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southslates · 3 years

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she smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. it was a smile he thought he might die to earn again. it was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when kaz brekker, dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel and deadliest boy in ketterdam, fainted. he'd told her they would fight their way out. knives drawn, pistols blazing. because that's what we do. she would fight for him, but she could not heal him. she would not waste her life trying. you want me. she turned the words over. gently, she squeezed his hand. and how will you have me, kaz? he looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set. it was the face he wore when he was fighting. how will you have me? she repeated. fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch? if it were a trick, i'd promise you safety. i'd offer you happiness. i don’t know if that exists in the barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me. though he’d trusted her with his life countless times, it felt much more frightening to trust her with his shame. we'll be kings and queens, inej. kings and queens. you came back for me. i protect my investments. investments. but all he could think of was inej. she had to live. she had to have made it out of the ice court. and if she hadn't, then he had to live to rescue her. i’m glad i'm bleeding all over your shirt. she’d often wished to chip away a bit of his arrogance, but she couldn’t bear the idea of seeing kaz stripped of his pride. one minute he made her blush and the next he made her want to commit murder. thoughts of moonlight and silken hair evaporated in a black bolt of fury. kaz saw inej tug on the sleeve of her left forearm, where the menagerie tattoo had once been. he had the barest inkling of what she'd endured there, but he knew what it was to feel helpless, and van eck had managed to make her feel that way again. kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch. what do you want, then? he nodded to her right forearm, not trusting himself to speak. his gloves lay on the other side of the basin, black against the gold-veined marble. they looked like dead animals. he focused on the shears, cold metal in his hands, nothing like skin. he could not do this if his hands were shaking. i can best this, he told himself. the old answers came easily to mind. money. vengeance. jordie's voice in my head silenced forever. but a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. you, inej. you. stay, he said, his voice rough stone. stay in ketterdam. stay with me. she looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. what would be the point? he took a breath. i want you to stay. i want you to … i want you. i need someone who can be invisible, who can become a ghost. do you think you can do that? so why ask? because i've been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days. i would have come for you. one of his hands balanced on his cane. the other rested at his side next to her. she’d need only move the smallest amount and they would be touching. he was that close. he was that far from reach. and if i could't walk, i'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. because that's what we do. his actions were smooth, precise, as if he were dealing cards at the crow club or picking an easy lock, but his rage felt hot and mad and unfamiliar. and what god do you serve, then? whichever will grant me good fortune. i don’t think gods work that way. i don’t think i care. those were my mother's favorite flower. good to know van eck didn't cure you of sentiment. nice to be back, kaz. good to have you back, wraith. to his left, he heard inej laugh behind her mask. he'd never heard her laugh like that, giddy and wild. he didn't mean to say it. he meant to let her go. i can help you. the silence between them was dark water. he could not cross it. that boy had betrayed his weakness in a single glance, had ceded the war for the sake of a single battle, and put inej - all of them - in danger. his greatest vulnerability had been right beside him. and now she was gone. he couldn't walk the line between the decency she deserved and the violence this path demanded. if he tried, it might get them both killed. he could only be who he truly was - a boy who had no comfort to offer. so he would give her what he could. something within him had torn loose. we never stop fighting. speak, she begged silently. give me a reason to stay. for all his selfishness and cruelty, kaz was still the boy who had saved her. curse you and all your saints, he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling. she wanted to believe he was worth saving, too. she would have her ship and he would have his city. wait, he said. the burn of his voice was rougher than usual. is my tie straight? inej laughed, her hood falling back from her hair. that’s the laugh, he murmured, but she was already setting off down the quay, her feet barely touching the ground. i would come for you, he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. just this minute, i'll settle for an apology, she decided. and i wont' board the boat without one. even if kaz isn't sorry, he can pretend. he at least owes me his best imitation of a human being. kaz shrugged, unwilling to give her an answer. inej was always trying to wring little bits of decency from him. i can hear the change in kaz's breathing when he looks at you. it catches every time, like he's never seen you before. he needed to know that she believed he could do this. he needed to know she believed in him. the ache in his lungs was unbearable. he needed to tell her... what? that she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. that he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn't pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. that without meaning to, he'd begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. he needed to thank her for his new hat. she'd laughed and if he could have bottled the sound and got drunk on it every night, he would have. it terrified him. now she remembered. he owed her an apology. say you're sorry. for what? just say it. yes, thought kaz without hesitation. there's one person i would trust. one person i know who would never use my weaknesses against me. kaz had taught her to crack a safe, pick a pocket, wield a knife. he'd gifted her with her first blade, the one she called sankt petyr - not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical, she supposed. and i'm going to get my girl. it was as if once kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her. his eyes blurred. it isn't easy for me either. her voice, low and steady, the voice that had once led him back from hell. she felt his knuckles slide against hers. then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. a tremor moved through him. slowly, he let their fingers entwine. for a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of the sea.

