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lobster-tales · 3 years

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Pining - Azutara

Day 3 of Winter ATLA Femslash Week 2021. This work is also available here on AO3.

Prompt: Braids/Hair Braiding or Pining

Katara arrives home after another late night of tracking down an assassin. To her surprise, the assassin tracked her down instead. Basically a Killing Eve AU. Blood CW.

Thud! “Fuck.” Katara glared down at the dropped grocery bag. She continued to fumble with her set of keys, feeling the jagged edges with her fingers in the darkness. After two failed attempts at finding the right fit for the door, she finally felt one of the keys slip inside the lock. Katara adjusted the two other grocery bags in her arms, freeing her other hand to pull the knob towards her. The door, along with the rest of the building, was ancient, and after years of settling, the wood remained stubbornly out of place.

The lock clicked. She twisted the knob and shoved her weight against the door, but was met with resistance. Katara grunted as she pushed again, keys jingling with each effort.

A light flickered on above her. Katara winced and turned around. An older woman stood outside one of the other apartment doors, arms crossed. She wore a fierce expression, pink slippers, and a robe that would have been too short on a person of average height.

“Sorry, Auntie,” Katara whispered. They weren’t related by blood, but the landlady had never introduced herself as anything else.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Auntie hissed.

“I know, I promise I’ll be more quiet next-”

“If you’re going to be out late, the least you can do is bring home a man!”

“I wasn’t ‘out’,” Katara said defensively. “I was working.”

“Again!” She shook her finger at Katara. “You can’t keep this up forever, you know! You only think you can because you’re young!”

“I know, Auntie.”

“You tell that boss of yours that you need a break! You tell him or I will!”

Katara smiled to herself, picturing her tiny landlady just as she was, robed, slippered, and wagging her finger at the head of the Secret Intelligence Service. “Okay, Auntie.” She pressed against the door again, and this time it chose to relinquish easily. “Goodnight.”

The woman grumbled a goodbye as Katara entered her apartment, dragging in the bag she had dropped earlier.

Katara sighed, letting the wear of the day slide off her shoulders along with her oversized coat. She abandoned two of the grocery bags at the door, too exhausted to bother with the non-perishable items. Katara carried the third paper bag, now soggy with cold, through the darkness, aiming for the kitchen. Her fingers danced on the wall until she found the switch.

Light flooded the tiny area. The short, cluttered counter had three bar stools behind it. Sitting upright in the center one, hands folded neatly, was Azula.

“Oh shit!” Thud. Katara ignored the fallen bag this time, her attention narrowed on the other woman.

Azula’s long black hair was pulled into an unusually messy top knot, a bruise swelling above her smeared eyeliner. She smiled easily at Katara, flinching as the movement stretched the bloody cut on her lip. “You redecorated.”

“What the fuck are you doing? Just sitting alone in the dark?”

“I wanted to scare you,” Azula said. “I thought it’d be funny. And it was.”

Katara gawked, her expression turning to one of concern. “Are you hurt?”

“A little. I tried to clean up before you got here, but I couldn’t figure out how to work your shower.” Disdain entered her voice as she said, “It seems that the knob was replaced by a wrench.”

“Yeah…” Katara struggled to regain her composure. “Yeah, the uh… maintenance guy is out on vacation.” Her eyes landed on Azula’s left arm, where a strip of yellow cloth had been tied and dyed red. “Oh my god, are you bleeding?”

Azula rolled her eyes. “It’s just a scratch. Turns out some children hate when you try to off their father.” Her features darkened. “Even if he was a complete asshole.” Her mood lightened again, as quickly as it had dimmed. “Either way, I was in the area, and I figured someone as maternal as you could stitch me up.”

“What? I’m not maternal!”

“So you can’t give me stitches?”

“Of course I can!” Katara finally resumed control of herself. She knelt and picked up the grocery bag, reaching for the spilled contents. “Hold on, let me um… put everything away first.”

“Take your time; I’m in no rush.”

Katara opened the fridge. “They’re not after you?”

“I never leave a trail.” Azula smirked. “This may surprise you, but I’m actually good at my job.”

“Hmph. I’m not,” Katara said. “If I was, I’d be calling my boss right now. I’m supposed to be tracking you down, you know.”

“Aw, all this fuss over me.” Azula propped her elbows on the counter, making a bridge with her interlaced fingers. “I’m touched.”

“At the very least, I should drop you off at the hospital.”

“Ugh, you know how I feel about hospitals.”

Katara gazed at her intently. “And you know how I feel about assassins.”

“Hmm. I actually don’t, but let me guess.” Azula’s golden eyes flickered, like a cat playing with it’s meal. “You feel… ‘Scared’? No, that’s not it. How about ‘intrigued’? Wait, I’ve got it.” She licked her lips, smearing blood with her tongue. “‘Aroused.’”

Blood rushed to Katara’s face. She turned away, changing the subject quickly. “Can I get you anything? Some tea? Vodka?”

Azula leaned back, satisfied with her reaction. “Do you have any cabernet sauvignon?”

“Well for wine, I’ve got…” Katara dragged a large box out of the fridge and dropped it unceremoniously on the counter. “Red.”

***

“Ah!” Azula hissed in pain.

Katara grinned, pulling the curved needle away from the open wound. “Oh, don’t be a baby.”

“Then stop hacking me to pieces, you maniac.” Azula used her free hand to grab her wine, drinking from a faded London Zoo mug.

“What did they get you with, anyway?”

“Bullet.” She sighed. “It was my fault, I didn’t move quick enough. Getting sloppy in my old age.”

“We’re only 25, Azula.”

“Yes, and that much closer to death.”

Katara shook her head affectionately. “I guess assassins don’t have long life spans.”

“The good ones do.”

“And you’re one of the good ones?”

Azula’s expression changed. “I was.”

Katara punctured her skin once more with the needle, causing Azula to wince. “You said yourself that you’re good at your job.”

“Yes, usually I finish my assignments flawlessly. But this time…” She looked away. “I… I was clumsy. I made too many mistakes. The son caught me mid-kill. I should have had plenty of time before he arrived, but… I hesitated.”

Katara paused, frowning at her. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Azula said quietly, almost whispering. Katara had never seen her like this: yielding, vulnerable. The sight put her on edge. Any moment, Azula would bounce back, laugh at her for falling for the act. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he was a deplorable person. Politician, pushed through policies that left millions of people suffering, not to mention the 4 sexual assault accusations.”

“Oof,” Katara said, pulling on the thread.

“But… I don’t know,” Azula repeated. “I started by beating him bloody. He liked trophy hunting, so I used the blunt side of some elephant tusks. I’ve done this enough times that I knew the begging would come next. They always beg, offer me money, power. But he just looked me in the eye. Like he was at peace with it, with the consequences of everything he’d done.

“I’d just caught him fresh out of the bath, so he was still wearing his robe. And he asked me to wait before I killed him. He crawled to his desk, and grabbed something small off the surface. And he put it on his left hand.” She closed her eyes, solemn. “He wanted to die wearing his wedding ring. That asshole, that monster, wanted to die… loved. And he did.”

Katara searched her face, fighting the urge to take Azula’s hand. Even if this was an act, it didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that Azula, the assassin she’d spent a year tracking down, fighting with, dreaming about… was crying.

“After it was done,” Azula said, treating her tears like an inconvenience. “His son came in, caught me with an upper right before he got his hands on one of the shotguns. I was almost out the window when he fired.” She lifted her chin, staring up at the ceiling. The callous bathroom light hit her features, and Katara wondered how someone so clouded by sin could look so holy. “When I fell into the bushes, felt the sting on my arm, I realized I could have been a few inches too far to the left. Or he could have aimed better.” She stiffened her lower lip. “I don’t mind death. It’s always been part of the job, a potential side effect. But if I died, even the most painless, agreeable way...” Azula looked down at her naked left hand, flexing her fingers. “I’d still have it worse than he did.”

They sat in stillness for a moment. In a last ditch attempt, Katara waited for a punchline. A jump scare. Anything. But she was only met with silence.

Though Azula had stopped crying, Katara was still stricken. During the briefings at MI6, Azula was always described as a psychopath. No feeling, no remorse. After encountering her in real life, Katara had come to the same conclusion. But now…

Katara grazed the top of Azula’s hand with her fingers. They both stared at the action, slowly moving their hands until their palms were pressed together, fingers intertwined. “You won’t die unloved, Azula,” Katara murmured.

Azula scoffed, a harsh sound after the quiet. “Don’t say that. I could have a heart attack in the next ten minutes, or you could have poisoned the wine.” She flashed a glare at the mug. “Considering the taste, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Smiling, Katara shook her head. “Even if you died right now.”

They both froze, the weight of Katara’s words settling in the air. They met each other’s eyes, lips parted slightly. Katara gulped involuntarily, mind racing. “A-Azu-”

Azula pressed her mouth against hers, swallowing her own name before Katara could finish saying it. Katara tilted her head, letting Azula run her tongue along her lower lip. She tasted like blood and cheap wine.

After a moment, Azula pulled away. Katara threaded her fingers in her black hair, pulling her back in. Azula chuckled against her mouth, letting Katara kiss her, letting herself be loved.

#winter atla femslash week #azula #katara #azutara #assassin au #atla fic #femslash #my fic

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darkestdawnhq · 3 years

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FREYA ROSIER is a 26 year old PUREBLOOD, a former SLYTHERIN, and an OBLIVIATOR who is a DEATH EATER and uses SHE/HER pronouns. They are categorized as CODE THREE. They are currently CLOSED.

A bright smile, no hint of what lies beneath | A curling, twisting billow of smoke rising into the night sky | Soft blonde hair pulled back with a pastel ribbon | A cheap red lighter tossed into the smoldering remains of a building | an unexplained, out of place, feeling of dread | a collection of aprons, carefully hanging in a hall closet | blueberry muffins wrapped in plastic wrap | the sharp pain of a knife as it stabs you in the back

HISTORY.

Born in the heart of London on a cool, autumn evening to Felix Rosier and his second, much younger, wife, Freya was introduced to a legacy that was far bigger than herself. She was thrust into their world with a heavy set of expectations upon her shoulders. Others would have buckled under the pressure, but even from a young age Freya quickly learned how to rise to the occasion. Seeing it as more of a challenge than limitation, Freya set out looking to accomplish every goal and expectation that was set for her.

Charming to a fault, Freya’s earliest years were spent learning to make the antiquated system she had been thrown into work for her. Quickly she learned that she could get most things by offering up a bright smile and a well chosen set of words. It was easy to watch, to listen and learn, and to figure out exactly what it was that they wanted to hear. People were easy to manipulate if you took the time to do it right.

From a young age ideas of loyalty to the family and a dedication to keeping the Rosier name pure were instilled in her -- Freya never really questioned them. She would make her family proud, and she would make a name for herself. It just might be in a different way than her mother or Druella did. Both with a thirst for adventure and a love of chaos, Freya couldn’t imagine ever settling into a marriage or deferring to someone else at the expense of what she wanted. The first time she was introduced to a potential betrothal she set fire to the young man’s coat. It had been easy enough to convince her father that it had been an accident, an uncontrolled spurt of magic, but she’d never forget the power she felt as the boy panicked, nor would she forget the beauty of the flames.

Hogwarts was a time of freedom; an opportunity for Freya to escape the echo chamber she had grown up in and figure out what it was that she wanted to believe, who she wanted to be without her parents breathing down her neck. She quickly befriended William Mulciber,, a relationship that was only strengthened when they were both placed in Slytherin. William was her partner in crime for many years -- he could do with a bit more subtlety but the charm was there. Many nights they snuck off into the Forbidden Forest to practice dark magic, occasionally bringing an easy target, a younger student or a Muggleborn, into the isolation for a more hands on approach. Never willing to push things beyond what she was absolutely certain she could get away with, Freya began practicing her obliviation skills on their victims ensuring that the only ones who remembered what happened were herself and William.

Joining the Death Eaters was a logical next step. It was an opportunity to perpetuate the Rosier name without compromising her values -- was she going to marry? Maybe one day. But she wasn’t going to be forced into it. The Death Eaters gave her an opportunity for glory. No one would be able to say the Rosiers sat out of the war, watching others fight for what was right. She didn’t pay much mind to the cause itself. Purity was a construct, but it was one that worked in her advantage. Power and chaos... those were the things that the war gave her. There was power to be found in the Death Eaters, certainly, but nearly equally, there was power to be found in being perceived in exactly the way she chose. So she joined the Death Eaters for the power, but she took a job as an Obliviator for fun. There was nothing as satisfying as stealing someone’s memories, as taking a little piece of them for herself.

The war ended far too quickly, in her opinion. It was disappointing, watching those who had fought alongside her fall back into a normal routine. She didn’t want normalcy, she thirsted for the chaos and excitement that the war had brought. But Freya had never had a problem with patience, with standing to the sidelines and being exactly who she needed to be to get ahead. The Order of the Phoenix had fought too long to simply roll over and die. The excitement wasn’t fully over, she was sure of it. Now was the time for waiting.

CONNECTIONS.

BELLATRIX BLACK: Mentor. While technically her niece, Bellatrix felt far more like an older sister. They didn’t sit and braid each other’s hair... Andromeda and Narcissa were better suited for those sorts of tasks... but Freya knew that Bellatrix was someone she could rely on, someone she could model herself after. Her father talked a far bigger game than he had any right to, and her mother and Druella were too willing to stand on the outside looking in. But Bellatrix had the same thirst for chaos that Freya did, the same desire to be in the thick of it all, the same ability to look past morality and see the power that was there for the taking. For as long as she could remember she felt deep admiration for the older girl and the way she commanded respect. Freya preferred a bit more subtlety in her day to day life, but there was no denying that Bella had handled the war masterfully. Even now, as things were dying down, as Freya was a fully qualified witch making a name for herself both among the obliviators and within the ranks of the Death Eaters, she found herself deferring to Bella’s expertise when there was a new dark spell she was interested in trying or when she just wanted to engage in a bit of chaos -- after all, hadn’t that been the best part of the war?

