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A 1000+ followers celebration snippet
Wow. Seeing the follower count grow is ever the amazing feeling, and I am happy to have you all here! As a ✨thank you✨, I wanted to share a little excerpt f something that has been playing on my mind for quite some time, and I decided to write it down.
A version of this, albeit allowing for player input and variation, will likely end up in the game build at some point as a flashback. At the same time, chronologically, this already took place by the start of the game and shows the MCs first waking moments in the Tower. Presented as two nearly identical snippets for immersion purposes: one for Yves and one for Yvette.
Yves
The glow is soothing.
Then you wake up with a pop—and it is gone.
An onslaught on sensations: when a sliver of light slips between your lashes it explodes in a ball of white fire, serrated knife brought to your eyes; a whimper tugs at your throat, a dry sound trapped within dry walls; your fingers crack out of ice, solid and then slowly yielding, scrapping some soft padding.
"Right. Will do," you hear. Voice ripping through the fog with effort, distorted but decisive.
Is it good news for you? A voice that has left you alone.
For now.
It is light, chill and dry in here. Smells like herbs when you are left craving for the biting taste of salt on your lips. A surface hugs the line of your spine, supports the lifeless limbs you try to move but find it hard to. Soft. You could be cold, but you are not feeling it.
Your movement, small as it is, sends vibrations out. There is sudden stillness, you fighting through the fog to see. Strain sits around your neck, pushing down, revolting against your need to make yourself heard, against your need for answers.
"You are awake." Another voice, it seems. Scruffier. Deeper. Older. "Good."
He does not specify, but does he need to? With you prone, the only good there can be is his. Or his companions'—he is not alone.
The thought is uncomfortable: more thrashing, ceiling swimming out to meet you like a lake floor in a dive. Your eye prickle.
"You ought to be at ease." He notices. You halt, if only to hear better. "You are not hurt, your body simply needs some time."
He speaks as if you were fragile, but you are not—except…you feel like you are. Cracked and stitched together, folds and seams still raw, untested. Tender. Most of all in your head.
Someone clears their throat, not to rush you, perhaps, but your eyes clear up nonetheless. Neck rusty, a prickling ball rolls around in your throat.
Three on one. Such unfortunate odds. But maybe?.. Could someone here be on your side?
Would they?
You look at the faces, hazy as they are, at the figures. All standing up in attention that should be, by their design, non-imposing, but when you are the only one lying down it is anything but. There is one in the far corner, perched on a desk, white so close to their face it stings. They move when you scowl, a tilt of their head and a scrutinizing gaze you cannot help but feel. Maybe it should ring the alarming bells, but it doesn't.
Something rustles.
A man in a weathered cloak—that's two, you follow with your eyes alone—outstretches a hand from between the folds of his garment, effortlessly, like it was him that placed it here in the first place, finds a jug and pours water into a mug. The streaming sound is almost as pleasant as a thought of water cracking down the ashen walls of your throat.
He hands the cup to a man, one who has been standing hunched in a corner, odd with his unkempt beard; carefully holding the bottom, he slowly places it in the unsuspecting hands.
The man is poor of sight, you guess, if he has it at all.
Why him then?
You briefly look back at the younger man, only to find him returning the attention. The sharp lines of his face are clearer now, with him coming closer, hair falling around his face in untended strands. Something sizzles in those eyes, and you hope for it to be mere curiosity. He has a look of a traveler to him, maybe of a person that found you.
Found you where?
Found…wh—
The other man blocks your view, bringing you the coveted water. You take a closer look at his unfocused eyes. Another stranger. At least his manner is gentle, as if he knows, as if he can tell about the ripples moving through your body as you instinctively reach to support the mug. There is no rush, not from him.
He lets you go when you are done and lingers by your side. Your mind is swarmed with questions, but only a strangled cough escapes your lips, which is not all that bad given how you started.
"Would you tell me your name?" he asks, taking your silence for confusion.
Huh.
A hectic breath rushes to your defense, the ifs and shoulds completely occluded by the rapidly fizzing thought that locks your tongue. You should know. Even if you choose not to answer, you should know. But the place where you search is unbelievably fuzzy, a white slog that your attempts sink into with alarming ease. That spot is soft, softer than your cot even, terrifyingly soft.
"I don't…" Admittance escapes from your heavy chest.
You hear a quiet, weary sigh like it comes from another life.
Yvette
The glow is soothing.
Then you wake up with a pop—and it is gone.
An onslaught on sensations: when a sliver of light slips between your lashes it explodes in a ball of white fire, serrated knife brought to your eyes; a whimper tugs at your throat, a dry sound trapped within dry walls; your fingers crack out of ice, solid and then slowly yielding, scrapping some soft padding.
"Right. Will do," you hear. Voice ripping through the fog with effort, distorted but decisive.
Is it good news for you? A voice that has left you alone.
For now.
It is light, chill and dry in here. Smells like herbs when you are left craving for the biting taste of salt on your lips. A surface hugs the line of your spine, supports the lifeless limbs you try to move but find it hard to. Soft. You could be cold, but you are not feeling it.
Your movement, small as it is, sends vibrations out. There is sudden stillness, you fighting through the fog to see. Strain sits around your neck, pushing down, revolting against your need to make yourself heard, against your need for answers.
"You are awake." Another voice, it seems. Scruffier. Deeper. Older. "Good."
He does not specify, but does he need to? With you prone, the only good there can be is his. Or his companions'—he is not alone.
The thought is uncomfortable: more thrashing, ceiling swimming out to meet you like a lake floor in a dive. Your eye prickle.
"You ought to be at ease." He notices. You halt, if only to hear better. "You are not hurt, your body simply needs some time."
He speaks as if you were fragile, but you are not—except…you feel like you are. Cracked and stitched together, folds and seams still raw, untested. Tender. Most of all in your head.
Someone clears their throat, not to rush you, perhaps, but your eyes clear up nonetheless. Neck rusty, a prickling ball rolls around in your throat.
Three on one. Such unfortunate odds. But maybe?.. Could someone here be on your side?
Would they?
You look at the faces, hazy as they are, at the figures. All standing up in attention that should be, by their design, non-imposing, but when you are the only one lying down it is anything but. There is one in the far corner, perched on a desk, white so close to their face it stings. They move when you scowl, a tilt of their head and a scrutinizing gaze you cannot help but feel. Maybe it should ring the alarming bells, but it doesn't.
Something rustles.
A woman in a weathered cloak—that's two, you follow with your eyes alone—outstretches a hand from between the folds of her garment, effortlessly, like it was her that placed it here in the first place, finds a jug and pours water into a mug. The streaming sound is almost as pleasant as a thought of water cracking down the ashen walls of your throat.
She hands the cup to a man, one who has been standing hunched in a corner, odd with his unkempt beard; carefully holding the bottom, she slowly places it in the unsuspecting hands.
The man is poor of sight, you guess, if he has it at all.
Why him then?
You briefly look at the woman, only to find her returning the attention. The sharp lines of her face are clearer now, with her coming closer, hair falling around her face in untended strands. Something sizzles in those eyes, and you hope for it to be mere curiosity. She has a look of a traveler to her, maybe of a person that found you.
Found you where?
Found…wh—
The man blocks your view, bringing you the coveted water. You take a closer look at his unfocused eyes. Another stranger. At least his manner is gentle, as if he knows, as if he can tell about the ripples moving through your body as you instinctively reach to support the mug. There is no rush, not from him.
He lets you go when you are done and lingers by your side. Your mind is swarmed with questions, but only a strangled cough escapes your lips, which is not all that bad given how you started.
"Would you tell me your name?" he asks, taking your silence for confusion.
Huh.
A hectic breath rushes to your defense, the ifs and shoulds completely occluded by the rapidly fizzing thought that locks your tongue. You should know. Even if you choose not to answer, you should know. But the place where you search is unbelievably fuzzy, a white slog that your attempts sink into with alarming ease. That spot is soft, softer than your cot even, terrifyingly soft.
"I don't…" Admittance escapes from your heavy chest.
You hear a quiet, weary sigh like it comes from another life.
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akozuheiwa · 2 years
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The non-POV major characters from the present day! Toby, Claire, and Steve! You know I couldn’t leave them behind :D
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joshym · 2 days
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would anyone be interested in a teaser for le morte d'arthur ch 5 in the next day or so? i have a little something to share before the rest of the chapter is finished. so sorry this one is taking a little longer, but hopefully a sneak peek will make up for it 🤍
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in vita, in media morte sumus. Ch.1
WC: 2K
Note: New series popping out! I really have no idea the direction of this series or how many chapters will be included. Also, updates will likely be spread out since I am in the middle of the semester. Therefore, patience will be greatly appreciated with how quickly I can shell out chapters. Also, this is only the second extended work I've done, so once again, patience and kindness are very much appreciated.