go on, she repeated. finish the story.

#kanej #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #grishaverse #leigh bardugo

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klbwriting · 3 years

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Unexpected Allies - Chapter 7

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader - its almost here you guys, getting so close

Summary: after a confrontation with the Darkling a discussion needs to happen

Note: so I went ahead and put in the first of four songs that inspired this fic. ‘Summertime’ by My Chemical Romance, give it a listen if you haven’t it is a masterpiece

Tags: @mcntsee

Kaz had never seen the Darkling before and he was surprised now that the man who had created the fold, lived for hundreds of years, barely looked a day over 25. He glanced over at Jesper and Y/N, watching her get down from the horse and start walking towards the Darkling. He panicked for a moment, getting off his own horse and handing the reins to Jesper. He pulled out his cane, not sure what he could do with it against a man who was considered the most powerful Grisha in existence, but he would go down fighting to protect Y/N.

“What were you thinking Y/N? Running off with these two?” Aleksander asked, motioning a dismissive hand to the Dregs. Kaz glared. He looked to Y/N and saw her looking at him. When their eyes met she shook her head and he knew what she meant. Now that she had spilled her secrets to him he could see more in her eyes. She wasn’t hiding herself from him anymore and right now she was clearly telling him to not start a fight, that she didn’t want to have to take on the Darkling now.

“Aleksander, I couldn’t stay anymore in your shadow. Not when we both know that with the parem I would be more powerful than you. I want your throne,” she said, lying through her teeth. Kaz could see the obvious falsehood there, but apparently the Darkling didn’t know her as much as he thought.

“Is that why you stole it? The only useable vial of parem we had?” he asked. Kaz froze. So she hadn’t told him everything. He looked over at her and watched her as she stared at Aleksander.

“I couldn’t let you have it, not why I needed it,” she said. “Leave now or I will use it. I’ve already taken it.” She was lying, Kaz had seen first hand when parem did to Grisha, there was no one she had taken it before they left. He just hoped the Darkling believed her lie. Aleksander scowled.

“So this is it, another betrayal by a trusted friend? Well, you may have taken the parem but your friends haven’t,” he said, gearing up to perform the cut against Kaz.

“No!” Y/N screamed, reaching out with both hands and closing her fists. Aleksander stopped, falling to his knees and groaning in pain.

“What…is this…how…” he stammered out as she constricted his airwaves and his heart. Kaz looked at her, seeing the desperation in her eyes, but he also saw the vengeance beneath it. She wanted to kill the Darkling, make him suffer for everything he’d taken from her and for a minute Kaz was going to let her do it. Then he remembered the look on her face when she talked about how many died at her hand, how much the pain wrecked her. Aleksander had once been her friend, could she really handle killing another friend and not break entirely. Kaz didn’t want to find out.

“ Y/N!” he yelled, running over to her. “Stop, send him away, as far as your winds can take him, but don’t kill him. You’ll lose yourself more if you do.” What was he saying? Kaz Brekker didn’t care who got hurt. Saints or whoever, damn this woman for what she was doing to him.