WILLIAM MULCIBER: Partner In Crime. Fear was unfamiliar to Freya. New opportunities were just another chance to rise to the occasion. But as she stepped onto the Hogwarts Express she felt a new sense of apprehension, a sort of fear of the unknown. William quickly settled into the train next to her, giving her the chance to do the thing that she did best -- make connections. He was a bit too brash and could do with a bit of subtlety, but he was charming enough to make up for the things that he lacked. William quickly became one of her closest friends and her partner in crime at Hogwarts, the pair of them often sneaking into the forest to practice dark magic. Occasionally it escalated beyond that -- to reminding a Muggleborn or a younger student of their place. But Freya was unwilling to take that risk all that often, prepared to only go as far as she could go with little to no chance of detection. There was a time when she thought that William might be more than a friend, but beyond falling into bed together a time or two, their relationship remained largely unchanged even into adulthood -- but she wouldn’t mind revisiting the sex if the opportunity presented itself again.

ALECTO CARROW: It’s Complicated. She struggled to put to words to her relationship with Alecto Carrow. There was an undeniable sense of mutual respect. Freya respected a strong woman, one who took ownership over her life. There were far too many in their circle who were willing to step back and defer to men. But nearly equally, she found Alecto to be irritating -- she was too cold, too closed off, and truthfully, she found her to be a bit boring, definitely the least interesting Carrow. But irritating her was always great fun -- so from time to time she’d bring her a very pink and very over the top sort of gift. There was nothing wrong with cheerfulness, but when Alecto was around she ramped it up, knowing it got under her skin. They certainly weren’t friends, but there was something there... something that Freya knew she would miss if it were no longer in her life.

DRUELLA BLACK: Half-Sister. Just two years her mother’s junior, Druella had always been somewhere between a sister and second maternal figure to her. If her sister hadn’t come before her, hadn’t tested the waters and forged her own path, Freya knew she wouldn’t have been half as successful or happy. Druella was the one she went to with questions, when she disagreed with something or didn’t understand what she was meant to do. She was the one that Freya went to with her heartbreaks and her victories -- it was far easier to confide in her sister because she knew that she cared, something she was never sure about with her own parents. She respected her in a way she didn’t respect many people, and she was unafraid to be her truest self around her.

Currently portrayed by VIRGINIA GARDNER

#Freya Rosier #Virginia Gardner fc #marauders era rp #harry potter rp #new rp #Virginia Gardner #female #pureblood #slytherin #death eater #code one #closed

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harveywritings92 · 4 years

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Someone flirts/asks you out in front of them: Ezio,Connor,Jacob,Arno

Ezio Auditore [modern Au] : You were a temporary sub for the local high-school while the math teacher was on early maternity leave, due to getting sick...And due to your young and pretty appearance, these over hormonal charged teens were smitten with you! Well the boys are anyway...

the girls on the other hand, were very passive aggressive towards you! in their young developing minds they saw every little praise or smile as you hitting on or attempting to steal their crushes. So, of course you'd find someone had vandalized your desk or left a message on your blackboard calling you a very colorful name, of course one of the boys would jump over their desk in a heartbeat to clean up the mess or tattle on whoever did it.

Needless to say You found the whole thing hilarious! You thought if the girls were upset now, they'll be royally destroyed once they find out who you're married to! that was until Travis transferred to your class He was tall, blond, and had blue eyes and was very good looking...Well at least to a teenage girl's perspective, To you? he was another pimply faced teen with a crush, He'd often offered to help with carry boxes, clean up after class, and was always volunteering to get something for you.

His flirting wasn't subtle either more then often you have to duck or walk around to avoid him touching you, since that was big no-no in the school [unless he was dying you can't touch him and vice versa] that and he started asking for your number and address to hang out, You shot him down everytime, even made sure to mention your husband and flashed your ring a few times, but the blond was persistent! then the rumor started that Travis was planning to ask you out after class was floating around... Maybe he'd get the hint if he saw you with Ezio?

3rd pov

Y/n pretty much clung to her husband after explaining the situation to him, Ezio downplayed at first thinking she was just overreacting, "He's a kid Mi Bella, they get crushes all the time!" He said trying to calm her nerves, But seeing how shaken up his wife was, caused his protective instincts to go on high alert! right as her class was ending everyone who had heard what Travis was planning stuck around curious to see where it goes.

Y/n was on edge Ezio was late and Travis was eagerly waiting for the bell, which went off as she felt a bead of sweat fall of her chin, she watched the blond teen get up Y/n tried not to cringe as he approached her desk. "Hey, Miss L/n." purred leaning on her desk she wince hearing his voice crack a little.

"Hi Travis." Y/n said trying to back away from him trying not to gag he was wearing way too much axe. "I wondering if you wanted to go out, maybe see a movie or something." he muttered looking her up and down before the y/hc teacher could open her mouth a smooth Italian voice answered "Well it depends what are we going to watch?~" Travis jumped back in shock that it wasn't Y/n's cute voice answering him and saw Mr. Auditore standing in the doorway large bouquet in hand.

"Wh-what?" Travis sputtered out confused as the Italian teacher walked over to Y/n's desk handing her the flowers kissed her on the cheek, then turned to the gobsmacked teen. "I said what are we..." he gestured the three of them. "You, me and my wife. what are we going watch? Hopefully nothing R Rated or keeps you up passed your bedtime, it's a school night after all." Ezio said in a matter of factly way, But it was obvious he was teasing the boy causing the other students to snicker, once they got over their shock, Travis's face turned red with embarrassment.

When he heard Miss L/n was actually a Mrs. he pictured some plain nerdy looking dude... Not Ezio frickin' Auditore! the Italian history teacher and to quote the girls "The sex-bomb of [School-name] high!" His ego deflated immediately crush fucking over! he can't compete with that! Travis left the class with his tail between his legs...

Connor Kenway [Cannon Time]: [This the albino Reader from my Connor Oneshot]

Otsi'tsa was looking trough some documents an apprentice had pocketed from a templar envoy, she used a candle to see in there was hidden message or code was written in invisible ink, when she heard footsteps coming up the steps to the library, she briefly glanced up to see the newest Novice to join the creed standing in the door watching her.

The albino cocked brow at the young man curiously. "What can I do for you John?" she hummed as the man glanced around to make sure they were alone, He hadn't noticed Connor obscured by the book shelf. "Miss Y/n I have to confess something." He put his hand on her shoulder the native woman tensed, and slowly looked at the black haired novice like.

*what the hell, why are you touching me?...

He didn't seem to notice her discomfort "What?" She said trying to shrug his hand off. "I liked you for a while now, And I'd like to perhaps court you..." the white haired woman gawked at him in disbelief before finding her voice. "...I..o-oh, I'm sorry." his hopeful expression dropped. "but... I'm already spoken for." Y/n explained confusing the novice farther he hadn't heard of or seen any signs of miss Y/n in courtship with another? "You..With who?" the green eyed man demanded.

A loud bang caused John to jolt, he looked behind him and saw Master Connor standing by the center table; with a stack of heavy books he'd slammed down on the table lips curled into a snarl. "That would be me..." Connor hiss as he scrutinized the novice who still hadn't taken his hand off his woman the green eyed man saw the way his mentor was eyeing his hand on the albino woman's shoulder, the larger man's eyes darkened with a very clear message.

*Take it off or else I'll rip it off..*

John withdrew his hand like Otsi'tsa was made of hot iron and apologized before scurrying away as soon he was sure John was gone Y/n was suddenly pulled into tight hug by Ratonhnhaké:ton He started talking to her in Kanienʼkéha "You wouldn't leave me for a man like John, would you?" He croaked warily the Albino looked at him surprised. "No, never! I made a promise to you, And I intend to keep it." Her fiancee smirked before suddenly latching his to her collarbone.

She squeaked feeling him nip and suck on a sensitive spot before pulling away from her looking satisfied. "That should tell unwanted guests to back off for a while." He hummed in english giving her a peck on the forehead before setting her down and leaving, Otsi'tsa's whole body had turned pink as she threw her hand over the mark Ratonhnhaké:ton left on her neck.

Jacob Frye [Modern AU]: [Reader is Bi and the girl is an ex]

"Oh, fuck me sideways!" Y/n groaned in annoyance as Jacob pulled away from her small baby bump; ever since she told he was going to be a father Jacob makes sure to talk to and cuddle her belly every chance he gets, his hazel eyes scanned the park to see what's got his wife riled up, and saw this fake tanned blond woman looking their way. "Friend of yours?" He asked unsure Blondie didn't seem the type Y/n would associate herself with, the y/hc woman snorted in disgust. "Hardly, that's Vanessa she and I dated for while..." She mumbled knowing Jacob doesn't like discussing exes.

"For how long a while?" the brown haired man pressed. "three years then she ghosted me, found out through a mutual that she had been seeing some rich bloke..."Y/n told him how the blond had gotten married that man who was like thirty years older than them, while just a week before she told Y/n marriage was stupid, the y/ec woman cussed as her ex seem to recognize her. "Turns out she never cared about me, I was just her string along if sugar daddy ever dumped her ass." Jacob looked pretty pissed that someone had the audacity to do such a thing to his wife, and gonna ask if she wanted to go home, but a nasally voice cut in. "Y/n, oh my god! I haven't you been returning my calls babe?" Vanessa rudely pushed herself between Jacob and the pregnant woman.

"I tried your apartment and some old creeper opened the door." She whined as Y/n cringed bemused. "I move outta that flat six yea-" The blond put her figure over the y/nat woman's lips and shushed her. "That's nice honey, I'm talking now!" she started gave the y/ht the run that her husband croaked and left all his money to his gross kids, the blonds lips curled in disgusted as she mentioned her step children, how dare he?! such selfish asshole then turned to Y/n with her fake smile.

"But I know my little n/n will never do that me.~" she purred trying to kiss her the h/c leaned away from the skinny woman who was confused when she felt something on her stomach and saw Y/n's pregnant belly "Ew, what the fuck is that, Why are you so fat?!" Vanessa demanded in disgust as she shoved her away, luckily the y/nat caught herself before she fell off the bench and Y/n saw Jacob's lips do that little twitch when he's about to fuck shit up.

Before Vanessa could try something else she was suddenly tossed off the bench and she hit the ground with a yelped, then looked up to see a pissed off Jacob holding Y/n bridal style whiles glowering at the gold digging tramp, who was about to demand his name only for him to bark "Shut up!" the blond flinched at his tone as Y/n carefully rubbed her belly. "Now you listen here and you listen well you plastic tart, Y/n isn't your bloody meal-ticket anymore..." He growled enjoying the blonde squirm like a child who just got caught stealing cookies.

"She moved on married and happy..." His lips formed thin as people were watching. "And if you or anyone wants my wife, they'll have to go through me." he hissed before carrying Y/n out of the park and away from her toxic ex who just sat there gawking at the man's back, Jacob carried her all the way to their car he opened the backseat and climbed in with her still his arms and closed the doors and just held her...she felt his hand slip under her shirt and feel her belly. "Mine..." he sighed kissing her forehead.

Arno Dorian [Cannon time]:

Arno was free running in the city being careful as he kept out of her sight if his wife knew he was following her, she'd have his head on a pike! It not like hasn't Y/n hasn't gone out alone before! She can handle herself, he's never had any problems with it before! It was just different now...this was the first time Y/n had gone out for a walk a month since giving birth to their daughter, said babe was currently napping whilst carefully wrapped save and snug in a sling against her mother's chest...

So, of course Arno was wary he just wanted to make sure his girls were okay! It was fifteen minutes in when Arno spotted him. A man following his wife, The assassin had see the man before! but Arno couldn't quite place where... He managed to get closer and realized it was one of his novices! what could they possibly want with Y/n? she was civilian not an enemy!

He followed for while before doing leap of faith into a hay pile neither Y/n or the novice had noticed the master assassin who was listening to conversation. "Uh, Bonjour madame!" the younger assassin greeted Y/n who jumped from the sudden voice , and subconsciously held her daughter closer. "Who are you?" Y/n ask as she scrutinized the hooded stranger. who staring at her nervously Arno could see and blush from under the gray hood...his stomach churned when he realized what was happening. just then D/n's eyes looked over at the hay and she got fussy.

Y/n didn't notice as her eyes were trained on the assassin in front of her who introduced himself as Rodrick. "And what do you want Mr. Rodrick?" she asked still cautious as the gray hooded, shifted uncomfortably. "I've seen at the cafe a lot, I enjoy your singing.." Her brows furrowed as she thanked him still lost on where this red bearded man was going with this. "I was wondering if you would be interested and in perhaps g-going out with me?" he stammered at little as the y/ht woman's brows shot up to her hairline.

"I'm sorry I misheard you..." He shook his head now hopeful and a bit more brave. "You do realize I married, right?" she pointed at her ring the man's demeanor hadn't change. "And yet he let's you wander the streets alone and never once seen you preform, tell me what kind of husband does that?" Y/n frowned and sighed as agreeing with him as she looked down at D/n little brown eyes that mirrored her father's blinked tiredly at her before closing again. "Maybe you should ask him..." she then looked up at the rooftops. "Arno?" she called out to her husband Rodrick blanched as figure rose out of the hay pile whilst glaring at daggers at the red bearded novice who just realized he tried to steal his mentor's wife!?

"M-master Dorian! I-I though she I- didn't know she was yours!" Rodrick stumbled over his words trying to apologize as the master came up beside he wife with a stern expression. "I think you need to leave, now." Arno growled the gray clad novice didn't need to be told twice! and ran disappearing into the crowds, Arno made a mental note of dealing with him later, He then turned to his wife intrigued and bemused.

"How did you know I was following you?"

"I didn't...D/n did."