Note: Also, Desdemona is 19-20 years old. The terms of her education at Nevermore will be explained in the upcoming chapters. HINT: Nevermore has blended into a high school/college atmosphere for Outcasts using alternating schedules.
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BUZZZ!
*Rustling* 
“I.D.? … Hmm, here for the Addams girl?”
“What gave it away? The black or the black?”
“Tish, play nice, my love.” 
“Ohh, a playful little barb never hurt anybody, dear. Now, where is our little dagger, hmm?”
“Right this way,” the guard grumbled with his head down. He pulled the radio to his mouth. “Open cell block 394.”
BUZZ! 
Their banter reached your ears before you reached the end of the hall. It made you want to claw your ears to bloody shreds and stuff them down the throat of the guard that would not stop picking at his fucking fingers—flicking dirt from underneath the dead nailbed with the toothpick. Swipe, dig, flick. Swipe, dig, flick! Nothing like family to incite you into a murder spree.
Morticia and Gomez turned a corner and met you at the halfway point between cell block 394 and cell block 394-C. “Aahh! Our little dagger! Look at you in your little red uniform,” said Gomez, clapping his hands as if to seal the finality of his joy.
Morticia smirked at you and murmured, “Only the best for an Adams.” She winked at you behind the bars separating the cell blocks, making your lip twitch. 
Despite your distaste for her overtly sweet manner, you did appreciate her respect for your reputation that has awarded you such an unmatched level of security—a uniquely colored uniform and private cell block, in fact—and fear that wafted off those you passed, including the guard who has yet to remove his eyes from your form. You suppose rightly so since you did have the propensity to pounce on those inside the prison with teeth slashing into their pliable flesh, even if your hands were permanently locked into a steel cage. 
You watched the guard pocket his dirty toothpick and slowly speak into his radio while eyes remained watchful of you, “Open the gate.” 
The security light overhead flashed green while the gate buzzed open from a remote control center, and you stepped through the threshold. You sighed and walked up to your mother and father. “Hello, parents. Did you get bored of trying to act like you could still procreate and decide to pay your eldest a visit finally?”
“Desdemona!” Morticia shrieked. 
Gomez chuckled and touched her back to quell her growing frustration. “Easy, Tish, she’s just warming up for the day. You didn’t mean it, did you, my little hellion?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How serious are you about breaking me out of here?” You narrowed your eyes at him while all four of you, including the guard, walked back to the entrance. As the four of you stepped outside the prisoner living quarters, Gomez turned and gestured toward the guard, who was hesitantly moving toward you with a set of keys jingling in his unsteady hands. You watched him fit the correct key into the lock of the steel cage and turn the little knobs inside, releasing the pressure from the cuffs and letting them bounce apart from your wrists before the box snapped open and thudded to the ground. Your brow raised while you rubbed at your sore wrists. Giving a cursory glance at the guard, you thought, ehh, there’s better prey than you, little piggy. 
You turned toward your father and mother as they said, “Dead serious, darling.” You smirked and followed them to the car. Lurch let you all in, moved into the driver's seat, and put the pedal on the floor, leaving dust and gravel flying in your wake with the prison and the shaking guard fading into little dark spots.
Turning back to your parents, you said, “So, who did you kill, poison, or bribe to get my indefinite sentence halted?” 
Morticia and Gomez stopped fawning over each other and whispering like teenagers about their little escapades in their youth that were similar to this one. They turned to you, and Morticia said with a familiar smirk, “A certain judge might have suddenly come to the belief that were you not immediately released, his bowels might begin imploding on him, causing massive internal bleeding that would quickly escalate to extreme bloodloss and sudden death.”
You raised your brow, thinking, gross, definitely not your style. Then again, yours and your parents’ signatures have never quite aligned. Have they? “And he agreed to that?”
“Well…a little give was admittedly needed on our part, little dagger. No justice system would simply allow a famed serial murderer to walk without some sort of agreed-upon rehabilitation plan. That is what our little friend informed us." Gomez said this with palms up and a placating smile, knowing you would add in that you could have done it without having to bend your will, albeit coming away with messier hands and the smell of blood on you. 
Scoffing, you looked out the window, knowing whatever they agreed to put you through would not be to your liking, which would most certainly make your parents smirk with satisfaction—Morticia, anyway. Your relationship with your parents has always been a complicated one. “So, what will this forced rehabilitation plan look like, hmm?”
You could practically feel Morticia buzzing with selfish glee as she slowly said it, letting her lips form each word wholly before dropping them before you to splatter into the carpeted floorboard under your feet. “You're going to attend school with your younger sister, Dezzy. Our old alma mater, Nevermore Academy.”
“WHAT?” You barely registered that she used that stupid, loathsome nickname because all you could hear was your blood ringing through your ears. Your heartbeat sped up, imagining you mingling with petty little tweens and other teenagers as they giggled, cursed, sweated, cried, and chatted with one another. Their germs and fluids mixing as bodies inevitably tangled, writhed, and pulled at one another while they threw away all of their intellectual capacities for brief moments of desire and ecstasy. You don’t know how Wednesday does it every day. God, I hope that place hasn’t changed her, you thought. 
“Oh, come now, Dezzy–
“I told you never to call me that! You know how I feel about that fucking nickname!” You screamed, images of you trapped and bashing your fists against the underside of the musty floorboards while tears streamed down your cheeks, listening to the girls chanting Dezzy! Dezzy! The scared little baby! above you flashed in your eyes. You blinked the memories away and looked at Morticia out of the corner of your eyes with betrayal and disappointment. She never fucking learns, you thought.
Morticia was always startled at your outbursts, the level of fury you could hurl at her in a second. Like the flip of a match, you exploded on her, which never fails to leave her speechless and hurt. She looked to Gomez for support but found him nudging his head towards you as a signal to apologize; Morticia, come on. She looked at you as you stared out the window, watching the foliage blur into greens and browns. Sighing, she thought, fucking stupid, you remember why she hates that name, hell you walked in on them doing it, Morticia! Leaning her head towards you, she tries to get your attention again and slowly says, “I’m sorry darling, I- I know, I shouldn’t have said that. It slipped out before I knew what I was saying, little dagger. Desdemona darling…” she waited for you to look at her, “forgive me?”
You studied her expression, saw the plea in her eyes, and remembered how she ripped out the floorboards, picked you up from that dark, spider-infested place, and held you in her arms. While you cried and clung to her, she held you and screamed how could you? What is wrong with you? You’re fucking monsters! to the group of blushing girls caught red-handed. You remember how she stormed into the headmaster’s office, demanding an explanation for why he didn’t protect you, why those girls were left unsupervised, why he let you go so long without a single friendship made at that damned school? Above all, you remember her vowing never to bring her daughter back to that hellhole and that he could say goodbye to his reputation and credentials as an educator. You recall as she carried you out of there, hearing her swearing on her mother’s grave that he and those girls would pay severely for making her baby scream and cry out in fear. Ohh, how you could hear her chanting something deadly in her spell room while Gomez talked with strange men about visiting the families of those unfortunate, monstrous people, and finally, you remember seeing four little dolls that looked so like the condemned from that school wind up on your mother’s desk in gruesome conditions with pins and burned bodies.
“Okay, fine, I forgive you—but only for the nickname, not for this nightmare you are about to put me through,” you grumbled and leaned your head on the back of the seat. 
Morticia smiled and forced herself not to reach out and clasp your hands because she knew how alike her daughters could be. Instead, she grasped Gomez’s arm and said, “Nevermore is a charming little gothic wonderland! We swear it is not like other schools; Nevermore is a place for freaks, ghouls, werewolves, vampires, and gothics alike. Tell her, Gomez.”
“Tish is right, my little dagger. Nevermore is unlike any school; it was founded by Poe himself, after all. The principal there is devoted to ensuring every student feels welcome…especially after what happened last year, the school has become more like a family of goths and freaks that protects its own.” 
“How touching,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm in response to their sickly sweet praises of the school. You looked out the window and saw the beginnings of a massive castle-like structure forming in the distance. Turning to your parents, you sighed, “Well, if I am to spend the rest of my sentence here, at least tell me more of this famous school and its esteemed principal that you’re so giddy to bore me over—quickly though, otherwise my ears might burst with anymore prolonged exposure to your insane joy.”