Once the Darkling was unconscious Y/N finally stopped. Kaz was right, she couldn’t kill more people she once cared about, it would take another piece of her soul and she didn’t know how much was left at this point. She mustered up all the Squallor ability she could and sent Aleksander away, making sure that the wind would set him down softly. When he was gone she turned to the other two. Kaz looked relieved and Jesper was shocked.

“How can you do you more than one thing?” he asked. “Did the parem really do that to you?”

“I lied about the parem, I didn’t drink it. I took the vial, and I smashed it right after we left the prison. No one is taking the parem as long as we keep Kuwei away from the Second Army. I’ve always been able to do multiple Grisha skills, but my Inferni skills were the strongest so I chose to train in that and hide the rest,” she explained. Jesper nodded and smiled.

“Well, looks like we have a valuable weapon in our midst,” he said. Y/N rolled her eyes, hating that she was once again being relegated to a tool for these guys.

“No,” Kaz said softly. “She’s not a weapon, she’s our friend and we need to get her to the resistance and help them.” Y/N couldn’t hide her surprise at him. She was sure once he knew that she had kept one last secret from him he would be furious, instead he was planning to help them. She knew it could have been a lie, something to get them moving again, get her out of their hair quicker, but it didn’t seem like it.

“Kaz can I talk to you alone for a minute?” she asked, needing to sort out some things with him before she kept going. He looked aggravated at the delay but nodded. Jesper took his cue and walked the horses to a nearby stream to drink. “Look we have to at least address some part of this, whatever this is.” She motioned between them and he scowled. She knew he didn’t want to talk about it, but she had to make him. They at least needed to establish some form of trust between them, something solid that they could stand and fight together one. In Ketterdam Kaz and his group fought together as Dregs, but Y/N wasn’t one of them, she needed to establish something else with Kaz to make this work.

“What do you want me to say? I said you were our friend,” he snapped, not looking her in the eye. Y/N sighed, looking at the ground.

“Alright we are friends. But you know there’s more to it, I know you feel it,” she said.

Kaz hated all of this right now. This whole conversation was making him want to leave her here and just travel on without her. He would get his crew and get the hell out of Ravka, let her face the Darkling on her own. Dammit he knew he couldn’t do that. This woman made him soft for her and he wanted to rage against it, but what use was it?

“Why in the hell would you want anything more with a crippled bastard anyway?” he asked, feeling his self-loathing seeping from his pores. He could keep up his façade in front of anyone, pretend to be more than he was, criminal mastermind, leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel, but for some reason she broke down that defense and here he was that sad boy that lost his brother and was still searching for a way to be whole again. He saw her reach a hand out before stopping and clenching her fist.

“Kaz Brekker, you are single handedly the most amazing man I have ever met. Capable of the most intense torture yet still willing to dance with me, you don’t let anything stop you from getting what you want. You sir, are a criminal king in a blood soaked crown and personally I have never wanted to be anything more than a queen standing next to you,” she said. Kaz looked at her seeing that her face was flushed red, embarrassed to have gotten so honest with him. He quirked his mouth into a smirk and she groaned. “Dammit, why can I never just keep my mouth shut around you.”

“O please don’t, I love to hear you heaping praise on me. I like that bit about the crown,” he said, smirking more. She glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a queen, not in the way you would want me to be…”

“Kaz I want you exactly the way you are. Whoever you want to be I will want you,” she said. He could hear that she meant it. He didn’t have to fix himself or be more than he was with her. “You could never touch me again and I will be fine, you never have to smile if you don’t want. I’ve felt your hand and seen your smile and I will keep that memory fresh in my mind forever.”

“I had my gloves on when I touched you,” he said softly. She smiled at him.