" What...how?"

"I don't know how, but she always knows when her papa's nearby..."

Arno's heart sped up at the prospects that his daughter may have his gift and wonders what future she'll have when that time comes? But for now he opted to just finish having an afternoon walk with his girls.

#assassin's creed x reader #Ezio auditore x reader #connor kenway x reader #jacob frye x reader #arno dorian x reader #scenario #assassin's creed

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ourimpavidheroine · 4 years

Text

An Anniversary

Five years ago today, the 13th of February, 2015, I published, all in one shot, a piece of fanfiction called Please Excuse My Penmanship.

I hadn’t, at that point, written - never mind published - any fanfiction for over fifteen years. I had written some X-Files fanfic back in the day but I’d lost it; my backup floppies disappeared when I moved to Finland and, like just about everyone else back then, the places I had posted it to online disappeared without warning. (Toss a coin to your Archive, oh valley of plenty.) I’d been pretty torn up about losing my fic that way, which put me off writing. Time went on; I had twins in 2002 and they both turned out to have non-verbal autism and different flavors of ADD/ADHD and my life got very complicated and very difficult for a lot of years there. Writing for pleasure wasn’t even on the table.

By 2015 my life had settled a bit. My wife was disabled and suffering from severe and untreated depression and the kids were in special ed and a lot of therapies but we were managing. I had watched Avatar: The Last Airbender with my kids (on DVD - they were too young for it when it first aired) and had gone on to watch The Legend of Korra with them as well.

I really liked Mako as a character; he was too internal and complex for most of the kids watching, however, and wasn’t well liked. Most fans saw an inflexible jerk who caused and fucked up a love triangle; what I saw was an autistic man who was suffering from pretty severe PTSD. He grabbed my interest. I related.

I really liked his dynamic with Prince Wu, despite the fact that he was a really annoying character. Queer-coded as fuck, although the showrunners were plainly ignoring it. And I started to headcanon who they would be as a couple. How to make Wu less annoying while still making him canon Wu? How to humanize Mako while still acknowledging his autism and PTSD? Headcanon was all it was, though, a way for me keep myself occupied. I’ve been writing stories inside my head as long as I can remember. It’s what I’ve always done.

I read a post on here on Tumblr where the OP stated that there was no such thing as a good Letter Fic; I thought to myself, Bet I could do it. And so in the end of January 2015 I sat down at my PC and started to type up all of my headcanon.

I went back and forth with Wu. What I first started to write was too clumsy, by half; I tried to stick to his endless slang and it was as annoying as it had ever been on the show. I knew if I stuck to that shallow, silly, stupid, canon Wu he wouldn’t be interesting to read. I struggled with it for a time until I remembered something.

My maternal grandmother told me a story once about a girl from Mexico. Claudia was her name; she was a year older than my mother. Her own mother had died when she was born; her father, who was one of my grandfather’s business partners in Mexico, had left her in the care of her grandparents, who were extraordinarily wealthy denizens of Mexico City. At some point the adults involved thought that it would be a great idea to send this girl to stay with my mother’s family to learn English; in return, my mother would then go and stay a summer in Mexico City to learn Spanish. (Which she did; she’s fluent to this day.) Claudia had no English at all but my grandmother had working Spanish and I guess they all figured it would be enough for this poor girl?

The first day Claudia arrived in San Francisco my grandmother kindly showed her into the bathroom and told her to take a shower. My Grams realized about ten minutes or so later that the water hadn’t turned on; she went to check on her and there she was, sitting obediently on the toilet seat, fully dressed, waiting for the maid to come and undress her and turn the water on for her shower.

She had no idea how to do either of those things for herself. She had never, at the age of thirteen, undressed herself or operated a shower. And there it was, the opening of my story. Wu remembers arriving in Republic City on the run from the Red Lotus, checking into the hotel, and having no idea whatsoever what to do next. And I thought to myself...What if he isn’t actually stupid?

And there he was. My Wu. Just like that.

I wrote feverishly for a week, drawn into the story that was sitting in my head, waiting to be told. I didn’t have a Betareader; my wife liked my writing but rather tersely told me that TLOK wasn’t her fandom and she wasn’t interested in reading it, something that hurt me pretty deeply, especially since my X-Files fanfic was how we’d actually connected in the first place.

(She was, at that time, in the process of slowly dying of heart failure, but I didn’t know that then.)

I wasn’t going to publish it. I just wanted to write it, to see if I still had it together after a seventeen year hiatus. Wuko wasn’t at all a popular ship; after the show finale a couple of months prior all the fanfiction being feverishly written and published was Korrasami. (In fact, I checked AO3 at the time and found exactly two Wuko fanfics, both of which were one-shots and not to my particular taste.) I went back and forth with it and then thought, Fuck it. I’ll just do it. And maybe no one will read it but at least I’ll have done it. I read it through one more time and then, on the thirteenth of February, took a deep breath, told myself to stop being a coward, and posted the entire fic at once.

I got my first comment, and I was elated. And then I thought to myself, Well, fuck, you may as well write some of the other stuff in your head. You might learn something about yourself as a writer on the way.

Then, a few months later, on the seventeenth of June, my world fell apart. My wife, staying at our summer cottage with our twelve year old twins, died of a heart attack while the kids were off playing and I was here at home, getting ready to travel down the next day on the train to meet them all for the summer. My daughter was the one to find her; she was long past saving at that point. Family friends brought the children, our pets, and our car the two hours back home as I collapsed on the floor of our flat and rocked myself back and forth, wordlessly keening, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

The next year was unspeakable. I was a widow at forty-six; I was living in a foreign country with two disabled children, with no family or friends nearby and an imprecise grasp of the language. My wife had told me she had life insurance; she lied. I was flat broke. My grief was deep and whole and devastating; my children were traumatized and barely functioning. I had no one to help me, and I’d cook meals at midnight so my sleeping children wouldn’t hear me sobbing in the kitchen.

And I wrote.

I wrote out of desperation; I had to do something to keep me tethered to this world. I wrote of love and families, of a traumatized child from the street that was my daughter’s age, full of bravado and choked fury. I wrote of an autistic boy growing into a man, bullied and shunned, aching to be free, much like my own.

I took my children to more therapists. I took myself to a therapist that turned out to be homophobic; I found another one. I made dinners; I cleaned the house, I walked in circles around my living room, whispering over and over to myself, You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay, before making another phone call.

And I wrote.

In August of 2018 my daughter attempted suicide and was hospitalized. I was trying to write I Do Not Ask The Night For Explanations and I had to stop. I had severe panic attacks whenever I tried to work on it. I brought her home and I cut my work hours down to four hours a week so that I could be with her at all times; she wasn’t safe to be left alone. I cared for her. I cared for her twin, who was terrified, unable to sleep, afraid that if he wasn’t watching her she’d try it again. I fought until I got them different therapists. I stopped sleeping. My health suffered.

And I wrote. When I could. It was, without any doubt at all, the only thing that was keeping me going during that time. I would tell myself that I had to keep going, that I still had so much of this story in my head, I needed to get it out. Sometimes I would write while sobbing. Sometimes I would sit here at my desk and nothing would come. I just kept going, though.

It’s better now. She missed most of last year of school and is making it up this year and doing so well. Her brother is at a new school and has, for the first time in his life, made friends. I was able, in December, to actually leave them for three days; the first time I had been away from them since we lost their mother.

They’ll be eighteen this summer and we’re finally able to breathe. We’re moving forward, the three of us. We’re still broken, but we’re making something new out of the pieces instead of trying to put them back together.

My writing is what saved me. It wasn’t about how many hits/comments/kudos I got; I appreciate every single one I get, believe me. But the writing was making me hold myself accountable, making myself get out of bed, get dressed, brush my hair and teeth, sit down and try. Sometimes that was all I could manage; the writing just wasn’t happening. But it gave me a goal when I needed one. And boy, did I need one.

Thank you all for reading. For those of you that have been there since the beginning and those who just started reading now. For those who faded away from the fandom over time or who left because they didn’t like how the story was going; I wish you well and thanks for reading when you did. Thank you for the hits and the kudos and the comments. You may not have known you were helping to save me, but you were. So thank you.

I am not done writing yet. I am not oblivious; I know I am so far in AU territory now that you’re for all intents and purposes reading original fic. That’s okay. It’s the story that was in my head, that is still in my head. Maybe someday I’ll try to publish it and maybe I won’t, and I’m fine with that. I’m not ready at this point to do what’s necessary to take it past fanfic and that’s okay. It has served and is continuing to serve its purpose for me; if you all enjoy it then that’s just biscuits and gravy, as my Great-Aunt Margie used to say.

I wrote us all a little anniversary ficlet; this takes it full circle for me. (And then back I go to Wu and Qi’s wedding!)

Mind the warnings at the bottom if you think you need them.

Chapter 132: 252: Wu

#My fanfiction #five year anniversary #long post #cw:death #cw:suicide #cw:trauma

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frankchurchillsaysrelax · 5 years

Text

A lot of you wanted to know what happens next. Hopefully this doesn’t disappoint.

i’m a rusty set of strings that i keep windin’

part one

Michael will always remember his first day of school, not for any of the reasons children usually remember that day but because of the discovery it would lead to. One that would change his life for better and worse.

His first three days in Albuquerque had been spent hidden away inside his new house. His first attempt at a home on this planet. He didn’t understand then why his foster parents even bothered taking him in. They weren’t nice people and they barely spoke to him, acting as if they were the mute ones whenever in his company.

Still, he felt comfortable in that house. He missed Max and Isobel, sure, but it didn’t bother him like he thought it would, being so far away from them and the pods. He could still feel a connection to them, a small pull at the back of his mind that reminded him they were still out there. He supposed he always would.

So he kept to his room, finding ways to amuse himself. There were no toys, not even the dingy kind they’d played with at the group home. Drawing, on paper this time, always on paper, passed the time and when he tired of that he slept. Dreams came easily, always the same; floating someplace warm and pink where everything was quiet and safe, and when he woke the feeling followed him throughout the day.

Then Monday came and he was taken from his safe haven and dropped in the middle of a war zone. Tiny humans besieged him, their weapons comprised of lingering stares and whispered thoughts hidden behind hands. The braver ones armed with sharp words trying to pierce his silence. More adults watched him, only ever him, with sad eyes and wouldn’t explain what about him caused them so much unhappiness.

All of that was manageable though compared to that feeling of peace slowly fading throughout the day leaving an aching loneliness so strong he thought it would never go away.

Several months continued like this, a cycle of familiarity and routine that helped Michael settle into his assumed human existence. School, speech therapy, and then home to quiet the feelings the outside world imposed on him. He discovered that the loneliness was still inside him but at home it was so much easier to ignore it. Maybe that’s what home means, he often wondered.

He found his answers in a bottle one day. Eight years old and left unsupervised, curiosity prevailed. Something about this house brought him the only inkling of happiness he had ever known and he needed to know what it was. He’d heard the whispered plans to send him away. No amount of money was worth having to be around him it seemed.

Less than a year later he was finally taken away but so were they, in the back of a police car. Finding that bottle had scared him and for good reason it would appear. He might not have had any memories or fully understood what it means to be human, but something told him that peace shouldn’t come from something like that.

So he chose to seek it in other places. Talking came easy once he actually tried and he learned that he could make the other children laugh with him instead of at him, even if he still couldn’t call any of them friend. He found joy in his schoolwork, solving problems as natural as breathing.

Things were looking up, and then came Sante Fe where home wasn’t safe nor even a word he could pretend applied to him anymore. They had their own bottles here, ones that sat out in the open and turned you mean when you drank from them.

His powers began developing shortly before their tenth birthday, nearly three years to the day from when they’d left the pods. The first time he lost control, a broken lamp was echoed by the crack of his foster father’s belt. Locked in the bathroom looking for anything to help with the pain he’d found a duller version of an old friend. The packaging might have been different but there was no mistaking the dizzying smell lulling him under a blanket of tranquility.

He breathed in deeply, each inhale setting his ribs on fire. It wasn’t enough and tentatively he took a sip. The stinging liquid trickled down his throat, burning at first and then soothing as relief rippled out from his chest. So he sat, drinking away his pain and desperately begging the universe to spare his siblings a similar fate.

— —

When Michael wakes it feels like no time has passed and yet he is definitely no longer on Isobel’s bathroom floor or draped across Alex. The pain is noticeably gone aside from the constant ache of his left hand and a slight headache. His body feels light but his mind is tired, drained from the events of the last two days.

There’s someone laying beside him, easily recognizable and comfortably curled against his side, their head resting on his shoulder.

“Is?” His voice is weak and sounds almost as exhausted as he feels.

Isobel sits up only to throw herself over his chest in a crushing hug. He wraps his arms tightly around her and runs a soothing hand over her hair when he feels her take a shuddering breath. His eyes open slowly and it takes a moment with the setting sun breaking through the windows to realize he’s in Isobel and Noah’s guest room.

“I’m sorry Izzy,” he whispers into her hair. “Guess I fucked up again huh?” He tries to laugh but it sounds hollow. He never should have come over tonight.

Isobel slowly rises until she’s perched on the edge of the bed looking down at him with her most austere big sister look, though the effect is lessened by the worry still clear in her eyes. She reaches out to run her fingers comfortingly through his hair.

“Trust me, we’re going to have a serious talk about you not seeking medical attention and nearly dying on my bathroom floor.” He rolls his eyes. That seems like an over exaggeration, although going by the look she has on her face he wonders if maybe it isn’t.

“We’re also going to discuss the glowing metal Liz pulled out of your back.” He closes his eyes trying to tamp down the fear that sentence stirs, knowing that she can definitely feel it from this close. “But all of that can wait until tomorrow. Right now I’m just glad you’re ok.”