Morticia frowned at the word sentence and watched you smirk at her facial expression. Sighing, she thought, sometimes you and Wednesday are too alike before going into detail with Gomez about the academy’s history and the unfortunate events of last year. The tales of the raving monster they called the Hyde and its evil commander, how they ravaged the town, the school, and everyone that came unsuspectingly into their path—they were gruesome. Morticia and Gomez smirked at the unmistakable growing spark of curiosity and thrill in your eyes. An Adams through and through. They told you how Wednesday and her band of misfits were crucial to stopping the Hyde and its evil commander, Mrs. Thornhill, and how Wednesday’s known skill for potionmaking ended up saving the principal with one of her concocted antidotes. Indeed, what a tale of misery, murder, and mystery it was. Agatha Christie would be pleased, you thought. 
Staring up at the gothic architecture, in all its dark, sullen glory, you thought it impressive. At least your parents were not wrong about the appearance and atmosphere of the place. Nevermore is most certainly a school reserved for only the best of freaks and goths; you could see students roaming about under the gables, curved archways, gargoyles, and on the marbled and grassy surfaces of the quad and the lawn surrounding the gothic concrete creature. It looked more like an overdone mansion than a school. Students dressed in matching dark purple and blue uniforms, some with black glasses, others with mixed expressions of glee, curiosity, suspicion, or dread, and carrying books, backpacks, trinkets, or all three; it made them look like little characters from a story that were hiding powers and ambiguous morality. 
Making your way through the school entrance with your parents on your heels and gossiping about the glorious days of their youth—yuck!—you came face to face with the gold plaque of Principal Weems. You could hear her typing away on her laptop and talking on the phone about a banquet, or was it a dance? Her voice was distinctly sweet yet deep—how dark could it go?—and smoothly rich, the voice of someone who was not afraid to demand respect and authority she likely felt she was rightly due…and of someone who was used to receiving it promptly, with haste…someone who rarely found herself matched and challenged. Hmm, you might actually have some fun here, Des. With that thought, you knocked sharply on her door, hearing her voice come to a halt before she murmured a short apology and goodbye, followed by a short silence and then the rhythmic, steady click of her heels as she approached the other side of the wooden barrier. 
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The non english version based on the notes of the other poll (translations are not mine. Apologies for any inaccuracies)
Update: I realize after i made it i put the same Don Quixote quote twice but i cant edit polls so 4 and 9 are the same. oops
update 2: I accidentally put the first line of ch 1 instead of the first line of the prologue for Posthumous Memoirs. the correct quote is "Ao verme que primeiro roeu as frias carnes do meu cadáver dedico como saudosa lembrança estas memórias póstumas".
Translations and sources:
– Iliade by Homer. (“Sing, goddess, of the anger of Achilles, son of Peleus”)
Anna Karenina by Lev Tolstoy ("All happy families resemble one another; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.")
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. ("Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.")
Cervantes from Somewhere in La Mancha by Don Quixote, (“In a place whose name I do not care to remember")
The Aeneid. ("I sing of arms and men")
The Metamorphosis by Kafka ("As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.")
the Inferno by Dante ("When halfway through the journey of our life")
The Stranger by Albert Camus. (Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure”.)
Miguel de Cervantes by Don Quixote (“Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.”)
the Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas by Machado de Assis ("to the worm who first gnawed on the cold flesh of my corpse, I dedicate with fond remembrance these Posthumous Memoirs")
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spikedsoul · 7 months
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maid's worst nightmare - ch 42
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visual representation of me realizing how long it's been since my last chapter update :') sorry! there's been a lot happening in my life including getting back to a few other fics. anyway, finally, here we go with this chapter! hope 5k words is enough of an apology oof
cw: period talk, periods
previous chapters
@martinys-world @agreatcheesecakestudentstuff @travelingtmblelyw33d
“You’re sure Junior’s gonna try and jump?” you sighed, rubbing your face as you followed behind Bowser to the garage door.
“No offense, little lady, but I think I’d know how my son would react a little better than you,” he snorted back at you.
He did have a point… but surely Junior would remember how you told them earlier that you were sore, or something? Whatever your excuse had been. But then, being a little boy, perhaps the adrenaline of the race had made him forget that you might not be able to catch him - assuming Bowser was correct about Junior’s reaction to winning, of course. He probably was.
You nearly ran into Bowser’s spiked shell when he stopped abruptly.
“Hey?”
He glanced back at you, a serious look on his face. You frowned in concern, but your concern quickly vanished when he suddenly smirked and yanked you into his arms for a kiss before you could even blink. And then, before you could fully process, he was walking through the door.
“Papa!” Junior screeched excitedly, “Did you see me win?!” Bowser hesitated a moment, then lifted his head to smirk smugly at you over the top of his head.
Junior had jumped into his arms.
You rolled your eyes, but smiled warmly as you stepped around the giant koopa to see the boys. “That was a lot of fun!”
Morton was pouting with his arms crossed over his chest; he huffed softly at your words. Ludwig lightly nudged him. “Don’t be rude, Mort,” the eldest sibling muttered, before turning to you with a nod. “Thanks, handmaid. That was a weird race, but it was fun.”
“Nuh-uh!” Morton huffed, “I fell off! That wasn’t fun at all!”
“You’re just jealous that I won,” Junior stated, sticking his tongue out at his brother.
“Junior,” Bowser scolded; the little koopa winced a bit.
You just chuckled softly and went over to Morton as normally as you could, holding your arms out in invitation for a hug. Morton glanced at you, hesitated, then gave you a tight hug, not about to let go too soon.
“It was scary seeing you drive off the edge, y’know,” you murmured. “I’m glad you’re okay. It might not’ve been fun for that to happen, but it did make for an exciting race, and I think showmanship is almost as important. I was impressed that you didn’t give up even when that happened.”
You were keenly aware of how all the chatter behind you stopped, but for once you didn’t let yourself overthink it. Morton slowly pulled back from you, looking at you like he didn’t quite believe you’d been worried.
“You… promise? That you worried? About me?” he asked haltingly, his eyes flicking over to his family.
A little smile tugged at your lips, and you brought your hands up to cup his cheeks. “Of course. I thought you were plummeting to your certain death in that lava.” When he just stared at you in stunned silence, you leaned in and kissed his nose lightly, then dropped your hands.
When you turned back around, you were admittedly a little surprised to see all the koopas staring at you. Well, Bowser was grinning, but the boys were staring at you like you were the most wonderful thing they’d ever seen in their lives.
“I want one,” Ludwig blurted.
Well, who were you to argue? You could tell by the way Junior was leaning away from his father that he’d also want one, so you got right to it and placed a kiss on Ludwig’s nose. The eldest brought his hand up to touch where you kissed, going cross eyed like he’d be able to see it. You smiled, then turned to Junior - who was actively reaching for you.
You couldn’t deny that you forgot just how young he was. He was so smart and relatively independent that it was a bit of a shock to see him acting like the young child he really was.
You gathered the youngest koopa into your arms, giving him a kiss on the nose as you did, and held him close; even Bowser looked a little stunned as Junior snuggled into you. Since you were holding Junior, you missed the look that passed between him and the two older boys, but you saw them glance at each other before looking straight at you again.
“Mama,” the three boys chimed in unison.
Your cheeks grew red awfully quickly - they said it in a serious tone, no stuttering or snickering or smirking. These boys really just dubbed you Mama…
“Boys, you can’t just–”
“It’s okay,” you said softly. Your face was still quite hot and no doubt red from the unexpected new title, but you were just as surprised as everyone else that you just said that. “I don’t think I mind, honestly…”
Bowser placed his hand on your back, but retained a steely, blank face as he looked you up and down. “You sure? Not easy suddenly takin’ on teenagers when you barely old enough to be a young mom.”
Junior pressed his face into your neck, practically a perfect fit because of how small he still was. You gently rubbed the boy’s shell between his nubby little spikes. All you could do was give Bowser a look, and the man chuckled and shook his head.
“Alright. But, boys, I don’t want y’all overwhelmin’ her, okay? A lot’s happened this week, so let’s be wary of that,” he sighed.
The boys all made noises of agreement. Morton had already displayed a surprisingly high level of emotional intelligence from earlier, so you wouldn’t be surprised if Bowser was raising his kids to be aware of that. Either way, though, the next thing you knew was that the two older boys had very insistently thrown their arms around you for a group hug, their eyes perhaps a little wet from the fact that you weren’t rejecting them.
Apparently not one to be left out of a family group hug, Bowser sighed, then threw his arms around all of you and held you all close to him - despite the amount of bodies and shells, the koopa still managed to squeeze you all right to him, and there you all stayed for a few solid moments.
Alas, unfortunately all good things come to an end, so eventually Bowser pulled away, bringing his two older sons with him. “Alright, boys. Me ‘n Mama gotta talk about stuff, so y’all go bother Sister or something. I’ll talk to y’all at dinner about an errand I need for one or all of y’all to run tomorrow.” Ludwig opened his mouth to say something, but Bowser held up a clawed hand to stop him, even shaking his head. “Sorry, kiddo, but it’s important stuff.”
