both men solid to their cores, their bodies shattering into thousands of pieces once they hit the ground.  With a broken leg, Li had to crawl nearly three kilometers back to the resort where he was then taken to the hospital.

At first, he was too afraid to tell anyone what happened, but when it was just him and the twins alone in his hospital room, he confessed the truth … but it would prove to be a heavy mistake, showing that the friendship was not fully through thick and thin as he had once believed.  No, from that moment on, they were terrified of Li and refused to go anywhere near him, cutting off all contact out of fear that they could suffer the same fate.  Li recovered on his own, devastated and heartbroken as he struggled not just in walking again, but wrestling with the knowledge that he had just killed two people.  He wanted to turn himself in, but how could he explain that to the authorities?  And was there any evidence left behind?  Things only worsened when they told their parents about Li’s confession and again the Haldemans were terrified of their child.  But what could they do with him?  When he returned home from the hospital, they initially played ignorant to any knowledge of his act of self defense, just letting him go back to working on the courses, though it was clear he lacked the same spark for life he had previously.

His parents, still frightened and unsure of what to do with their son, thought it best for him to just travel between resorts to maintain the grounds.  He took up bartending as a hobby, the guests being delighted by their drinks having ice cubes in interesting and intricate shapes.  Li may not have been smart, but he was not gullible, so when he met a guest who spoke of an island for “special people”, he did not believe her at first.  That is, until she demonstrated her own abilities which piqued his interest.  Going to a place specially designated for people like him, he thought it would be the safest option for everyone.

PANTHEON:  Norse

CHILD OF:  Hodr

POWERS:  Ice Manipulation:  The ability to transform frozen liquids into a variety of shapes such as sculptures, furniture, and weapons depending on resources available.

Ice Generation:  The ability to draw moisture from the air and freeze it to form snow and ice.

Freezing Touch:  When making focused physical contact, Li is able to lower the temperature of something to its freezing point.

STRENGTHS:  Cold weather, excellent hearing, great sense of smell, unwavering resolve

WEAKNESSES:  Summer weather, arid climates, excess heat, poor eyesight