Isobel fusses with the blanket covering him for a moment, maternal energy pouring from her even if she doesn’t know how to harness it. When he opens his eyes he sees that her stern mask has crumpled revealing the fear and sadness she had tried to shield. Tears gather in her eyes and as always he feels physically pained at the sight. He grabs her hand giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I love you Michael, and I promise I’m going to be a better sister from now on.”

Her words confuse him and he stares at her with wide eyes trying to make sense of them.

“I love you too. Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about though, you’re the best sister in the universe far as I’m concerned.” He grins up at her, as sincere as he’s ever been but she just shakes her head, holding firm to her statement.

It’s true though. Isobel trusts him, she confides in him. She knows that no matter what she can always come to him for help or even just for someone to talk at until she inevitably solves her own problem. She tries to include him in family events, the ones that don’t include the Evans parents at least, and she has always been quick to bestow hugs or other signs of affection on him, ever since the day he returned to Roswell. There really isn’t much more he could ask for.

Unwilling to argue the issue she simply leans down to press a kiss to his forehead before standing.

“You should get some sleep. Like I said, everything else can wait for tomorrow.” She walks backward towards the door as she continues talking. “Liz took Max home so he could recover but Alex is still here. He refused to leave but he’s smart and didn’t try to fight me on staying in here with you.”

Michael smiles, trying to picture Alex going toe-to-toe with Isobel about anything. The thought of them arguing over who gets to sit with his unconscious ass fills him with a warmth he can’t describe.

There’s a soft knock on the door before it opens revealing Alex standing in the doorway.

“I heard you walking around. I figured that meant he was awake.” Isobel crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, giving him an appraising look. Michael watches closely to make sure she’s not using her powers. He’ll have to remind her that Alex is off limits when it comes to her influencing, even if they’re not together. Alex doesn’t back down and the two of them are suddenly caught in a staring contest that Michael is too tired to make sense of. Eventually Isobel raises an eyebrow, motioning for him to enter the room. Alex goes swiftly.

“I take it you’re spending the night?”

Alex nods but his eyes are now firmly set on Michael, openly watching him in a way that makes Michael’s skin warm again but for very different reasons. Michael couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He hears Izzy scoff from somewhere off to the side.

“No sex in my house, Michael.”

She closes the door behind her and Michael expects her words to leave an awkward tension between them but Alex just steps closer to the bed, shedding his jacket and jeans before sitting down to remove his prosthetic. Michael makes note for the first time that he is also dressed for bed in a tshirt and pair of pajama pants he knows belong to Noah. He doesn’t even want to know how he got to be that way.

Alex lays down beside him and Michael allows him to manhandle him into being the little spoon. Satisfied, Alex wraps an arm around Michael’s waist and tugs him snugly against his chest. Michael wants to ask how this fits into Alex’s definition of friends but he’s too afraid that those words would break whatever spell they are under.

Sleep calls him back quickly, his breathing slowing to match Alex’s and his eyes closing against the remaining stretches of sunlight, until Alex speaks.

“We need to talk about what happened earlier.” Michael tenses involuntarily in anticipation of his next words. “I’ve seen guys at the VA get hooked on opioids, just wanting to numb the pain. I know what it looks like, Guerin.” Blunt as ever, that’s his Alex.

Michael wants to argue, to deny and deflect. He knows he can’t though, not after the way he was acting this afternoon. He wants to ask Alex what he expected from the kid who grew up surrounded by addicts. Is it really that much of a surprise that this is where he wound up? He’s too tired to have this conversation right now.

“Tomorrow,” Alex speaks softly, nuzzling into Michael’s curls. His breath is warm against his scalp and his lips brush the skin with a simple kiss that is distinctly not friendly.

Michael settles back into the strong, protective hold. Tomorrow is promising to be a long day of painful revelations and explanations. For now he’ll lean into their connection, let Alex’s presence quiet his mind and accept the peace being in his arms always brings him.

#my fic #malex fic #malex #isobel evans #roswell new mexico #i have stared at this for too long and now i hate it

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nortain · 4 years

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“i was an innocent petal, but with a storm growing inside of me.”

INFORMATION

BASICS:

FULL NAME: ignatia elena demetriou ALIASES: natia, daughter death AGE: 22+ BIRTH DATE: december 16th GENDER: cis female STATUS: newblood

PERSONALITY:

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic good JUNG: entp ENNEAGRAM: type four FOUR TEMPERAMENTS: choleric ZODIAC: sagittarius FIVE POSITIVE TRAITS: alert, bold, resourceful, protective, honourable FIVE NEGATIVE TRAITS: impulsive, impatient, apathetic, stuubborn, haughty

APPEARANCE:

DESCRIPTION: like all of the demetriou clan, ignatia was born with beautiful black hair that every girl in their mountain village was jealous of, but as her ability developed, she unintentionally leeched the colour from her hair, leaving it shock white. she used to leave it down and flowing, but now she keeps it tied back in eccentric braids that her little sister, aloutte, designs. EYES: blue - ish green HAIR: white HEIGHT: 5′4′’ BUILD: slim and petite DEFINING FEATURES: she has a scar that cuts across her right cheek FACECLAIM: emilia clarke

SEXUALITY & PREFERENCES:

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: bisexual, with no preference ROMANTIC PREFERENCE: biromantic, with a slight preference for women

RELATIONSHIPS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single PARENTS: giada floros and elias demetriou ( mother and father, both deceased ) SIBLINGS: lir demetriou ( older brother, deceased ), aloutte demetriou ( younger sister ) CHILDREN: — OTHER FAMILY: jena calla ( maternal aunt, deceased ), efron calla ( maternal uncle through marriage, deceased ), linette calla ( maternal cousin, younger, deceased ) PETS: —

SKILLS:

LANGUAGES: ignatia knows both the common tongue and the ancient language. BATTLE: ignatia doesn't consider any fight that she's in much of a battle at all, considering they all end the same way. EDUCATION: ignatia went on the run before finishing school.

ABILITIES:

LEECHER: leechers like ignatia are newbloods who can siphon the life from plants, animals, and humans. it is believed that this ability could be used in the reverse to push life into something. SIPHONING: ignatia can drain ( or siphon ) from organic matter and orginisims, ranging from plants and animals to humans. as her power grows, she may be able to use this power the opposite way and push life into something, by either bringing back the dead or animating an inanimate object.

BIOGRAPHY:

ignatia demetriou was born into a loving family. that she'd end up killing.

the demetriou family has lived in the mountainous village of adirondax for centuries, even long before the war with the lakelands. and they've always been a quiet family, never stirring up any trouble with the silver guards, always treating them with respect and kindness — not that they were ever treated that way in return. still, the demetrious were nothing but cordial to their silver superiors. and that's exactly how gaida and elias raised lir, ignatia, and aloutte: to be soft, to be kind, to be… weak.

for most of her life, ignatia suffered in silence, wanting to stand up to the injustices the silvers dealt them, but not wanting to upset her meek, subservient parents who she loved dearly. after all, they raised her and kept a roof over her head and made sure her and her siblings always had something to eat, no matter how slight a meal it sometimes was. and, not to mention, they were so frail, she was afraid that they might break if she upset them, so she was careful not to. she lived on her tiptoes.

her father was injured in the war, sent home early with only one arm, but her brother had no such luck avioding the battlefield. when ignatia was fourteen, lir turned eighteen and was on his way to fight with the rest of the eighteen year olds the silver guards had rounded up from their village. ignatia went to hug her brother goodbye… and he dropped to the ground, dead. ignatia can still hear her mother's screams and the silver guards jokes that lir up and died before the lakelanders got a chance to kill him !

it wasn't unil ignatia was hugging her father at her mother's funeral ( whose cause of death was also hugging ignatia ) and he, too, dropped dead, that ignatia realized that they were not dying of weak hearts like the medics hypothosized. they were dying… because of her. too bad she didn't learn her lesson there and then, and it wasn't until she killed her aunt, unclee, and cousin, as well, that ignatia began refusing human touch. she left her girlfriend, and tried to steal away in the night alone, but aloutte — beautiful, stubborn little aloutte — followed her, and she refused to leave her sister.

with the help of mira whistle, they've been able to stay on the run, out of the hands of the silvers, for years because whenever a silver tracked them down, ignatia would just siphon the life from them. it was no big loss to society, ignatia figured. but sweet, gentle hearted little aloutte always insisted on burying them, and ignatia was soft for her baby sister, ( and only for her baby sister ! ) so she could never say no.

mira whistle eventually introduced ignatia to a man named will whistle, who set up a meeting for her with mare barrow — the one and only lightning girl. mare turned out to be forming a newblood army, and said she could help ignatia with her ability, or find someone that could. ignatia agreed to join her on the condition that aloutte, who was not a newblood, could come, too. mare ( and her companion, the exiled prince ) seemed hesitant, but the boy they would later come to know as kilorn, who was already bonding with aloutte, talked them into it. ignatia ( and aloutte ) liked him already.

#♔ about. » ignatia demetriou.

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noctepythonissam · 3 years

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[Bio Info]

Name:

Luane Lopez del Castillo

Aliases:

Lua (by Lygia)

Sis (by Luciana)

Lu (by Bella)

Auntie Lulu (by Catarina)

Ophelia Dolores (Pen Name )

Lunar Order (pseudonym as a witch)

Birthday:

February 12th

Age:

Sign:

Aquarius

Race:

Human

Gender:

Female

Appearance:

Luane in some physical features is no different from Solange: The same golden eyes, pale skin and some facial features, but softer and gentler making her be compared to a muse. She has short wavy hair, her bangs braided to the left side and two strands dyed green, besides being the tallest of all the sisters, being 179 cm tall.

Commonly wearing a blouse with hollow shoulders with social and adorned with a black collar and a black bow tie in addition to other black details and a green pleated skirt in emerald green next to a pair of light beige sandals. In her reading moments or when she is working on her literary works or poetry or in her moments of studying magic she is commonly seen wearing round glasses.

Personality:

Luane conducts herself in a composed manner. She is one of the loveliest Castillo and also sensitive, insightful and generally the voice of reason among the quintuplets until she conflicts with her insecurities about Solange.

Her insecurities are due since childhood to the fact that many family members favored the oldest of the quintuplets who had natural talents while Luane failed miserably in her learning as a user of magic. This makes her feel nothing but a shadow of Solange, just like the stars who name her.

Even with her insecurities Luane loves it or better, she has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, which is evident by the overcrowded collection of books that covers various topics and appreciates the classic and popular arts. Part of this is how to show her commitment and persistence and years of trial and error to receive due merit even if she do not have natural talent.

In addition, she is very fond of animals, defending well-being and pampering them with toys (her favorite animal is cats). She also loves dramas of all kinds, especially detective ones. As a fan of them, she also showed great ability to analyze the situation. Endowed with a high I.Q her skills are comparable to those of a criminal expert and her deductions are generally never wrong. When she is really angry, she can seem severe and unforgiving.

Luane almost constantly hungry she has a voracious appetite capable of rivaling the Avatar of Gluttony and is also a glutton when it comes to sweets (especially macarons) and likes to enjoy them with tea, always participating in afternoon tea as way to enjoy a moment of peace. She considers this moment sacred and does not like to be interrupted in her delight, which makes her sulky if it happens without reasonable justification and is frighteningly violent and unforgiving when she goes into a rampage for some fool to eat her sweets without her permission.

Likes:

Books, dance, cats, sweets, poetry

Dislikes:

Share her sweets

[Biography]

Luane is the fourth oldest daughter of the Castillo family and the second oldest of the quintuplets. She being the complete opposite of her older sister, Luane was born with an affinity for magic White Magic and Order Magic, however, devoid of great magical talents and with difficulties in controlling more basic techniques.

Growing up under the demands and criticism of older members and assisting her older sister with favoritism, Luane had to make up for her lack of talent with a lot of persistence and hard work by earning the deserved (and still frustrating) position as the third best user of magic main family.

Her magic affinity for White Magic comes from the purest sources of energy giving her the ability to help others by healing the individual's mind, body and / or soul. Luane tends to focus on helping others, purifying evil spirits, undoing curses, creating medical potions and respecting all rules about what is prohibited and what is not.

Regarding her Order Magic, Luane is able to manipulate and undo all the damaging effects and changes caused by Solange's Chaos Magic, regardless of what they are and restoring the natural balance. However, in respect of the natural order Luane limited herself to only to healing people and restoring objects that have suffered damage, etc., as long as these were caused by the powers of her older twin sister.

Although her powers are based on order, harmony and purity and the environment of demand and favoritism, the source of all her magic is surprisingly the sin of gluttony that also improves her physical abilities with magic.

Like her sisters she was under the tutelage of some gods of Greek mythology, these being: Mnemosyne goddess of memory and the gods of various attributes Hermes and Apollo. The three gods helped her reach the peak of her powers, but she never failed to be humble and respectful to her mentors. Of all the sisters, she was the only one who shared with Lygia the fact that she was under the tutelage of the same god (Apollo).

Of all the gods who were her tutors, she was closest to Apollo who practically took Luane and Lygia as daughters and being the closest father figure that the young witches had and to Hermes who took on the role of older brother teaching them several of his gifts and who likes to play tricks on the human while Mnemosyne was the maternal figure in her life.

Luane cooperates with Stephanie to try to keep the family together and also to hide the Castillo in the modern world, for this she opened a chain of cafeterias in the Cat Café style to also rescue stray cats or victims of abuse and where she exposes her work as writer and poet under the pseudonym of writer Ophelia Dolores never relating publicly to her "character".