The boys exchanged a glance. Apparently, Ludwig hadn’t been about to ask whatever his father had anticipated, but since he’d been silenced already…
You didn’t even have time to set Junior down before he leaned back a little and placed both of his little hands on your face, staring deeply into your eyes. You were so taken off guard by it that all you could do was blink a few times as you waited for him to say something.
“Are you two getting married?” Junior finally asked.
Immediately, Bowser swiped the littlest koopa from you, laughing too loudly as he gestured for you to follow him to the door, Junior tucked into the crook of his other arm. “Haha! Y’all are real funny sometimes, Junior! Poor lady hasn’t even been here a full week, so y’all let her get settled in before askin’ questions like that!”
On the way to the door, he set Junior down and instead placed his hand on the small of your back. The door was just barely cracked open when Morton piped up one more time: “That wasn’t a ‘no,’ though! It should’ve just been a yes or no question, but you didn’t answer yes or no, which means that there’s a possi-”
Bowser shoved you through the open doorway and practically slammed it shut behind him, cutting off whatever else Morton was about to say.
You honestly couldn’t blame the big guy; it was definitely too soon to know if marriage was on the table! But you couldn’t deny that at least for now, the flame between you and the king had the potential to become something significantly more intense, in a good way.
However, it also absolutely opened you up to teasing him.
“So when’s the wedd–”
“Tell me, li’l lady,” Bowser interrupted as he swept you up into his strong arms once again, “how I can marry someone without knowin’ her name? Won’t you show mercy to this poor koopa and finally tell me? Put me outta my misery?”
So, this was it. You had promised him a discussion about your name, and it had finally come time for that. Unfortunately, that would also mean going into a little more detail about your life after leaving home. More fortunately, Bowser would be there for snuggles, and you couldn’t deny that after your morning romp and subsequent aftercare, you were more than willing to put your faith in him as a safe being to start potentially, slightly relying on.
You could only hope this wouldn’t come back to bite you, but you were willing to take the risk. It felt like your recovery depended on it.
“Unfortunately, it’s not exactly a straightforward answer,” you said softly, your head resting against his chest as he carried you.
He hummed quietly in confusion. After a moment, he stated, “Okay, gimme the shortest answer you can.”
The shortest answer? Well… sure, you could do that. No doubt it’ll just confuse him more and he’ll end up demanding the longer version, but alright.
“I’ve forgotten it.”
Bowser hummed again, then chuffed, then tilted his head. “...Huh?”
Yeah, that sounded about right honestly.
“I said I don’t remember it.”
He hummed yet again, although this time it was more in acknowledgement that he heard you. When you tried to open your mouth to start the little story, he cut you off with a short “Ah!” sound, like you were a pet about to do something bad and he was warning you not to.
The fuck? You blinked in surprise, stunned into silence as he brought you back inside and started ascending the stairs to his room.
“But–”
“Nah.”
Your eyes narrowed a little. Perhaps understandably, you were struggling to figure out what was going through his head, but it was pretty clear he didn’t want you to talk. Did he think you were stupid? Did telling him you forgot your own name make him think differently of you somehow? That… really couldn’t be right, but you also knew from experience that sometimes small details like that made all the difference for people. Surely King Bowser Koopa wasn’t one of those people… right…?
“No wonder you respond to everything,” Bowser stated suddenly, finally summiting the stairs and making a beeline for his door.
“I–”
“Hush, sweetheart, I’m thinkin’.”
Ah, so that was it. As irritating as those little noises were, you reminded yourself that you were still learning about him. You could work with it next time… which in and of itself was a weird thought to have so confidently.
Bowser didn’t say anything else until he had the bedroom door locked, you sitting on the edge of the bed, and himself sitting on the floor in front of you with your hands held in his. To his credit, this was probably as close to eye level as you two could get, vertically speaking, without you standing. Once all of that was achieved, he heaved a surprisingly cool sigh into your face, seemingly emptying his lungs entirely of air before stopping.
The way he gazed at you as he did that made a blush creep into your cheeks; it was a fond look, still, but there was something more to it, like if he looked at you long enough he’d suddenly understand everything. Hell, you could even see the moment he decided to finally speak again.
“Rodney?” His voice was so soft and careful that it nearly made you crumble into tears right then and there.
However, you kept your composure, and answered evenly, “No, actually. He didn’t help, but even before him I forgot my name.”
“Baby, that’s… a little sad. That’s really sad. How come you don’t seem too upset?” he practically crooned, squeezing both of your hands. You were a little surprised, honestly; you hadn’t thought just how bad it might sound to someone else that you forgot your own name. “Identity is often rooted in a name; names hold power for their owners… Ain’t names important where you from?”
You could feel your eyes glaze over as the question slammed into your brain like a massive Bullet Bill. Were names important where you were from? Surely they must be, right? You didn’t remember living in a huge community or anything, but surely everyone had names? Like… like, um…
“I-I don’t know,” you blurted.
Suddenly, you were faced with the fact that you had potentially been going through your life without your own name entirely, a true name that you could reliably fall back to, which no doubt stole any form of self identity from you. After all, how could you form an identity without even a name to your existence? Going from place to place with a different name every time, never really a permanent residence long or safe enough to feel like a true home - and no family name to try to go back to.
The most confusing part about it all was that up until you met Rodney, your life had been pretty nice. No real identity, but you got along contentedly until you went to the next place, so it wasn’t like you had trauma around forgetting or never knowing your name! It just never really struck you that you could have just picked something out and kept it… which means it must’ve been a learned behavior.
Bowser’s claws raking gently over your scalp had you blinking clarity back into your eyes, and you focused on the man in front of you. He looked worried, but not overly so, so it seemed you just got lost in thought and didn’t accidentally panic.
Nice.
“I never really thought about keeping one for myself,” you admitted to him. You shook your head a bit, leaned over and kissed his nose, then sat up again. “I mean, I can’t remember why I had to change names so often, because my life was honestly pretty decent up until I met Rodney, but I remember that I did have to. It was just a part of my life that I never thought twice about.”
You brought your free hand up to your man’s snout, gently running your hand along those soft, smooth scales. He rumbled quietly, clearly relaxing a little - although you weren’t sure if it was from your words or your hand.
“Promise you’re not hidin’ anything?” he asked, his eyes closing, a rough purr starting up.
“I promise,” you chuckled softly.
“Right… I mean, it’s still sort of a big deal that ya don’t have a name, though. Like I said, names got power, especially here. Names is important - I guess you been goin’ by Jeanne right now, but you better find ya a name you really like. One that feels… hm, I guess like home?”
Well… you didn’t really have a solid sense of home, either, but you knew what he was trying to say. Maybe it would be worth it to finally pick one out that you’d use for the rest of your life? Or… maybe you chose another temporary one, just in case things ever went sour here. That seemed like a better idea, frankly.
But then, if you went that route, then you were potentially setting yourself up to fail. It didn’t hurt to have a backup plan, an escape plan if you will, but sometimes anticipating something to fail would ensure that it did… fuck, this was starting to get confusing.
“Darlin’.”
“Huh?”
You blinked a few times. Whoops, you got a little wrapped up in your head!
“Do you like the name Jeanne?” he repeated.
“I… I’ll figure it out,” you sighed, rubbing your face.
“Listen.” Bowser sat up a little and brought both of his hands to your face. “This ain’t a time to be flippant. Find a name that you really, genuinely like, sweetheart. Names have serious power here. I mean it.”
You brought your hands up to rest over his, gazing at him. You really hadn’t thought having a name would be such a big deal, but…
“I’ll think on it,” you said softly. “I’ll get some suggestions from the kids, though… and you. Since I’ve never really thought about it too hard before, I’ll need a starting point…”
Bowser nodded and ran his thumbs over your cheeks. Good, that was an acceptable answer!
For a moment, there was silence between the two of you as you just gazed at each other; there was nothing more to say about this topic, at least for now, and you bought yourself a little time to do some research about this whole name business. Both for finding names, and finding out what he means by ‘names have power.’
Eventually, you leaned forward and kissed his nose, and then he tilted his head just enough to steal a sweet kiss off of your lips. You didn’t bother to hide the smile that appeared after.
“So that’s one issue out the way,” the koopa murmured. “But I guess while I got you here, there’s somethin’ else we should probably talk about.”
You blinked, surprised, but nodded a little.
“What else do we have to talk about?” you couldn’t help but ask. As far as you knew, there were no other secrets between you two… right? At least you hoped not!
He dropped one of his hands from your face to your thigh and gave it a gentle rub. “Rodney’s death.”
Immediately, you shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. Yeah… just because he was dead, didn’t mean he’d stop causing you problems, apparently. You nodded for Bowser to keep going.