“I’m alright with that. I’m alright with you.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for a queen still, but as soon as I am you’re the first person I’m going to find,�� he said. He meant it, his heart was making a room for her to live there and once it was ready he would get a bloody crown to match his and give it to her. He lifted up his gloved hand and put it against her lips. “I promise.” He felt her lips kiss his gloved finger and pulled away. He took a deep breath, surprised that nothing had happened, no images of death or feelings of disgust. She kissed his finger and he had just walked away to get Jesper and the horses.

As evening fell they decided to make camp near a stream. The group filled their canteens and built a small fire, eating some rations and donning their coats as the weather was starting to get colder as they moved further north. Y/N built a small item out of her vest pocket and focused. Soon her guitar was in her lap and she was strumming it.

“How did you do that?” Jesper asked as he took a seat next to her. Kaz sat down on the other side of her, giving Jesper a look that said not to get too close. Y/N almost laughed. He had been jealous the whole ride here, clearly wanting to hit Jesper with his cane again. She knew it must irk him that others could get so close to her and he couldn’t. She hoped the smile she gave him, one he almost returned, made him feel better.

“I just focus on the material and will to be smaller or bigger, I’m not sure how it works honestly,” she said, strumming a little.

“You going to play us something?” Jesper asked. Y/N thought for a minute, trying to pull a song out of her head that they might know, but she couldn’t think of one. Then she got an idea.

“I wrote a song a little while back, something I used to sing with Alina when I would visit her followers to give them messages,” she said. I think it applies now, to all of us.” She started the cords, stumbling at first as she tried to remember the exact notes she played before. Once it came back she found a good rhythm.

“When the lights go out, will you take me with you And carry all this broken bone Through six years down in crowded rooms And highways I call home?”

She could see Kaz listening intently, leaning forward to see her fingers move and hear her voice more. She wasn’t a master singer she knew but no one had ever complained about her voice and seeing the look on his face she knew he liked it. Jesper bopped his head to the music she made and she smiled at him before looking back at Kaz as she sang.

“If you stay, I would even wait all night Or until my heart explodes How long until we find our way In the dark and out of harm? You can run away with me Anytime you want”

She finished the song and found that Jesper had laid down during the singing and was fast asleep. She chuckled and shrunk her guitar, putting it back in her pocket. She moved to put out the fire when Kaz waved his hand at her.

“Not yet,” he said softly, looking at her. She nodded and moved to cover up Jesper before laying down herself, watching Kaz in the firelight. His features were more pronounced like this, his edges sharp, eyes deep with depths she had just barely began to swim in. She knew she shouldn’t take his words to heart, that she didn’t fully know that he could be believed. He was an excellent liar, had duped almost everyone he had ever met, but she wanted to believe him so she did. She would live this lie with him for as long as he let her. Let him destroy her, she would die with a smile on her face.

“I love you Kaz Brekker” she whispered softly, not caring if he heard her. He didn’t move so she assumed he hadn’t and she rolled over to fall asleep.

Kaz watched the fire and heard ever word she whispered to him. He felt the last piece of resistance waver and flee from his heart. He heard her breathing steady beside him and knew she was asleep. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, testing again to see if the revulsion arose. When it didn’t, he actually smiled.

“I love you too Y/N.”

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dustrp · 2 years

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WANTED! DEAD OR ALIVE!

GOES BY THE NAME OF NAOMI BLAESE, AGED 29. USES SHE/THEY PRONOUNS. WORKS UNDER THE JACK ODYSSEY GANG AS A ROBBER. SUGGESTED FACECLAIMS: PAULINA SINGER. CURRENT BOUNTY: ✹90,000