[Personal information]

Family:

Mother (deceased)

Father (deceased)

Cleo (older half sister)

Stephanie (older sister)

Luane (younger twin sister)

Lygia (younger twin sister)

Luciana (younger twin sister)

Bella (younger twin sister)

Catarina (niece)

Others:

Miriel (family housekeeper)

Hermes (tutor)

Mnemosyne (tutor, maternal figure)

Apollo (tutor, father figure)

Kiyomi (best friend)

Trivia

She and the quintuplets did not have a relationship with their parents, because her mother died in childbirth and her father was murdered by an envious rival;

Although she does not have many talents related to magic and under the influence of Apollo's tutelage, Luane became adept with a bow and arrow;

She also practices ballroom dancing, Latin dancing and knows some wrestling moves;

Kiyomi's best friend is Apolo's biological daughter, born out of the god's relationship with a Tennyo;

Despite being a glutton that rivals the Avatar of Gluttony and she is constantly hungry and a large intake of food, Luane has a much healthier physique than expected thanks to her love for dance and her wresteling practices;

Due to the influence of sin that is the source of her magic, there is a negative effect on her that causes an eating disorder that was named by Hermes "Limos" in reference to the entity that represents hunger in Greek mythology;

“Limos” is the state in which she is obsessively in relation to a particular sweet, leading her to an irrational state and increasing her physical strength compared to that of Beelzebub;

While she is in this state, she will destroy everything in her path (including her own sisters) only calms down once her desires are satisfied and does not retain any memory of her actions during her rampage.

#Luane Lopez del Castillo

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xxprincessjewelsxx · 7 years

Text

A Dangerous Game (Suho Mafia!au fic) Chapter 21 - What Do You Want From Me?

Warnings: Violence

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15(M), Ch. 16, Ch. 17(M), Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20 Ch. 21, Ch. 22, Bonus Chapter

“She’s been taken...”

~Minseok~

As everyone practically tumbled into the penthouse behind a calm looking Minseok. He walked over to Suho who was still trying to calm the sobbing Jinwoo.

“What did you mean by ‘she’s been taken’?” he questioned.

Junmyeon looked at him worry written all over his friend’s face. “When I got back to the building there were those pizza boxes on the ground in the lobby along with her wallet and when I got up here Jinwoo was crying and said that Y/N went to go pay for the food and never came back around the time that his cartoons started...which is around four.”

“She’s been gone for three hours?” Jongdae questioned.

“Apparently...” Junmyeon said.

“Have any ideas who might have done this?” Chanyeol questioned, already popping his knuckles in anticipation of hearing the man he was going to be beating the ever loving shit out of.

“I have a feeling I know who did this...and I also think I know someone who might come in handy when trying to get Y/N back...”

~Y/N~

Who took me?

What did they want?

When would they let me go (if they did)?

Where am I?

Why did they take me?

Those were all questions that I had swirling around in my head as I hung by my wrists, feet barely touching the ground, with a blindfold over my eyes. I could just make out voices as they whispered around the room I was in; there were at least three men there, maybe four.

One of the voices I recognized right away. He could try and whisper as quietly as he wanted, but he was a dirty and despicable man with a voice that was all to familiar to me...

Kim Kitae...

He was my father’s right hand man. Looking at him from afar you would thing he was a suave older business man who probably went to work and then went home to a wife and probably had a couple of grown children. This was not the case if you knew him. He was a brutal man; man, woman, child he didn’t care who you were if you got in his way he would get you out of his way.

Not to mention this is the man that is the cause of me being used as a pawn. It’s not a big secret what happened, my father had a fling with my mother, she got pregnant, he wanted nothing to do with me, she was dying and when I was born she left me on his door step and even though my father wanted to get rid of me, Kitae knew I could be used as a pawn.

And here I am...

The blindfold was pulled from my face and I was face to face with that despicable man. It took me every ounce of self-control that I had not to spit in his face.

“It’s lovely to see you again little Y/N...” he said with a smirk.

‘Little Y/N’ He always called me that, even in my teens and into adulthood, and it wasn’t in an endearing way like some people might call a child. He called me that because he saw me as weak and pathetic.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I invited you here today...” he said.

“You use the term ‘invite’ very loosely,” I deadpanned.

Smack

Did I mention he was just as much of an abusive bastard as my father was?

“I will not tolerate any attitude from you!” he snapped.

And easy to anger...the man was a ticking time bomb. I always wondered if there would be a day when his head actually exploded. But I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him; of course I was scared of the situation I was in, I mean I did want to live and I had responsibilities as moth...as a guardian of a small child who I...

My heart suddenly dropped to the pit of my stomach; just earlier I had promised Jinwoo that I wouldn’t leave him and then I go and disappear. Was Junmyeon back at the penthouse yet? Was anyone?

Now...now I was scared. But it made me even more determined to get out of this situation alive; maybe Junmyeon was right. Maternal instincts do kick in when a small child is near.

“What do you want from me?” I questioned.

“From you? Nothing...the only thing you have been and ever will be good for is as proof of a territory deal between the Lee Mafia and another. Not only that the only thing women are ever good for are sex and having children.”

You see why he’s despicable? He’s rotten to the core like a bad apple except he’s a whole barrel of rotten apples so you just have to throw them in the trash before they stink up the place and-

“I was hoping that your father would choose my son Hanbin, him and his boys are slowly making a name for themselves in the underworld and I would’ve hoped he’d want to keep things in the family...so to speak,” he said.

“Soooo you’re upset that he made a contract with Suho instead of your son?” I questioned, “This is your drastic way of saying ‘I object’?”

“Your father was drunk when he made that decision, but he’s a man of his word and decided that it would be a good business move,” he said with a scoff, “The leader of EXO and his members are nothing but-oomph.”

Before I could stop myself I kicked him in the stomach. “Don’t you dare insult them!”

“You miserable little bitch!” he snapped before punching me in the stomach, “I will insult whoever the hell I want, including those no good, lowly sewer rats of EXO!”

“So much anger...I guess you really are angry that my father married me off to Suho instead of your son...” I said, my stomach aching, “But I still don’t get what you want.”

“I was Suho dead...once he’s dead the deal will be off and-”

“Are you sure?” I questioned.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you sure...the deal will be off?” I asked.

“You two aren’t married so-”

“Did you see the contract?”

He went silent at the mention of this.

“I’ll take that as a no...”

~Junmyeon~

“You owe me after this,” Leo said through his mic.

“I didn’t figure I would be getting out of this with just us shaking hands and going our separate ways...” Junmyeon remarked, “Where are you anywhere.”

“Where I can see you but you can’t see me,” Leo stated, “And where I can see into the warehouse....there’s four inside but there’s two at the door.”

“Can you see her?” Junmyeon questioned.

There was silence and Junmyeon heard Leo gulp before he answered. “Yes.”

~Y/N~

“I will not tolerate your lies!” Kitae yelled as he punched me over and over. I gave him information that was, in fact a lie, but I was hoping that he would leave to go see if the information was correct or not. Fifty/fifty chance that failed and that consciousness that I had regained was slowly going away. “Did you really think that I was stupid enough to grab you without doing my homework?!”

“Well...you’re not the smartest man I’ve ever met,” I quipped, resulting in a knee to the gut.

“Once Suho is dead then the territory in back in Lee Mafia hands...and...you aren’t married, which means via the contract you are back in the hands of the Lee Mafia as well...and I you can be married off to my son...” he stated.

“And what does my father have to say about your little plan? Does he even know how much you object to this?” I questioned.

“Oh he knew how much I objected to you getting married to Suho...and no he doesn’t know about my plan, and he never will. Because your father is dead...”

My eyes widened in shock at this. “Dead?”

“I always thought it would be his liver that finally took him, turns out his heart decided to go out first,” he said.

Trying to process this information I finally figured out what was going on and why he was so determined to kill Suho. “This isn’t about the contract...this isn’t even about the territory...right now you’re the temporary head of the Lee Mafia...but if Suho and I get married...”

The look on Kitae’s face was one of disgust, he knew what I was about to say and he didn’t even want to hear those words.

“He’d become the knew head of the Lee Mafia...”

To Be Continued...

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thakurtho · 4 years

Text

Coming to terms with death

My rendevouz with death happened comparatively late in life. Usually, kids do exposed to death and I wonder how they process it. I am just grateful that I was old enough to process it. However, it was a journey to really come to terms with it.

My paternal grandfather’s death was the first one I experienced. Throat cancer. I was doing my post graduation by then I think. My parents had moved to Delhi. He had started living with them for proper cancer treatment. He was an avid reader all his life. A political science professor. Towards his end, the glaucoma in his eyes prevented him from reading. That’s when he started losing his battle. He was anyway quite old to fight this battle. But in one of those interactions, I remember him confiding in me and saying ‘I don’t want to die’. I found it strange. He was in his late 70s. He still had that much attachment that he wanted to just live through this painful cancer. It made me think. Are people ever ok with dying?

The second death I experienced was an untimely one. My paternal uncle. A freak medical ignorance case. It changed my father for good because he could never learn to forgive himself for being a doctor but not being able to protect his younger brother from death. But it was the first time I saw my father so broken that he was completely dysfunctional. I had to do things which normally he would have done. He took the call of removing my uncle from the life support after he was declared to be brain dead. He did that from home. He didn’t have the strength in him to come to the hospital. Everyone was a wreck. I went in to the NICU. I stood by my uncle, alone, when they pulled the plug. I did it to ‘see’ death. I wanted to see how life finally leaves the physical form. In his scenario, it was painless since he was gone before that. It was surreal. I didn’t know how to react. I remember being this hyper functional person when he was brought back home for cremation. I had very short bouts of tears. I was mostly running around figuring out the arrangements, making lemonade for all who couldn’t stop crying and ensuring that they didn’t get dehydrated.

My parents dogs died after that. I didn’t go back home for that. I feel bad about that now. I should have. But I am certain I acted with that knowledge then and that little nag is what taught me the lesson in life & death perhaps.

However, it was the year 2015 when I finally came to terms with death.

My maternal grandfather, who I was very close to, hadn’t been keeping well towards the end of 2014. I kept ignoring it for a while - I thought it was the usual old people sick thing. In Jan 2015, I decided to go pay him a visit. He was admitted to the hospital for the first time that day when I landed. I visited him. I played music for him. He asked me to play Marie’s her name by Elvis. I had all Elvis songs aside of that on my phone. I went back after 3 days. I thought he would get better. He hardly left the hospital after that. I remember the last time I spoke to him was in the midst of my theater practise. I was telling him about the play I was doing - Vagina Monologues. My nana was way too progressive for his times. And then, some days later, I got a call saying he is pretty much comatose. I went to visit him in the hospital. He wasn’t there. His body was, but he wasn’t conscious. He would have some bouts of what seemed like visions to me. His face would get twisted and eyes would roll like he was seeing the light. I put my pendant under his pillow in the hope of sending some energy. I left Calcutta. The night I landed back in Bangalore, he was gone. Midway during my flight I suppose. I didn’t go for his cremation. I went 13 days later for the other function that happens. I don’t know why I did it. But I did. Thankfully, my family didn’t judge me for it.

Sometime later, around August, my pregnant cat Leia, fell down my 3 floor balcony. I didn’t realise it. I was in my car, getting out of my house, and I suddenly looked right - for no real reason. And the reason was ofcourse to find my Leia hurt very badly. I picked her up, put her on my lap and started driving straight for the vet. I was beyond myself during that drive. I took Shinoy with me so I could be calm. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I didn’t see her missing. Could I have found her earlier? She got operated. Her children didn’t make it. She couldn’t survive the fall. I was alone at the vet all day through her surgery. I remember coming back to office for a bit, our biggest client till date got closed on that day. I went back. They asked me what I wanted to do with the body. I didn’t know. They said they could bury her by the tracks somewhere. I said ok. I didn’t know if there was anything I could do better. I lived in guilt. Of not noticing that my child was missing that morning when I fed the rest of them.

Later that year in Nov, I moved in to this house that I live in currently. Leia’s sibling, Luke, was an active little boy. I came to this house so that my cats could go out of the house. I found it cruel to keep them in an apartment, particularly after Leia’s fall. But what do you know? Luke got hit by a car and died on the road behind my house. My maid came in early morning shouting Luke Luke to me. She speaks only in Tamil, so I couldn’t really get what she was saying, but I was prepared for the worst in that short walk from my house to the road. There he was, splattered. Hit by a truck, perhaps. I asked her to stand there with him. I went back to my house, picked up an old sheet. I came back and picked him up. I coudn’t take him inside my house because I had other beings. So I opened my car, put him in the boot. I asked my office admin to come home with a rake. And then both of us dug up the small mud patch outside my house and put him there. For months after, I couldn’t drive past that part of the road, but I purposely did, in some twisted way of punishing myself. I would drive past to see how long that blood patch of his would be there on the road. I couldn’t forgive myself for moving into this house, and inadvertently causing his death. I had my other cats on the streets. I couldn’t stop worrying if they would meet the same fate. I felt responsible.

By the end of that year, beings really close to me were gone. I think I came to death then. I realised that I was too small in the scheme of life and death to think I could have caused or prevented anything. I absolved myself of all the guilt. I understood that there’s nothing more natural than death. I was always functional around death before that, but now I know the depth of that loss. It has made me appreciate the depth of that presence. I deeply understand that no physical form will pass before its time. When it does, it just will. We as humans don’t have any control over it.

I saw another very close death 2 years later. An uncle of mine - who had been my mausi’s love for 20 years. I dearly loved that man. He was battling blood cancer. I was making a trip to Calcutta to see him because he was sick. 2 nights before my date of travel, my mausi called at 1am. I dread midnight calls for this very reason. He was gone. I felt a jab of regret - of not making it in time. But the day I landed, was the day he came home for cremation. I stood by my mausi through that entire process - when her own children weren’t there. She was alone. And I realised, that is exactly why I was supposed to come. I absolved myself of my guilt. Truth is, things just happen the way they are supposed to. We need to stop beating ourselves for it. Somewhere between 2015 & 2018, my partner’s dog passed. I ensured I went with him to the vet when they euthanised him, even though his own family was there. I went with him to the farm where we lay him. I can’t take away anyone’s grief. But just being physically present for someone at the time when the body passes, is the strength that they need. I have started prioritising travel for death over everything. Everything else can wait, but that one moment in someone’s life has come. And we need to give it the due respect it deserves.