“Peasley is gonna realize at some point that he don’t have one of his guards. He smarter than you think, so I imagine the question will come up as soon as tomorrow.”
At least it wasn’t today… right?
“O-okay?” you mumbled, lightly leaning your face into his scaly hand.
“So I ain’t gonna lie to him. But this means you might need to explain your story to him directly, and I’ll have Peach corroborate it.” He brought his hand up from your face to push your hair back from your eyes, which were starting to well with unshed tears.
You hated still being so goddamn emotional over that evil man, not even giving yourself the reminder that he literally just died and that it was okay to be feeling all over the place emotionally. It was probably expected, even, but you’d be damned if you didn’t berate yourself back into quiet silence!
“Easy, baby girl,” he cooed softly, wiping your eyes, “I’m gonna be with you, okay?”
You squeezed your eyes shut as the tears spilled, struggling to keep your breathing even, focusing on the feeling of Bowser’s hand oh so gently wiping your face free of tears. It… didn’t ground you as much as you wanted, frankly.
“Won’t that potentially start a war? Political issues, and stuff?” you managed to croak out.
Bowser rumbled and pulled you into a tight hug. “Already thinkin’ like a queen. You let me worry about that part, okay? Me and Peach. I’m the king, after all, so it’s my job to handle this sort of thing.”
Hopefully Bowser and Peasley had a cordial enough relationship that the foreign prince wouldn’t decide that killing Rodney was an act of war against the BeanBean Kingdom. Plus, if Peach and Rodney had been related, surely Peach and Peasley were on friendly terms that he’d believe her even if he didn’t necessarily believe Bowser. You’d spill your guts if you had to, but this reaction to simply mentioning him had you wondering if you’d even be able to get through the story? Hell, you already felt like Rodney was still out there and about to burst into the room any moment, yelling at the top of his lungs about how you’re emotional over something that isn’t even directly your concern…
You clung to Bowser as you struggled not to let yourself spiral. Even so, a few panicked sobs escaped you. Slowly, gently, he pulled you off the edge of the bed and into his lap to properly hug you; even the stretch of your legs around his waist wasn’t enough to set you straight again.
As you sat there blubbering with your face in his neck and your arms wrapped partially around his torso, he began to rock a little from side to side. Although you didn’t outright question it, it struck you as a little odd that just this small little reaction had him acting this way. It was very pleasant, you weren’t complaining or anything! Just confus–
Oh… wait… what's that little discomfort starting to settle in your lower abdomen? Surely your body wouldn't add insult to injury, right? You weren't expecting anything to happen for another week anyway…
Bowser rumbled softly as he shifted his head just enough to get his nose against you, warm air hitting you as he sniffed deeply.
"D-don't tell me," you sniffed.
"Sorry, sweetheart."
“No… please, body, not now…”
“I’ll have Kamek get you some, uh… well, y’know.” He rubbed your back gently, still rocking you.
You heaved a sigh despite the tears still falling, and rested your chin on his bulky shoulder. “You can just say pads or tampons. It’s not a taboo subject or anything.” Especially since they’re in private… Hopefully this wasn’t an indication of Bowser’s potential immaturity around certain things.
“You might gotta forgive me, lovely. I ain’t exactly versed in human reproduction, but I got a rough idea how it goes… so I know what I’m smellin’ from you and that it means you’re not pregnant, but…” He sniffed you again. Whether for dramatic effect or because he liked the smell was up in the air.
At the very least it was giving you more to think about besides that near-spiral. It was hard, you wouldn’t deny that - it was taking a lot of effort on your part not to give in! Conscious effort. At least in this moment, you would keep yourself from totally falling apart.
“So, what, did you phrase it that way because you didn’t know the name of the products I’m gonna need?” you asked, not sure if you totally believed that.
“...Yes,” he mumbled with a gentle nuzzle to your temple.
Finally, the corners of your mouth twitched as a small smile threatened to make an appearance. “Really? There’s a lot of types, so I can write down the stuff I specifically use… you know what the products are for, right?”
“Uh…”
Oh, dear. Poor man didn’t even know that much… well, this probably meant that Wendy wouldn’t have to experience the misery that is the period, at least. After all, reptiles weren’t exactly known for periods.
“It’s to absorb the blood I’ll be bleeding for the next five or so days.”
Bowser’s eyes went wide and for a moment, all he could do was stare silently at you. You watched him, allowing the information to sink into that thick skull of his. Finally, his mouth opened and closed a few times, and then he let out the most alarmed, panicked, “HUH?!” you ever heard in your life.
It was like you had just told Bowser that you were going to sacrifice Junior or something, honestly, because the next thing you knew, Bowser's hands were gripping your arms and his nose was pressed against yours. "YOU'RE GONNA BE BLEEDIN' FOR A FUCKIN’ WEEK?!" he practically bellowed, right into your face.
It made sense Princess Peach would hide that little time of the month from her many-year stalker, but you had to wonder how exactly she managed that. Still, this was the proper reaction (in your opinion) that every non-female person needed when being told the truth.
You gently ran your hands over Bowser’s snout in a soothing manner. “What did you know about the human reproductive cycle?” you asked gently.
At least it wasn’t a discussion about Rodney anymore.
“Um…” Bowser blinked, apparently taken aback by your calm nature about your period. “I… I know the hormones tend to fuck with emotions, so you might get pissy or angry or sad and it ain’t exactly your fault. And that you’ll need chocolate.”
Well… okay. Could be worse, you supposed. Still, the poor guy had no idea what he was in for - not that you were a demon or something from your PMS! But he couldn’t known literally nothing at all, which would’ve been a much harder conversation to explain, especially how hormones absolutely cause most of the PMS symptoms that people usually think of.
The chocolate bit went unrefuted by you because it was true. You’d need chocolate.
You sighed softly as finally, a weariness began to settle into your bones; after this morning’s romp and the brief episode you nearly had, you were already exhausted from the day, and sort of ready for things to start winding down for the day.
“So - so tell me what all you gonna need, so I can tell Kamek. Please.”
“Can I see your phone? I’m gonna write it all out, since there’s specific brands and stuff I tend to like.”
Finally, he let go of you, allowing you to slump against him as he pulled his phone out from… somewhere. He unlocked it, then brought up the little notes app before giving it to you. You resettled in his lap to better type, and soon was handing the phone back to him. You watched as his eyes scanned the things you typed.
“...Shit, little lady. How often does this happen, to know exactly what you want?” he mumbled.
You bit your lip, unsure how he’d take the news, but you wouldn’t deny him the information that’s honestly just generally good for him to know: “Once a month, every month.”
“What?!” It was a lesser reaction, at least, but he was still obviously not happy about learning all of these new facts. Honestly, you didn’t blame Princess Peach for not telling him the ins and outs of being a female human. “Forever?!”
You smiled a little, gently petting his chest. “Nah… not forever.”
He relaxed as he hugged you. “Oh… good. How long, then?”
“Until I’m roughly fifty, so I got a good few decades left of this bullshit,” you sighed, rubbing his forearm. “Symptoms aren’t always the same, either, but depending on how long I end up staying, you might start recognizing signs…”
“Can’t believe Peach never told me anythin’ about this,” he muttered, his nose tucking against you.
It was all you could do to gently rub his forearm again; at least you could explain that to him.
“Well,” you sighed, “typically human women are taught to keep it to ourselves that we’re on our period… I dunno why, it’s just supposed to be a very personal thing. So it’s not surprising Princess Peach never told you; it seems she was also raised to largely have it be a private matter. Even female friends won’t tell their male friends unless they’re just that close, y’know?”
Bowser hummed quietly in thought as he held you close like kids hold large stuffed animals. Knowing he was thinking, you waited for him to speak up instead of offering more words.
“That… makes some sense,” he said slowly. When he didn’t immediately expand, you reached a hand up to lightly stroke his bushy eyebrows, which prompted him to continue, “I only ever successfully kidnapped her right as the smell of those hormones was fading. I mean, over the years I put it together, but…”
You blinked a few times, then frowned, but kept your thoughts to yourself. The way that Bowser just worded that, it sounded like what had actually been happening was that Peach allowed herself to be kidnapped when she knew Bowser wouldn’t be able to really ask questions… or else how could he have literally never stolen her during her period? Over so many years it was statistically impossible unless she was pulling some sort of strings behind the scenes.
Well… whatever. That was neither here nor there for now.
“Yeah, she just didn’t want you to know or ask embarrassing questions,” you reassured him softly.
He rumbled softly, nuzzling you against your temple as he asked, “But you’d answer my questions, right? If any come up?”
You smiled a little and nodded your head yes. “Of course!” you stated, “since you’re gonna have to deal with me anyway. It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, it ain’t ‘cause you nice.”
…Huh? Why was he so confident about that when you literally just said you might as well?
“Oh?” you inquired, wanting to hear his explanation.
“Nah,” he scoffed. He grinned against your temple - you only had a split second to mentally prepare yourself for his next words, rumbled quietly right into your ear: “It’s ‘cause you my good girl.”
Deity above, you wanted to hate those words and hiss and shrivel away from him like he’d just poisoned your yoshi or something… but instead, goosebumps erupted over your skin, your shoulders in danger of giving away just what you thought about that little phrase.
“Oh, shut up and get Kamek to get that list,” you muttered. “I’m on limited time before I start bleeding through my clothes.”
“Fuck–!” Bowser nearly fumbled his phone as he rushed to send the list to Kamek, definitely alarmed by your casual threat. It did give you a small sense of satisfaction that you could still give him a little whiplash just like he did to you with that little ‘good girl’ comment…
…He was going to get you into trouble. But, for once, you wouldn’t mind…
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joestvr · 3 months
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༺✮ atashi no kimyona jinsei // あたしの奇妙な人生 ✮༻
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༺✮ summary: five years after the fall of diavolo, you, y/n romano, who was sent away to japan at 11 to further your studies—find the courage to come back to naples after living out your schoolgirl & gaijin university student facade in morio-chou to see how your clan’s worsened—as well as become the “donna” of your father’s gang, il terrore, while your older brother is the real leader behind the scenes, just using you as a front. with plans to murder your clan, you seek the particularly handsome young don of passione for friendship. with your tyrant father’s intervention, your friendship with the don turns to something you never saw coming.
★ 1 // il terrore
★ 2 // bella
★ 3 // viva romano
★ 4 // morte al romano
★ 5 // sorellina
★ 6 // amore
cw: it gets kinda dark this chapter💀self harm(cheri lady telling y/n to do it😭😭), y/n being delusional, bloodlust, thoughts of murder, and heavy overthinking ~
5 days later
This evening, your father was coming to have a talk with you.
You were planning on killing him, of course.
You glanced at your watch, waiting by the door. 5:02.
The doorbell rang. You answered and saw your father... and Alexander?
"Father. Alexander." You forced a smile, letting them inside.
You told them to wait in the living room while you made tea.
As you made the tea, sweat trickling down the side of your face, your hands trembling, your pupils the size of pinpoints.
It was Alexander, he was preventing this.
Should you even have told him?
But you weren't going to kill just your father. You were going to take out the entire Romano clan. You needed to. They were a poison to Italy. They were too powerful.
Could Alexander have figured it out?
You had a million different stories coming up in your head, trying not to fall into delusion and struggling to separate fantasy from reality.
You being the woman leader of Il Terrore... Just a front-- A cover up that your father wanted you to believe. It was all Alexander anyway, he was the real Don. He could easily remove you from his plans for the clan. But he didn't know that you knew the truth... Right?
You brought the teapot and cups on a silver tray, setting it down and pouring the tea into cups for them.
"So what did you want to talk about, Father?" You asked.
"You've come to the age where you require a partner and someone to assist you with our gang activities, Y/n." Your father said, taking a sip of tea then taking a cigar out of his breast pocket and lighting it.
"Wh-What do you mean, Father?" You replied nervously.
A large cloud of smoke exited his mouth. "What I'm saying is it's time for you to get married and settle down already."
Your heart was beating in your ears.
Your hands were shaking.
You felt like you were going to pass out.
The room twisted in your vision, your mind wanting to turn to delusion.
"N-No--" You laughed, "I'm only twenty."
"Mia bella sorellina, mia cara, cuore mio," Alexander said desperately, frowning, "Please just consider this. It's a Romano tradition."
"No." You laughed again, "I'm not a Romano. I'm not like any of you. The only thing we share is a last name."
"Y/n, since you're so eager to not be a part of this clan anymore, you are going to be betrothed to Giorno Giovanna, the Don of Passione."
What? What?
"A-Are you serious?" You breathed out.
"I already know you went without asking for permission and made friends with him, so this is what you get for going behind my back. " Your father said.
What?
"Che cazzo fai, padre?" What the fuck are you doing, father? You muttered weakly.
"This is your fate. You two will be perfect together and will make a perfect heir."
What?
"Perché, padre? Ch-Che cosa ho fatto di sbagri—sbagliato?" Why, Father? What did I do wrong? You cried out, stumbling over your words in Italian after so long of only speaking Japanese and English.
"Look at you, you've forgotten your family, your culture, your values, and now your language! How much of a useless tramp are you?!" He yelled angrily.
You opened your mouth to argue back, but he was quick to raise his hand against you and slap you to keep you quiet.
"Cagna stupida." Stupid bitch. He spat angrily then stood up, walking out.
You were stunned.
You were seconds away from turning to your fantasy of a perfect life and ignoring your surroundings.
You were disassociating, but you were too shocked to fully comprehend it. You started to pick at the skin on your hand.
Tears formed in your eyes. A smile crept up on your lips. You bit on your lip until it bled, holding back laughter.
"Y/n.. Mia cara sorellina..." Alexander began guiltily.
"Che cazzo, Alessandro? You knew, didn't you?" You said, fighting a grin.
"Listen to me, Y/n, I was going to tell you—"
You burst out laughing at that, turning hysterical beyond control.
"I shouldn't have told you anything! You planned this."You exclaimed humorously.
"Oh, of course all the blame comes onto me!" He stood up and shouted.
"You are such a weak bastard! I don't mean anything to you! I never have!" You replied, still laughing as tears ran down your cheeks.
He grew furious at that. "Why, you ungrateful little girl! Don't forget what I did for you while Father was too busy drinking and smoking at the bar all day! Don't forget how I pushed my grief aside after Mom died to take care of YOU!"
You sniffled. "Stop fucking lying, Alessandro! Don't forget how you supported father's decision to send me away when I was 11! I've only been back here twice since then, and the last time we saw each other I was 15!"
"Fuck, Y/n, you're such a brat... You're just like a little kid... You're a grown woman, for fuck's sake! Act your age!" Your older brother struggled to stay calm.
"Get the fuck out of here! I don't have time to deal with your multiple personalities." You scowled.
"As you wish, sorellina." He complied bitterly and left, slamming the door shut.
You were burning with anger, furious. You grabbed a tissue and wiped the running mascara off your face.
"I should kill him too..." You murmured to yourself, while intrusive thoughts started to fill your mind. Your hand twitched, genuinely wanting to murder him in that moment.
You were about to light a cigarette when you heard a familiar young voice call out your name, "Y/n?"
Leo walked into the room where you were sitting with a disappointed expression, scarily resembling Alexander. You were a bit afraid since he was already 190cm, just 3cm away from being the same as his father.
You flinched and took the cigarette out of your mouth. "Yes, Leo?"
"What the fuck are you arguing with my dad about? So much yelling." Leo responded, his voice almost as harsh as Alexander's always was to you.
"I-I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't know you were still home. I thought you went with your mother and Elena?" You mustered out nervously.
"I was playing video games. What did Dad say?" He said.
"Don't worry about it." You shook your head.
"Y/n..."
"Leonardo, I'm not in the mood." You responded back authoritatively.
"Fine. Sorry. Can I go to my friend's house while Mama and Dad are gone?"
"No," You furrowed your eyebrows, "Don't you need to study?"
"You're not my mom. Who are you to tell me what to do?" Before you could make another remark, he scowled just like Alexander and went out the front door, slamming it shut.
You were dizzy and lightheaded from everything that just happened, and sat down on the sofa, becoming riddled with anxiety.
"Kusso..." You muttered to yourself, extremely anxious, picking at your fingers and hands, "I'm being betrothed to the son of Dio... What will Jotaro-san think? Koichi-kun? Josuke-kun? Shit..."
"Kusso... Should I even tell Jotaro-san? Just seven years ago we were dealing with remnants of Dio... I don't want to bother him... He's probably working... Fuck..." You were overwhelmed with anxiety and muttering to yourself like a crazy person.
What will you do? Get engaged? Or take out your clan first?
Once again, you were struggling to separate delusion from reality and you had different scenarios coming up in your head that made you feel schizophrenic. You were delirious.
Without even noticing, your fingers became bloody from picking at them, along with the backs of your hands, old wounds opening up on your palms from past self infliction.
You felt yourself wanting to see more blood. A smile crept up against your lips as you gnawed on your lower lip. You hadn't felt this bloodthirsty since Kira Yoshikage.
You stood up to get the first aid kit in the kitchen, catching a glance at the knives, making you stop and stare.
"Do it." Cheri Lady mocked.
"Come on, Y/n, your palms aren't bloody enough, right? It'll be just like old times." She smirked.