I celebrate life today. I live with the cognisance that anyone I know can die any day. Do I have unsaid things to them? Do I have undone things? Can I do more with every minute that I share with people and beings? I let my dogs sleep in my bed after this year - realising that someday, they will be gone as well. I might as well snuggle as much I can today. Screw the fur in my bed. I mended my relationship with my immediate family and the people in my family I care about. I have Marie’s her name on my phone. We have put a bereavement leave in our HR policy.

Steve Jobs said live like you are going to die tomorrow and ensure you are doing everything that you love before that, everyday. I do that now. Be present. Wherever my life is taking me, I find reason and purpose. I give it what I got. Everything is ephermeral. All we can do is be present while it lasts.

#MySpirituality #GyanDrop

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the-freckle-game-is-strong-blog · 7 years

Text

Letting Off Steam (Creepypasta)

(Ahh, I’m so happy I rewrote this story, it’s like puberty hit it or something. It is vastly better… Downside, finding a writhing format that looks nice either tumblr’s allergic to indents layout is hard)

Delilah Van Grahams was a worrisome woman. Rightly so, many would agree. Her eyes carried more bags than an airport, luggage from her long nights without rest. Every night she had the same routine. First she would tell Riley it was getting late. Despite being sixteen she still needed some coaxing to see herself to Bedfordshire. Then she would come downstairs and stick the kettle on before plonking herself down beside the phone. Sometimes the television would be on, the volume stuck on a dismal five as if anything louder would make her miss a phone call but usually it was not on at all.

She tried not to stress. It was not good for the baby, or so she had been told. Her fingers drummed idly on her four month bump. There was quite an age gap between Delilah’s two children. One sixteen years, one merely sixteen weeks. She had, admittedly, had Riley quite young. Not a teen mother or anything of the sort, mid twenties but youthful enough that she could still now bare more children. Both by the same man, Rylan Blackwood.

Rylan was not the stereotypical idea of the perfect partner. They had never been wed, citing that it was unimportant but finance also being an issue because of reason two. Rylan was unemployed. He had worked dozens of jobs over the last eighteen years of their romance but fate had been cruel and he had never been able to keep a job longer than a few months. Mostly because of his last habit; vanishing.

Rylan had, for as long as Delilah had known him, disappeared. He did this every so often. One day, without warning, he would just take off. He could be gone for less than a day or even months. She would hear little to nothing of him, sparse text messages and occasional letters- If she was lucky. Then when he returned, he could never explain himself. He claimed to genuinely remember nothing. Doctors had suggested some form of selective amnesia but had never been able to provide more than theories.

This was one such instance. Rylan had been gone for weeks now. As usual Delilah had reported his absence to the authorises. As usual, they had not rung her back with the victorious finding of her partner. No. The first few times they had sent out search parties but by now, they had come to the conclusion he would find his way home on his own and that, in fact, this was a cruel trick. He was actually seeing some other woman and this was an elaborate coverup. Delilah scoffed. She knew Rylan better.

While the idea that this had happened countless times before and he had always come home safe reassure her somewhat, it did not totally ease her. No. She continued to wait, anxiously hovering by the phone in case of a call. News of the man she regarded as the love of her life.

“ Mum? ” Riley’s drowsy voice caused Delilah to jump, having not expected her daughter awake. In her paranoid focus on the phone, she had failed to see her entering. She smiled softly at her. The apple of her eye. Dressed in a fluffy pyjama set with just one slipper.

Riley reminded Delilah very much of her father. Her hair for example. At the roots and tips of Riley’s hair where the infrequently and self applied blue hair dye was weakest her natural hair colour was revealed. Ginger, a true redhead, like her dad. She had his freckles as well. Dotted all over her face, torso, arms and legs. Like thousands of tiny blotches of colour splattered from a paintbrush.

That being said, a lot about Riley was clearly inherited from her mother. She shared her skin tone with her mother rather than father. While Rylan was quite pale, Delilah was truly albino and had passed that on to Riley. Her skin was more than milky, like untrodden snow. There was also the matter of her eyes, another of her maternally inherited traits. They were glassy like a low quality gem one might find in cheap jewellery. The lilac tinge to them was soft and only visible in certain lighting. They were odd, yes, but not unheard of for those who suffered albinism.

“ Riley, what are you doing? It’s two in the morning, ” Delilah asked, getting up from her seat with an awkward rock before throwing her weight up. Getting around with a baby bump made even such mundane tasks a nightmare. Wordlessly Riley crossed the cold living room floor, her one slipper squeaking slightly. Lifting up a blanket she had carried from upstairs, she draped it sweetly over her mother’s shoulders.

“ Go to bed, mum, ” Riley insisted after a moment, her voice laced with her Scottish accent, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. Delilah sighed before smiling at her.

“ Sweetie, I can’t, I need to watch the ph- ”

“ Why? Does it do tricks? ” The teenager sassed, quirking a brow. “ Go to bed. There won’t be any phone calls tonight, or any other night. You know that. Dad will come home whenever it suits him.

” I- “ Delilah opened her mouth to protest before swiftly realising that actually Riley was right. She had been doing this for years and there never was anything. The fleeting rings she did get fell into the daylight hours. ” … Alright… “ She agreed, some sense having seemingly been talked into her by her daughter. Riley flashed a toothy grin, showing off the gap between her front two incisors, at the sight of her mother relenting and shuffling back to bed.

” Where have you been? “ Riley’s voice was bitter, laced with venom as she looked over across the dining table, spitefully digging her fork into her chicken nuggets. Delilah turned to see Rylan looking over at them from the doorway, lingering there. His clothing was a mess. Holes and patchwork littering them. He was unshaven, unlike his typical baby face. The bandaging around his arm suggested it had been injured. Not as bad as a break but worse than bruising. A sprain, perhaps?

"Rylan, ” Delilah got to her feet, dropping the plastic baby spoon she’d been using to feed Blossom- The newest addition of the Blackwood family. She gurgled and laughed as she threw her pot of baby mush onto the floor.

“ Dee, ” Rylan responded fondly, rushing forth to pull her into a hug. Delilah felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. When he hadn’t turned up for Blossom’s birth, she had been broken. Surely, sick or not, he understood how important it was? He had been there when Riley was born. Late, yes, he had turned up late and Delilah had already been in full blown labour by the time he turned up to the hospital. He had looked like someone with a vague idea of what Rylan should look like, but had never actually seen him had tried to recreate him from scrap materials. Yet for all he had looked homeless and messy he had been there. This time he had not.

“ Uh, hello? I asked you a question, ” Riley cleared her throat, shoving aside her plate and getting to her feet. Riley was tall, especially for her age, standing at 5'9 which easily dwarfed Delilah but still she fell short of her father’s 6'2.

“ Hey, ginger snap, I missed you… You’ve dyed your hair, ” Rylan comments, walking over to his elder daughter, lifting a hand to take a lock of her choppy hair in his fingers. Riley pulled away briskly.

“ Don’t touch me. Do you have any idea of what you’ve put mum through? Where the fuck have you been? ” Riley demands, her glassy eyes glaring holes in her father.

“ Riley! Language! ” Delilah scolded. Truth be told, she didn’t actually mind Riley swearing. She was an adult, near enough. Who was she to dictate what she could or couldn’t say? But this was her father!

“ No, no… She’s right, let her shout, ” Rylan relents, waving off Delilah’s protests.

“ Damn right I’ll shout! You asshole! Not only did you miss my birthday for the eighth year in a row but you weren’t here. You weren’t here for Blossom! What if something had went wrong? Touch wood, what if? ” Riley snarled, pointing a finger at him accusingly. This seemed to strike a nerve with Rylan.

“ Don’t you go there young lady, you know fine well I can’t co- ”

“ ‘Can’t control it, I’m ill, boo-hoo. Feel sorry for me’ is that what you were going to say? ” She asked, her face scrunched up unattractively, conveying the full extent of her disgust.

“ Oh, you ungrateful bitch! One day you’ll understand and then you’ll… You’ll…. ” Rylan trailed off, pacing, silently fuming.

“ Both of you, stop it! ” Delilah snapped as she rushed over to comfort Blossom who had started to wail.

“ Me? Ungrateful? You’re the one who can’t even get over this stupid amnesia, teenage runaway bullshit for the sake of your family! You’re the ungrateful one! I’ve been here, looking after mum and Blossom. Where the fuck have you been? ” At this point the argument had transitioned to a screaming match. Riley’s voice was even scratchier than usual- She’d suffered from infant coeliac as a baby and it had scarred her for the rest of her days with a particularly shaky voice.

“ I said both of you, sto- ”

Thwack!

Before Delilah could get any further, she let out a gasp. Rylan growled, rolling his shoulders tensely, his fist now balled to his side. Slightly red but not as red as Riley’s left cheek which he’d just smacked. A bright handprint blistered on her skin. Tears began to stream down her face. Delilah was shocked, her stomach churred. Rylan had never lifted a hand to any of them.

“ …I think you should leave, ” Delilah spoke, her voice hoarse, hardly believing she was sending him away just after he’d turned up. Rylan turned to her, blood boiling.

“ Fine! Whatever! I wouldn’t expect you to understand either, ” He snarled, making Delilah jump. Sure they’d argued before, of course but never had he sounded so… Sincerely hateful. Stomping off, the front door slammed behind him. His figure was visible out the window as he stalked off into her street before taking off at full sprint while Delilah cuddled a sobbing Riley while cradling Blossom on her hip.

She loved Rylan but enough was enough.

“ Riley, I know you’re going to your dress up party thing- ” Delilah was cut off before she could get any further.

“ Oh my god, ” Riley exclaimed. “ It’s not 'dress up party thing’, mum, it’s a steampunk convention, ” She corrects, as she adjusts the bow tie around her neck before moving to fiddle with the strap of her goggles.

“ Ah, right, ” Delilah responded, trying to understand. Admittedly, she did not but it made Riley happy and she had not seemed to smile in so long. Things had be rough for the family recently. Riley had been such a great help with Blossom, she was a gem of a girl, so if dressing up a little weirdly not and again pleaded her? Delilah would not stop her. “ But I need to pop to the shops and Blossom’s asleep. Do you mind watching her? ” She inquired.

“ Sure, I guess, but don’t take ages, ” Riley agreed, moving over to look at herself in the hallway mirror, sticking out her tongue thoughtfully before setting her index finger and thumb using her lips before using her spit to flatten down an unruly strand of her hair. Which almost instantly popped back up.

“ Alright, I won’t, ” Delilah agreed, however inevitably time would get away from her.

Upon returning home an hour later, Delilah instantly knew something was wrong. She was not sure what as of yet but it hit her like a truck. Some primal sense that there was something amiss in the home. It sent shivers down her spine, the hairs on her neck standing on end. Yes, she was sure of it, something was very definitely wrong.

Dropping her shopping bags in the hallway, she took a few steps deeper into the house and began to fully understand what the matter was. A nauseous scent clung to the air. Coppery and metallic in nature. It was weak but still made Delilah want to be sick.

“ Riley? ” She called out into the house, her voice echoing. No answer. While the three bedroom semi detached house had felt snug and even claustrophobic in the past it was now a vast mansion and she was calling uselessly into the west wing. That was unlike her daughter. She never ignored her. She clicked her tongue. Was she angry because of how long she had taken at the shop? Delilah wondered, before returning to the previously abandoned shopping bags to lug them into the kitchen

Upon reaching the kitchen, she dropped the bags again. They clunked heavier this time. A white pool began to form around the plastic bags suggesting the milk carton had burst with the force. It pooled in the cracks between the tiles but that was the least of Delilah’s concern.

The kitchen was a complete mess. Utensils were strewn out everywhere. Thrown here and there. Cupboards flung over, a forlorn box of cornflakes was tipped over the side, its contents on the worktop below. Of course there was only one person who could have done this but Delilah could seldom believe her darling daughter, who had been so much of a star these last few months, could do such a thing.

“ Riley! ” Delilah hollered, anger brewing up in her as she began to replace items such as broken bottles and discarded canned food. Among the mess was her sewing kit, spools of thread all thrown around but still there, apart from the red one. Riley had borrowed that for restitching a skirt a while ago and had never returned it. It was probably still in her jacket pocket. However, something else was missing too. Her dress making scissors. She could not see them in the kitchen either, they were easy to spot, being so large. Nearly nine inches long. Not to mention the bright plastic blue handle.

It was only then occurred to Delilah actually, what if they’d been broken into? She could not see any clear point of entry but that did not mean it had not happened. Fear set upon her again, overcoming her like a tide on the beach before she rushed for the stairs to check upstairs for any further damage- And for her daughters.

This was when the smell began to get worse, encroaching on her sense of smell, causing her to gag as she pressed on. What was that!? It stunk to the high heavens and the house certainly had never had any such pungent odours before she went shopping.

Her feet, which were bare now having toed off her shoes and socks when she had first got home, made contact with something aside from the carpet of the stairs. It was soft. Squishy. It was rounded before it popped under her weight and a lukewarm fluid was released underfoot. She stopped to look down, confused for a moment as to what it was. A white circle mashed into the carpet, with a grey ring and a little punk tail… Was that… An eyeball? Delilah screamed as the optic nerve tickled her toes, causing her to lose her footing, going tumbling back down the stairs. Her head collided roughly with the floor and she was out in seconds.

Upon waking up, Delilah groaned in pain as she feebly sat up. She could feel a warm liquid on the back of her head and neck. Blood she assumed, she had likely split her head open from the floor. She was surprised she had woken up at all. Even small head wounds could be fatal… But there was something else. That copper scent from earlier was stronger and now it finally dawned on her. It was blood. She could smell her own blood matting her hair but earlier on it had been the same- And she had not been bleeding then.

Remembering the eye, the first thing Delilah did was throw up. Her body trembled as she turned to empty the contents of her stomach onto the floor. No way she imagined it. That had been someone’s optic nerve. The familiar grey colour suggested who to her- But she could not consider that. She refused to believe it.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she got to her feet to look around. That in itself was hard. The room was incredibly dark. All of the curtains and blinds had been shut, banishing the natural sunlight and the lights were out. She stumbled to the light switch- Only for nothing to happen. Someone had killed the lights. She was not naive enough to believe a power outage was a mere coincidence in a time like this.

Rushing instead to the front door, she rattled on the handle but no luck. It was locked and when she searched for the keys on the table in the entrance way, where she always put them, they were gone.

As the panic and confusion began to set in she frantically checked her pockets for her phone- To provide contact to the outside world or even just a light. It was gone.

Turning to the curtains, she yanked on the nearest ones. They put up some resistance. On closer inspection it seemed they had been duct taped to the wall but the adrenaline made her strong enough to pull the curtains free, tearing the wallpaper the tape was attached to in the process.

It was dusk now and there was very little light outside. The stray beams of half sunlight, half moonlight that filtered in only very slightly illuminated the room and only the half that was nearest the window. Yet that was enough to terrify Delilah.

Covering the walls were red handprints, like a macabre mocking of mischievous children. Delilah knew what it was but it made it easier for her to block it out and think of it as red paint, as frightened tears soaked her face. They were everywhere, apart from one area. One space on the wall had been left be. Instead of handprints, a haphazard drawing of some trees had been inked there. It was messy, clearly done with fingers as the main applicator. Hidden among the cluster was a tall man, drawn as willowy as the woods around him. He wore a suit and lacked a face.

Delilah had to get out of here. As weak as she felt right now, she threw herself at the window, banging on it trying to shatter the glass before another thought caught up to her. In her hysteria she had forgotten about her daughters. Her breathing hitched in her throat.

Turning around, she tried to collect herself. She did not know what was going on but if there was even a slim chance her girls were alive in this twisted mockery of what used to be the family home, she he had to find them.

“ Ri… Riley? ” Delilah called into the darkness. There was no point calling for Blossom, she was just a baby, she couldn’t respond. For a moment, there was only silence. And then there was a whimper from somewhere above her, a broken cry.

Without another thought Delilah raced to the abyssal ascent that was the stairway. Thoughts of the disembodied eye clouded her conviction for a moment. Mayhap it would be safer to escape? Run to the neighbours and call the police first? But no, she decided, by then something dreadful could have happened. She needed to get upstairs.

Gathering her courage, she began the climb, taking the stairs slowly. The light from the window did not reach this face and she was staring into endless shadow. She tried to avoid stepping on the eye again but devoid of light as it were, it was impossible. She flinched as the ball of her foot touched the moist residue, most of the fluid had dried into the carpet but it made it no less disgusting. Her head felt fuzzy and she pressed on before she could repeat her fall from earlier.

Delilah felt breathless as she reached the top, despite having climbed a mere twelve or so steps. The stink up here was worse, more concentrated. She had to heave for breath, panting, unable to take air through her nose. The aroma of awful was just too much to bear. Her lips felt dry. Be it due to using her mouth to sustain her lungs or do to the horrifying reality of her situation.

The first room she came to was Riley’s. The door was slightly askew and opened all the way with a slight creak of protest but it was too dark to see anything. “ Riley? ” Delilah whisper-shouted, but the only sound she could hear this time was her own laboured breathing.

Somewhere behind her a light came on.

Delilah flinched instinctively before spinning to look behind her. Squirming under the tiny cracks in the closed doorway, it shone like a halo around the door but the guiding silhouette did nothing to calm her. How was that light on when she had already checked that the power was out?

Creeping closer to the door, she could feel her heart hammer in her chest. Her footfalls on the creaky floor sounded like an avalanche and she was frighteningly aware of how obvious she was. Whoever, or whatever, was beyond that door knew she was here. Tears streamed down her face, ghosting her lips and leaving a salty taste. Why was she putting herself through this? Her common sense screamed to run away as fast as her jittery legs would carry her but she could not. One thing was more important than her life.

Her daughters.

Fear could only restrain her so much when her mother’s love was called to action. Delilah did not typically consider herself to be any braver than the average person but she did think she had more to lose. Maybe it would be more sensible to make a break for it and have the authorities deal with it- But she fell into that age old trap of refusing to feel helpless. She had to be the one to do something. She could not trust anyone else with the safety of the two people most important to her.

Her hand hesitated, hovering just above the handle before grasping it; the metal cold in her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if it made any difference in such dim light. With a small amount of force she pushed the door open. It swung easily round to tap against the wall, giving a whine of protest. As it peeled back to reveal what lay beyond, Delilah became aware of a soft dripping noise. Like a leaky tap.

At first she was not sure what she was looking at. On the floor lay the unrecognisable tangle of… A baby doll? One of Blossom’s toys. Its form was twisted, legs forced up behind it over its shoulders, while one of its arms was missing. Its little pink dress was destroyed, now barely scraps of material hanging from its form. Her hair had been chopped off and littered the floor around her. Red thread had been wrapped around its plastic body. A flashlight was positioned beside it; the light source.

“ What the fu… ” Delilah trailed off, unsure what this morbid display before her was supposed to be. She drew closer, paranoia growing. It was just a doll, she told herself and she needed that flashlight. Bending beside it, her hands shakily grabbed for the light, her nerves making her grip weak and the torch slippery. It took three attempts to pick it up.

She felt breathless, her chest growing tight. Her knuckles turned white, holding the torch with an iron grip. Suddenly she became aware of the dripping noise again. Delilah whimpered and jumped backwards, snapping to turn the light of the torch in the direction of the noise with a swift motion. There was a speck of ooze on the doll’s near bald head. A red spot that slowly began to droop and run down its lifeless face. She hadn’t noticed it before because of the poor visibility and the red thread, but there many similar splotches.

Drip.

Suddenly another hit the plastic skull.

Drip drop.

Another two. Slowly Delilah shakily turned her torch upwards. What she saw made her shriek like a banshee, wailing in a hysterical mixture of terror and disgust. More tears hit her face, splashing off of her face to the floor. Her flashlight hit the floor with a loud thump, the force separating the head from the body, the batteries escaping their prison and killing the only light she had. In the darkness it would be impossible to reassemble it.

The image was seared into Delilah’s mind, like an imprint of the back of her eyes. The room light had swung back and forth, the light shade having been removed. What she at first thought was a red rope had been twisted around the light, lowered down to another dismembered doll. Wrapped around its little neck and torso. Like the other an arm was missing but the legs this time merely hung limp, pointed to the floor. The hair was matted but remained in place. The stomach had been slashed open and an eyeball was missing from its porcelain face. Then Delilah came to the horrid realisation.

It wasn’t a doll.

Seeing the tiny corpse strung up by its own intestines, Delilah felt the bitter taste of the lining of her stomach bubble up in her throat before retching. There was only one person such a petite cadaver could belong to… And to accept that would drive Delilah off the brink into insanity. It was much easier to pretend it was another broken toy.

Somewhere in the darkness, someone laughed. An evil, brutal cackle that echoed off the walls, carrying its malice. Like a hyena fresh from a kill. It was only then that it occurred to Delilah that flashlights cannot be turned on remotely, yet it had been turned on while she was just outside and there was only one exit to this room.

She was not alone.

Scrambling around in the light emptied room, desperately searching for the parts of the torch on her hands and knees, she cursed herself for being so stupid. Her hand frantically brushed over a battery which she snatched up.

However then something collided with her face, hard, knocking her to her back as she let out a cry. Then like she was suddenly on an operating table, a bright light was shone in her face, temporarily stunning and blinding her. Her attacker chortled again. The flick of a switch sounded and the light was gone, leaving her in terrifying darkness. The message was clear. She was not to look for the torch.

They were toying with her, Delilah realised, panting.

For a moment she paused on the floor, gathering her bearings before pushing herself to her feet. She hesitated for a second, waiting to see if another hit came. Nothing. She struggled, rushing forward and bumping into the wall. Slowly she inched around the room, using it to guide her to the doorway which she eventually found.

Out in the hallway she could see the glimmer of light from the window downstairs. The thought that the outside world still existed beyond this madhouse was somewhat comforting.

There were only two other rooms upstairs. Her and Rylan’s shared bedroom and the bathroom. She could not think for the life of her why she would go to her bedroom at a time like this when the bathroom, with its perfectly good lock, was an option. She could have ventured downstairs to break the window and follow through with her original plan but fear derailed any logical train of thought. Her primal instinct to shelter herself somewhere secure and wait for the storm to pass, as unlikely as that was, won out any other wishes.

Finding her way to the bathroom with the help of the downstairs lighting and the wall, she stumbled in. She slammed the door and swiftly jammed the lock shut, bolting out the outside world- But that included the small amount of light she’d had.

Flinging her body back against the door, she gasped. For the first time in hours she felt a sliver of safety. Her breathing began to steady to a regular pattern. Her adrenaline began to waver, bringing attention to the stinging feeling on her cheek and the throbbing at the back of her head.

Squeak!

Delilah flinched. What was that? Searching for any possible source of the noise, trying to keep calm whole she determined whether it came from outside or in the bathroom.

Then there was light. Not like before not a bright, dizzying spotlight to the eyes. A lighter. Just a little flicker of fire. Then another. A tea light, just bright enough to return Delilah’s minimal sight. As her panic began to set in again, the first thing she caught sight of was the bathroom mirror and her own dimly light face. A bright mark adored her cheek, the pattern making it easy to guess it was from the bottom of a boot. A gift from her attacker earlier on.

Then her gaze snapped to the source of the light. Lounging in the bathtub, waving around a tea light in one hand and rubber ducky in the other, one leg hanging out of the tub was her daughter. Still clad in her convention outfit. Her top hat was squint, pushed to the front of her head, her goggles holding it up from tilting any further forward and falling.

“ Fancy a bubble bath? ” She inquired, her grip on the bath toy tightening slowly to release a long, depressed squeal from it.

“ Riley! ” Delilah exclaimed in an whisper-shout. “ What are you doing in there? ” She asked, while Riley gently rocked the foot she had hanging out of the tub back and forth. As if she had not a care in the world.

“ …Having a bath? ” Riley responded nonchalantly, throwing the rubber duck to the other end of the bath and setting the candle down on the edge of the bath before getting to her feet. Her boots thumped on the floor as she hopped out. “ What else am I doing in the bath? ” She asked with a voice full of attitude.

“ Because- ” Delilah began loudly before lowering her voice. “ Because for a start you’re fully clothed and two, there is someone in this house trying to kill us, ” She said, placing her hands on Riley’s shoulders trying to shake some sense into her daughter. Even for as odd as her girl could be, surely she could grasp the gravity of the situation?

“ Well, yeah, ” Riley’s response came with typical teenage boredom. Like a nineteen year old trying to explain the Internet to their ageing parents.

“ What do you mean 'yeah’? ” Delilah responds, fussing. “ Did they hurt you? Are you alright? ” She asks, her hand moving down slightly and catching onto something sticky on her daughter’s outfit. Her shirt was wet and the red colour was only barely visible in the dark. “ Oh my god- Are you alright? ” She gasps, as the half dried blood clings to her fingers.

“ Huh? ” Riley responds looking down before flashing a grin. “ Oh? That. Don’t worry. It’s not mine. ”

Delilah was engulfed in emotion for a moment, first relief that Riley was safe. Then confusion, who’s blood was it then if not hers? And then finally, the horrid realisation hit her.

“ …No! ” She gasped, as she staggered away from her daughter, grabbing frantically for the lock. As she struggled with the small bolt, Riley snickered behind her. With a great exertion of her remaining strength Delilah managed to force the door open, at the cost of slicing open the skin on the the side of her hand open.

Delilah whimpered as she rushed out of the room, shaking her now blooded palm as she rushed into the hallway, the warmth of her needed fluid spilling out against her skin causing her to shiver. As she bolted for the stairway, she glanced behind her for a single moment. Riley stood there, in the doorway of the bathroom, candle in hand having retrieved it from the edge of the bathtub. Her maniacal smile was barely illuminated in the dim light. She raised her opposite hand and pinched the wick with her index finger and thumb- Extinguishing the light. Plunging upstairs into darkness once more.

Racing downstairs, Delilah stumbled in her haste and gravity did the rest, causing her to slip forward and rather ungracefully descend the stairs for the second time today. She landed on her front this time, winding herself, knocking the air from her lungs. She wheezed, panting as she crawled forward, her nails scratching the floor as she drove herself forward to the wall. Tearing the handprinted wallpaper as she tried to return to her feet, she cried out, as a pain shot through her ankle.

Looking down the nauseous feeling in her stomach returned at full force. Her left ankle was twisted in an unnatural fashion and trying to support weight upon it was met only with agony.

Limping towards the window, doing her best to avoid using her left leg as much as possible, she paused and huffed as she tried to steel herself and ignore the multitudes of pain coursing through her. She was starting to feel dizzy, the amount of blood she had lost starting to take its toll on her.

Yet it seemed she could not catch a break. She could heard footsteps coming from the upstairs hallway. Boots stomping. Slow and loud. Taunting her again, letting her know she was coming, like a lamb who knew the butcher was only just beyond the relative safety of its pen.

Why her? Why did it have to be Riley? She was a good kid! She got decent grades in school, did all she could to help around the house and only very rarely got into fist fights with other students. Had she missed something? Had she overlooked some sort of mental health issue? No, she thought, trying to keep focussed as her vision spun before her like a carousel. She was a tentative mother, of that she was sure. She had been there to fuss when the school had referred her to a specialist to have her diagnosed with ADHD. She had been there. If there was some deep seated psychological reason, she would know.