Without hesitation, before you knew it, you were staring at the bloody gash across your left palm with a sullen smile on your face. It hurt so good.
Watching the blood gush out of your fragile hands, you loved it.
Drip, drip, drip. You wanted more. The kitchen sink below your hand was red from your blood.
You chuckled breathlessly, feeling a lightheaded, dizzy rush overwhelm your body, then sighed with petty satisfaction.
You were about to cut your wrist, a no-no spot for you because it scarred badly and told everyone that you cut yourself on purpose but you hesitated.
"Alright, that's enough, Y/n." Alima's voice startled you, making you snap out of your daze and drop the bloodied knife in the sink, making a loud sound.
"Sh-Shit, Alima—"
"How much longer are you going to keep doing this to yourself, Y/n?! What if one of my children came home and saw this?!" She burst out, making you stand there with shock. Alima never yelled at you.
"Or, God forbid, your brother walked in and saw you doing this? By God, Y/n, Alexander would slap you so hard you would forget ever losing your sense like this!" Her voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes. You suddenly felt a tiny sliver of remorse.
After all these years of your family betraying and destroying your feelings, Alima was the only one who truly cared about you. She had nothing but love for you.
Your heart was in emotional turmoil. "Alima, I..."
She approached you and gasped at all the blood that was pouring into the sink from the deep wound on your palm. Tears started to run down her face and it hurt to see her so horrified from your selfish pleasure.
"I wish I knew how to help you... Please stop doing this, Y/n..." She wept, shaking her head.
"Alima, don't cry." You murmured calmly, your sanity returning.
You took a deep breath, the pain from the wound feeling unbearable, but you enjoyed it at the same time, feeling high off of your blood loss. You were in guilty bliss.
"Doesn't it hurt, Y/n? How can you keep living like this?" She sobbed, breathing shakily.
"Please, Alima, stop crying. I'm sorry you had to see me like this." You responded, a blank expression on your face. She shook her head and sat down at the dinner table, covering her face while she cried.
"Alima," You sat down in front of her and tried to moved her hands from her face, which made her jerk away.
"I can't even look at your face..." She sobbed, "Every time I look at you, I can only see the little girl who begged me not to marry her big brother because he was mean... You're still just a child to me..."
Pain flashed across your face, but not from your throbbing wound. She still thought of you like that? It had been sixteen years since she married your brother.
"I'm going to take a shower." You mumbled numbly and went upstairs.
As you stepped in the shower, the hot water making the pain from your cut unbearable, watching lightheadedly as the reddened water swirled around the drain.
You began to question why you came back to Naples in the first place.
Why did I come back here?
What was my goal?
I should have known.
When you returned to Naples in 2001, you were targeted by Diavolo for your knowledge of his whereabouts and somehow escaped with your life because of your stand. You packed your bags and ran back to Morioh as fast as you could to continue your typical-schoolgirl facade and forget about everything that happened.
What will the Don think? A wife who gets so immersed at the sight of blood, who craves it so much she cuts herself?
I should have stayed in Japan. I could have become a resident at a high ranking hospital or even a model. I'm too beautiful for this.
The gem of the Romano Clan: Married off to the Don of Passione... I could have gone to America and been dating Hollywood stars... I'm so beautiful...
Your mind was going in circles, and you were quite literally spiraling in your arrogance. You were about to pass out but caught yourself and got out of the shower quickly.
After getting dressed and going back downstairs to the kitchen, you went to a nearby cabinet containing medical supplies and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a roll of bandages.
Alima was still sitting at the table with her hands over her face.
"Alima, I hope you're not still crying." You said softly as you went to sit down across from her and prepare a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol on it.
You pressed the cotton ball to your wound and it stung so bad, you had to smile.
"Stop that, Y/n!" She suddenly yelled with a shaky voice, making you jump.
You didn't respond and finished cleaning up the wound, wrapping the bandages tightly around your hand. You felt relieved from the pain.
She wouldn't stop crying, and you couldn't bring yourself to feel any guilt. Coldhearted and uncaring—That's how it is being a Romano, right?
"Alima, Alexander's gonna come home soon. Please stop crying." You fastened the bandages and forcefully moved her hands from her face, giving her a hug.
"I should just tell him and you can get your ass beat... You don't deserve my kindness..." She sobbed on your shoulder. You suddenly felt the same fear you felt all throughout your childhood caused by your father flood back into you. 
Will she really tell Alexander?
"I—I'm sorry, o-okay? Forget this-s happened." You stuttered, fear setting in at the thought of your older brother finding out.
She didn't respond and just sniffled.
"Alima? You won't tell him, r-right?" You said anxiously, "Right?"
"Fuck, Y/n, I won't! Stop being paranoid!" She pulled away and shouted, standing up.
"I-I'm so sorry, Alima, I'm s-so sorry you had to see me like this." You said solemnly.
"Enough." She held a hand up and went upstairs.
You were in a pit of anxiety, desperately trying not to rip the bandages off and hurt yourself all over again.
"I should really kill Alexander..." You whispered to yourself, Cheri Lady's unwanted, murderous whispers taking its toll in your head, "I should really kill him. He's just like the rest... He doesn't matter to me..."
"He doesn't matter to me."
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tikitania · 6 months
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ABT Fall Season!
I'm doing a thing! I'm headed to NYC with my daughter to catch two performances of ABT's Fall Season. I'm am so very excited because they are dancing one of my favorite ballets, Etudes. I'm overjoyed to see this on a grand stage instead of on YouTube. Program 1: Classics Old & New Piano Concerto No. 1 (ch: Ratmansky, m: Shostakovich) Petit Mort (ch: Jiri Kylian, m: Mozart) Etudes (ch: Harald Lander, m: Czerny) Program 2: 20th Century Works Ballet Imperial (ch: Balanchine, m: Tchaikovsky) The Dream (ch: Ashton, m: Mendelsohn) I just love these two programs. If I had time and money, would have stayed for the 3rd program of 21st Century works…le sigh. A new discovery for me is Jiri Kylian's Petit Mort. I've only recently looked up videos. It is stunning. Absolutely gorgeous. I think this is NDT (Netherlands Dance Theater) based on the comments, but not sure.
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Here's a link to Etudes, too! I absolutely LOVE this piece.
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totallysilvergirl · 1 year
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Solace and Joy: Crystalline (a drabble)
Marchbruary 14, 2023
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Sometimes Sherlock short-circuits. Good thing at least one treatment can be applied in public.
When Sherlock’s filters fail, he can’t sieve out data from the outside world, or sequence it, and he experiences what he calls a short circuit.
It doesn’t happen often, and it’s distressing to see; but for a man who defines himself by his clarity, it is pure suffering.
One night I learned one range of sound that helps. I don’t know how it works, and don’t really care; it’s enough to see the signs of strain leaching out of his facial muscles.
A client had given us tickets to a concert, something esoteric, and it coincided with a short circuit. Though I was skeptical—being in public just added the burden of public behaviour—Sherlock was drawn to the music.
He was taut as a piano wire when we entered, speaking curtly and unclearly; every muscle was rigid as we found seats next to only one other concert-goer. He looked utterly miserable, and I wondered why we’d come.
And then the harpsichord began.
Notes poured out sweeter than birdsong, lighter than snowflakes, joyful and patterned as dance.
Glittering flashes of sound in a hundred colours, winking and sparkling like the rhinestone brooch of our elderly concert neighbour. Gradually his entire body relaxed as the harpsichord carded his mind and senses clear again.
I was mildly impressed, but Sherlock? He was basking.
This will be Ch. 54 of Solace and Joy, and it's is the first of my extended @fluffbruary​ 2023 ficlets; word prompts for today were sunbeams, host, and dance.
Thanks for reblogging! Check out the prompts on @fluffbruary's pinned post.
@anyawen @bluebellofbakerstreet @lisbeth-kk @copperplatebeech @starrla89 @iamjustreading @macgyvershe​ @sherlockwatson-holmes​ @iwlyanmw​ @srebrnafh​ @elwinglyre​ @rimedio8​ @andbreathenormally​ @saki101​ @satandrankmy-coffee​ @tipsylex​ @slow-burn-sally​ @calaisreno​ @mort-rouge1895​ @debzwez​
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ploo-toe · 8 months
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The Crow and the Mourning Dove - CH 1
SCP-049 x SCP!Reader
Series tags/warnings(18+): fem!reader, slowburn, (eventual)smut, horror, gore/violence, death, unethical experiments, dark, mentions of past trauma, happy ending
Chapter Summary: “I haven't thought of my time there in quite a while.  Sometimes I long to go back and change things, however unfit for a healer the urges may be…”
Notes: This chapter was partially to get some more info on SCP-9528, but also things are starting to get interesting! Be prepared for things to start ramping up soon… 
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Leeward tossed and turned for hours that night, 9528’s words echoing in his head.
“The Plague.”
He knew that it had lied, that it had some other motive for leaving.  But, the tone at which it had spoken, it sounded almost haunted.  Hollow.  As if its lie still held some merit to it.  It might not have been the reason it left, but perhaps there really had been a plague in Paris at the time.  Leeward chose to give up on sleeping for the night in favour of sitting at his desk and delving headfirst into research.  He had to find some break in this; make some sense of it all.  His head was practically swimming with thoughts.
It had said the 15th century in Paris.  But everywhere I look, I get the same result.  The plague ran rampant through France for the 14th century, and came back in the 16th.  The 15th was the only clean century for France, so why did it sound so certain? What Plague was it referring to?
Leeward groaned, leaning back in his chair to stare at the wall.  At least this was more interesting than before.  He let his eyes wander, lost in thought, before they settled on his calendar.  More specifically, the messy scrawl of his handwriting dating just three days from now. Interview with SCP-049 @2:15pm.
His eyes widened and he shot up, knocking his chair back in the process.  049 devotes itself completely to curing the pestilence; it claims that every sickness falls under the category.  And, it’s certainly old enough, what if it knows the plague that 9528 is referring to. What if it had been there?  Leeward couldn’t remember the last time he felt this motivated for his work.  But still, one question poked at the back of his mind.  Why had 9528 lied?  It was clear that there was something it didn’t want him to know.  He was determined to find out what, however long it took him.
The days leading up to Leeward’s interview with 049, Leeward had done more research than he’d done in his entire career .  He pulled everything that he could on 9528, trying to glean as much as he could from the spotty information.   Almost everything he could find was heavily redacted, so much so that he could barely make anything of it, or it had been expunged entirely.  He had almost given up on his search entirely, before he came across two files that hadn’t been as censored as the others.  The first being an interview of someone who had heard of 9528 before its capture.
Witness:[REDACTED]
Date:[REDACTED]
Location:[REDACTED]
Translator:[REDACTED]
The “ange de la mort”; Angel of death.  While some fear her, others revere her.  She has traveled France for decades, leaving mountains of bodies in her wake.  During the first few days she brings music and medicines, helping the ill, poor, or abused.  People would come to her while it was performing, and pray.  Some asked for a bountiful harvest and good health.  Others prayed for protection from dangers.  On the fifth night, she would become lethal.  Lurking in the shadows, delivering retribution.  With a flick of the wrist, she could kill a dozen men.  She only targeted the guilty, and would disappear when they had been disposed of.
Witness to be [REDACTED] after further investigation
Leeward shuttered.  He knew that the foundation despised loose ends, but to think what happened to that man, just for telling them what seemed to be nothing more than a local legend.  And the fact that in its own twisted way, 9528 was helping people.  It proves that it has the capacity for morals in a way that some of the other scp’s didn’t.  
He switched over to the second file.  This one detailed the capture of 9528.
SCP-9528 was found standing in[REDACTED] just outside of [REDACTED], surrounded by [REDACTED] that had been thoroughly mutilated.  It was almost entirely covered in blood, a farming sickle made entirely of bone hung loosely in its hand.   When asked why it had killed them in such a way, it simply stated “They were liars”.  It was later discovered that they had traveled to [REDACTED] posing as doctors, cheating people out of their money.  Why this aggravated SCP-9528 so much still remains unknown.
Notes:
[REDACTED] tasked with SCP-9528 reported seeing its eyes in their dreams for [REDACTED] .  All described it as having an “unsettling and uncanny” look to it. Cover with bandage until further notice.
Sickle confiscated for further testing.
Is that why SCP-9528’s eyes were covered?  Was there some type of anomalous effect, or was it just so ingrained in their minds that it was the subject of their dreams?  And why had the people posing as doctors upset 9528 so much that it mutilated them?  The amount of reading he had done left him with a splitting headache.  Why was this scp so difficult to learn about?
Dr.Leewards interview with Scp-049 couldn’t have come sooner.  He was itching for answers, and he was hoping 049 might have some.  He wasted no time getting started.
“Hello Doctor, what do you wish to discuss today?”  049 sat with its hands clasped on the table across from him, as if it paid no mind to the restraints binding it.
“Hello 049.  I was actually hoping you could help me with something related to my work.”
“Are you finally joining my arduous battle against the pestilence?”
“Not quite.  I have some questions that hopefully your… expertise could clear up.  In return, I’m willing to arrange for a human cadaver to be brought down to further your studies.”
049 took little time thinking it over before nodding its head lightly.  “Yes, this is an acceptable agreement.  What men of medicine would we be if we were to not assist one another?”
“My thoughts exactly, I appreciate your cooperation.”  Leeward knew it was best to go along if he wanted to get anywhere.  “I want to know if you have any knowledge of a plague taking place in France during the 15th century?”
“Ah yes! The pestilence was rampant during the time! I was still in Paris then, devoting my time to learning medicine.  I had yet to become the great healer I am now… Although we always remain students, much to learn…” 049 began to trail off.
“So there was a sickness then?  Why aren’t there any records of it?”
“You need only to open your mind, Doctor!  This was not a sickness of the body, but a sickness of mind.
While he didn’t understand it completely, it was better than nothing.  049 began mumbling to himself lightly.
“I haven't thought of my time there in quite a while.  Sometimes I long to go back and change things, however unfit for a healer the urges may be…”  He spoke so softly that Leeward almost hadn’t heard him.  The topic had certainly piqued his interest, 049 rarely spoke so openly of its emotions.  Leeward had almost forgotten that he possessed the capacity for them.
“What do you long to change?”
“Apologies, Doctor.  I seem to have gotten caught up reminiscing.  There was… someone important to me in Paris.  The pestilence there eventually led to their demise.  It matters naught.  I do hope you make those arrangements in a timely manner.  I wish to further develop my cure, I feel I'm close to a breakthrough.”
“I’ll see to it 049, thank you for your cooperation.”  Leeward gathered his things and made his way back to his office. 
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the lemurs + women and precious metals
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thegrayascendancy-if · 6 months
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I just wanted to say I love Mort. What a delight.
Thank you, he and him caring for the MC are an absolute delight to write!
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gawrkin · 3 months
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Remake of my first post: The Sorceress Queen of Camelot
A maiden to Sir Lancelot in Le Mort D'Arthur, Book VI, ch. 10:
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Meanwhile, De Ortu Waluuanii/Les Enfances Gauvain: (from OpenEdition.org)
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joshym · 3 months
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le morte d'arthur ch. 3 will be yours in a matter of a few hours, loves. 🤍
extra special thank you to @jakeyt for helping me add the final touches today. 🫶🏻
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VALENTINES DAY!
arcane witch institute — dorm leaders
a/n: I KNOW THIS IS REALLY LATE IM SO SORRY— man it’s the first time you guys are seeing the dorm leaders and it’s their genderbend versions lol, i promise i’ll get their bios and dorms done soon maybe…
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celebrating at arcane witch institute, a special occasion full of love and sweets, you go to give a gift to your favorite dorm leader…! let’s see their reactions, shall we?
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GALERON.
“ch…chocolates? huh, really?! for me?! eh, uh…o-oh, no no no, I love it, don’t worry! i-it’s just…i’m not really used to receiving anything…thank you though.”
JUSTIN MARMOREAL.
“my sincerest thank you for the fruit tart, but it would be rude of me not to give you anything back for today’s special occasion. so…here: say ‘aaa’~.”
ASKARI NDIAYE.
“…pfft~ aaww, did you want to be the first one to give me chocolate today? you’re so cute. thank you. haahh, i hope you don’t get in a fight with the other fans about this…”
VIOREL APATURA.
“chocolates? why thank you dear~ but, don’t think you’ll be leaving with empty hands. tada! i have something for you too—now we’re even, hah!”
RAYAN SHARIQ.
“thank you very much for the chocolates. ah, if you don’t mind me asking, would you like to have tea together at the cafe? i can arrange a vip room just for you and me. we can taste these together.”
ALLEN ERDENE.
“oh…!! oh this is the cutest one i’ve received so far! it has all my favorites! and you even bought an adorable bird plush with my name on it, thank you very much~ i’ll eat it at the dorm.”
HERO AIDONEUS.
“chocolates? …i see. you know, i don’t really care for this stuff anymore, but seeing as you were so nice to get me anything at all…how about you come to the dorm tonight? we’re holding a mini concert, so it’ll be nice if you were there~ ♪”
MORT MALEFICARUM.
“a gift, for me…? my, how peculiar. i don’t receive things like this often, you’ve actually managed to make my heart flutter…i appreciate your gift though, mortal.”
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