The footsteps banged on the stairs, beginning to get closer, telling Delilah she had a limited time to come up with a plan of action. Banging on the glass of the window, she screamed in frustration. She could sense Riley lurking in the shadows of the hallway.

Growing more and more hysterical, she began to ram the window with the full force of her shoulder. An amused 'heh’ alerted her Riley was in the room with her, barely a few steps away, taking her time, leisurely strolling across to Delilah. Trapped, like a fish in a barrel.

Finally, the glass began to break under the force, a small dent beginning to stretch into a line. The possibility of smashing the window becoming more and more real.

Yet it was already too late. The sharp sound of metal scraping metal made Delilah turn. Riley stood directly behind her, face inches from hers, wielding her mother’s stolen dress making scissors. Slowly opening them before snapping them shut again. Some of Blossom’s now dried blood blunted them ever so slightly. Delilah realised Riley had not been taunting her, or trying to work her to panic. She had merely been taking her time to clean her weapon. This threatening gesture was intended to remove the last of the crusty red and sharpen her blade.

“ 'Sup, ” Riley chirped before thrusting her scissors into the right side of her mother’s stomach. Delilah flinched, her hands snapping to Riley’s wrist and white knuckling her, screaming in anguish as she tried to defend herself. Trying to shove Riley back however seemed in vain, her daughter was much better built than she and easily overpowered her, driving the scissors through her body and piercing an exit wound on the skin of her back.

“ No, no, stop! ” Delilah screeched, squirming, as she fell back against the window, hearing it crack more against her weight but not enough to give out. Riley flashed an evil sneer, twisting the scissors, niggling her insides and tearing through human flesh like butter. Delilah felt like she was on fire, the pain rushing through her from her head, her hand, her side, her leg. “ P-Please! Stop! ”

Riley ripped the scissors free, causing more damage as she did so. Delilah sobbed in a mixture of terror and anguish. Her blood splattered the semi broken window behind her like a morbid stain glass painting.

“ What’s wrong? I arrange all this mother-daughter bonding and you don’t even appreciate it? Ungrateful! ” She snapped, as Delilah’s vision began to fade.

“ Why, ” She gasped at her daughter, reaching out a weak hand to her. “ Why would you… ” She trailed off, as Riley pocketed her pilfered scissors and took her mother’s outstretched hand in hers, squeezing it. A motion that might have been affectionate, reassuring even, if not for the context of their situation and the extra pain it caused in Delilah’s injured hand.

“ I understand what daddy meant now, ” Riley tells her, turning her gaze upwards to the drawings on the wallpaper. Her gaze seeming to linger on the painting of the faceless man.

“ Ri… Ril- ” Delilah stuttered, her voice escaping her as she slumped against the window, sliding to the floor. Riley went with her, lowering herself, crouching before her.

“ Shh, shh, it’s okay… Go ahead, you can rest now, it’s over for you, ” Her daughter’s scratchy voice whispered, their hands still holding onto one another, fingers intertwined.

Delilah was already so far gone, she was barely aware of the revolver being lifted to her head.

Bang!

A few weeks later, Rylan was sipping his coffee, his eyes never leaving the broadsheet newspaper in front of him. He had been nursing this hot beverage for long enough it had went cold but in a cozy, backwater truck stop in the middle of no where like this? Nobody bothered him over it.

He had always known it was a possibility this would happen. A very probably one in fact. The question had merely been by who’s hand. Yet, reading about Delilah and Blossom’s gruesome end still stirred deep sentimentality in him. Still, they had served their purpose. As had he. His time was limited now. He would be replaced soon- Discarded.

The bell on the door tinkled alerting the sparsely populated diner someone else had entered. Rylan heard them brush off a waitress, telling them to give her a moment. He glanced up slightly.

“ You know, you’re inconspicuous as fuck in that outfit, ” He grumbled, as his daughter took a seat across from him. “ You’re supposed to be laying low. ”

“ 'You’re supposed to be laying low’, ” She mimicked sassily. “ Fuck off, Snitch, ” She grunted, addressing him by his alias rather than his proper name, despite knowing it full well. She shivered, clearly cold, pulling her tailcoat close. “ This place is fucking freezing, ” She grumbled before picking up Rylan’s coffee, taking a long gulp before beginning to choke up. “ Fucking hell! That’s cold, how can you drink that swill? ”

“ Will you be quiet? You’re causing a scene, ” Rylan warned her lowly, the few other cafe goers risking glances at the unusual pair.

“ See, the thing is, to cause a scene you need a crowd and unless you hadn’t noticed, we might as well be in the Sahara, ” She retorts. Rylan snorts, turning up his nose at her.

“ …You been given a name? ” He asks simply moving on. She flashed a toothy grin, glancing over as one of the waitresses tried to perform a hushed phone call. As Rylan had suspected, his daughter’s over-the-top getup had given them away almost instantly, sticking out like a sore thumb. It would hardly be a tricky police line up.

“ Aye, ” She told him, lifting her revolver and firing without looking. In the last few weeks, her skills had already been honed. Trained by the tough lifestyle and the threat of death in the face of failure.

Someone screamed, as the waitress’ brain was turned to mush with the impact of the bullet before spraying across the wall.

“ Bullseye, ” The girl let out a low self-impressed whistle. “ Three sixty no scope that shit! ”

“ Nice shot but don’t be an idiot. So, name? ” Rylan pressed, guiding her attention back to his question, as people began running from the truck stop, screaming bloody murder. In such a secluded country corner, the duo could take their time. Any law enforcement would be at least ten minutes this far out in the sticks.

“ Steampunk, don’t wear it out, ” She told him as she clicked the safety of the revolver back on and holstered it again.

“ …You’ll be…. An interesting proxy. I’m sure he’ll be watching you very closely. ”

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #slenderman #proxy #Creepypasta Steampunk #horror #short story

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callxthexmidwife · 7 years

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Hi! I just started watching ctm, literally tonight, but I love it already! I don't know much about the show, any chance you could fill me in on current storylines/characters, generally how the show works and also good blogs to follow? Thank you! x

Hey anon, welcome to the fandom! I’ll try to explain everything as best as I can, but this could get quite long so buckle up :) Under a read more cos this got ridiculous... :P

So the show is set in the late 50s/early 60s (we’re in series 6 which is 1962 now) in the East End of London, specifically Poplar. As you’ve probably gathered, it’s about the midwives who serve the area, some of which are nuns (although that is not a requirement). They live in Nonnatus House and are collectively known as the Nonnatuns. There’s also Doctor Turner who has a medical surgery/maternity home which his wife Mrs Turner also works at.

So, characters:

First, there are the nuns. Sister Julienne is the nun in charge. She’s wise and quite motherly and keeps the ship afloat. Sister Monica Joan is a nun who used to be a midwife years ago. Now she has dementia and likes gardening and quoting poetry and causing mischief. And cake. She loves cake. There’s Sister Winifred who is much younger and extremely enthusiastic about everything. She’s the one doing the dentist stuff and learning to drive. She can occasionally be a bit annoying but is pretty good with children. And Sister Mary Cynthia was the nun in the mental hospital. She used to be a regular midwife before becoming a nun a while back. She was attacked last series which has triggered her depression. She’s just so nice and everyone loves her. Trixie would probably fight people for her.

Then there are the non-nun midwives. Trixie has been there since series 1 and always looks like she’s come from a fashion show. She had problems with alcohol abuse last series but goes to AA meetings and we’re all proud of her. She also loves her Keep Fit classes and drags poor Barbara along too. Barbara is very sensible and innocent and is recently engaged to Tom the vicar. Patsy is normally here; she’s the ginger one but at the moment she’s in Hong Kong with her dying father but everyone loves her and she had a bad childhood in a concentration camp in Singapore. She’s also gay and her girlfriend is Delia Busby. Delia is small and Welsh and cute but fierce. She had an accident at the end of series 4 that we don’t talk about because it’s too painful. They’re literally the cutest. Still haven’t kissed yet. No justice in this world. Phyllis Crane is a brick. She’s older than the others but just as fun and has many stories that you would not expect. She’s the mum friend. Valerie Dyer is new and we’re still figuring out what we think of her.

There’s the Turner family comprised of Dr. Turner, Mrs Turner, Timothy and Angela with a new baby on the way. Mrs Turner used to be Sister Bernadette (hence the ship name ‘Turnadette’) but is most definitely not a nun anymore. She’s still a midwife and works in the maternity home a lot. She had TB years ago which makes her pregnancy complicated (and unexpected) and they adopted Angela. Timothy is sassy af and very smart, Angela is literally an angel and hates squirrels.

There are other characters, such as Tom the vicar and Fred and Violet Buckle.

I’ve explained bits of storylines with the characters but I don’t want to say too much in case you choose to watch it yourself. And I’ve only mentioned current characters because I would end up writing an essay otherwise...

As for people I think you should follow, I have to say @gay-for-emerald because she is amazing and would kill me if I didn’t ;) But also @mg-bsl381 , @ilovemushystuff , @pea-green , @caeciliusestmendax , @quick-thinkofsomethinggay , @highvause , @abbiethenerdydragon , @beatrix-franklin , @habitsandbicycles , @like-an-officer-and-a-sergeant, @my-little-yellowbird and @superfluousbananas and literally so many more but that’s a start...

If you want me to clarify anything or chat or whatever then feel free to send asks or messages, whatever you want :) But there you go, anon. I hope I helped x

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darkestdawnhq · 3 years

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FREYA ROSIER is a 26 year old PUREBLOOD, a former SLYTHERIN, and an OBLIVATOR who is a DEATH EATER and uses SHE/HER pronouns. They are categorized as CODE ONE. They are currently CLOSED.

A bright smile, no hint of what lies beneath | a curling, twisting billow of smoke rising into the night sky | soft blonde hair pulled back with a pastel ribbon | a cheap, red lighter tossed into the smouldering remains of a building | an unexplained, out of place, feeling of dread | a collection of aprons, carefully hanging in a hall closet | blueberry muffins wrapped in plastic wrap | the sharp pain of a knife as it stabs you in the back

HISTORY.

Connection: BELLATRIX BLACK: Mentor. While technically her niece, Bellatrix felt far more like an older sister. They didn’t sit and braid each other’s hair... Andromeda and Narcissa were better suited for those sorts of tasks... but Freya knew that Bellatrix was someone she could rely on, someone she could model herself after. Her father talked a far bigger game than he had any right to, and her mother and Druella were too willing to stand on the outside looking in. But Bellatrix had the same thirst for chaos that Freya did, the same desire to be in the thick of it all, the same ability to look past morality and see the power that was there for the taking. For as long as she could remember she felt deep admiration for the older girl and the way she commanded respect. Freya preferred a bit more subtlety in her day to day life, but there was no denying that Bella had handled the war masterfully. Even now, as things were dying down, as Freya was a fully qualified witch making a name for herself both among the Obliviators and within the ranks of the Death Eaters, she found herself deferring to Bella’s expertise when there was a new dark spell she was interested in trying or when she just wanted to engage in a bit of chaos -- after all, hadn’t that been the best part of the war?

CONNECTIONS.

WILLIAM MULCIBER: Partner in Crime. Fear was unfamiliar to Freya. New opportunities were just another chance to rise to the occasion. But as she stepped onto the Hogwarts Express she felt a new sense of apprehension, a sort of fear of the unknown. William quickly settled into the train next to her, giving her the chance to do the thing that she did best -- make connections. He was a bit too brash and could do with a bit of subtlety, but he was charming enough to make up for the things that he lacked. William quickly became one of her closest friends and her partner in crime at Hogwarts, the pair of them often sneaking into the forest to practice dark magic. Occasionally it escalated beyond that -- to reminding a Muggleborn or a younger student of their place. But Freya was unwilling to take that risk all that often, prepared to only go as far as she could go with little to no chance of detection. There was a time when she thought that William might be more than a friend, but beyond falling into bed together a time or two, their relationship remained largely unchanged even into adulthood -- but she wouldn’t mind revisiting the sex if the opportunity presented itself again.

ALECTO CARROW: It’s Complicated. She struggled to put to words her relationship with Alecto Carrow. There was an undeniable sense of mutual respect. Freya respected a strong woman, one who took ownership over her life. There were far too many in their circle who were willing to step back and defer to men. But nearly equally, she found Alecto to be irritating -- she was too cold, too closed off, and truthfully, she found her to be a bit boring, definitely the least interesting Carrow. But irritating her was always great fun -- so from time to time she’d bring her a very pink and very over the top sort of gift. There was nothing wrong with cheerfulness, but when Alecto was around she ramped it up, knowing it got under her skin. They certainly weren’t friends, but there was something there... something that Freya knew she would miss if it were no longer in her life.

BELLATRIX BLACK: Mentor. While technically her niece, Bellatrix felt far more like an older sister. They didn’t sit and braid each other’s hair... Andromeda and Narcissa were better suited for those sorts of tasks... but Freya knew that Bellatrix was someone she could rely on, someone she could model herself after. Her father talked a far bigger game than he had any right to, and her mother and Druella were too willing to stand on the outside looking in. But Bellatrix had the same thirst for chaos that Freya did, the same desire to be in the thick of it all, the same ability to look past morality and see the power that was there for the taking. For as long as she could remember she felt deep admiration for the older girl and the way she commanded respect. Freya preferred a bit more subtlety in her day to day life, but there was no denying that Bella had handled the war masterfully. Even now, as things were dying down, as Freya was a fully qualified witch making a name for herself both among the Obliviators and within the ranks of the Death Eaters, she found herself deferring to Bella’s expertise when there was a new dark spell she was interested in trying or when she just wanted to engage in a bit of chaos -- after all, hadn’t that been the best part of the war?

Currently portrayed by VIRGINIA GARDNER

#Freya Rosier #Virginia Gardner #Virginia Gardner fc #Marauders era rp #new rp #skeleton rp #harry potter roleplay #harry potter rp #female #pureblood #slytherin #code one #death eater #closed

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