TRIGGER WARNING: Death, bloodshed

Your first encounter with the Jack Odyssey gang is just the beginning of your ugly time with them: you hear screams of fear in the lobby of the hotel you and your friends have settled into, after months of trying to find a place to lay claim to without being discovered by The Faith. A bullet shatters the window and misses you just by an inch — you’re quick to scramble to the lobby, only to find Daffodil and Aster held hostage. They’re on their knees, snared by the hair, jaws cinched against the steely kiss of the pistols pressed to their cheeks. When you look to see who holds them — who could have found you so soon after settling in? — your stomach drops. You recognize the faces of the infamous Shotgun and Cain immediately, and you recognize the blood-soaked body lying unmoving behind them: Scales, another one of your friends, the barrel of their gun still smoking not even a foot away. You can see Dahlia in your periphery, crouched behind a counter, undetected, but you can’t afford to shake your head at her without alerting Cain or Shotgun to their presence. You throw a sharp glance her way in hopes of staying her hand. It’s futile, as she rounds the corner and buries a bullet in Cain’s shoulder. That is her sole pitiful victory. You choke back your terror as she drops dead before the second shot can land.

You can’t run to any of them. You can’t breathe. The one who has their weapon trained on you — Shotgun — steps closer. All you can do is stare and try to swallow around the lump in your throat. You ask what they want, and they declare that they’ve laid claim to the nondescript, run-down motel your group’s been holed up in, on the run from a handful of Revenants — but that your friends fired on them before they made it all the way into town. Daffodil spits insults at the gang, vehemently refusing to surrender the place you’d all been so ready to call home. They’re dead within seconds. Aster elbows Cain in the crotch, launching around with a snarl to tackle them to the ground. The gunshot leaves your ears ringing, and you watch as they are swatted aside by the outlaw with a sneer. You can remember standing, or trying to. They ask if you’re going to leave or join them in the grave. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears. You know now that it’s a selfish, dishonorable impulse. You don’t even have the voice to answer. You just run, grieving for yourself and your friends in equal measure… and they let you.

Now that you’ve lost them, all you have is yourself, and that’s never been good for you. Surviving alongside others and calling them family has made it easy to forget that you at your core will always default to self-preservation. No one cares more for you than you, but they made it easy to believe that you could become someone more loyal. You have no choice but to go back to stabbing backs and cutting corners, and that truth settles over you like a funeral veil. You decide you’ve got no other option; if you’re going to go back to cruelty, you might as well commit. You carry your mourning, the grief you’ve been heaving under, and you make your way to some of Jack Odyssey’s rivals. You’d heard them crowing all over Bounty some years prior — they’re the ones who exacted vicious vengeance upon the ruthless Brontide, or so they say. You pay them with everything you have left in your pockets, and they concoct the plot. Despite their warnings, you insist on being present when they make their move — it’s one last selfless act before you abandon yourself to your true nature. You tuck yourself into a corner, watching with glee and vigor as the Odyssey gang falls into the trap you’ve set for them.

But the trap fails. Like the outlaws they are, they fight their way out, shooting any and all in sight. Your proximity to the site only serves to damn you. When Cain finds your hiding spot and says that they recognize you, you’re certain that you’ll meet your end. This time, though, you find yourself face to face with Odyssey himself, and for all his famously floundering leadership, he’s clever enough to realize the condemning implication of your presence — you were the one to set the trap. Against all odds, he refrains from putting you down, and contrary to the ruthlessness you witnessed when your friends were wiped out, Jack gives you a choice. You will be spared if you’re able to pay the cost of your crime: the sum of what you paid to their rivals, returned to Jack Odyssey, plus interest. It’s not mercy so much as practical gain; he clearly thinks there’s more use to you alive than dead — you haven’t proved him wrong. These days, you pull your weight, and you go above and beyond in order to rack up cash for your monumental debt. You couldn’t care less about the Odyssey gang, or anyone in it. You know you’ll never forgive yourself for choosing your own desire to live over personal retribution — but you’ll do everything to show them all just how far out of reach forgiveness truly is.

WITNESS. You have completely different places in the Odyssey. You think of them as a capable individual, who would have so much to offer to the gang if it weren’t for the disregard and dismissal they constantly face and their unwillingness to play nice with others. You, on the other hand, go wherever the promise of cash takes you, focused on nothing but paying off your debt and watching the rest of them crumble in its wake. Still, you share the same predicament of being bound to whatever the fuck fate you’ve been left with, and so you’ve banded together. You’ve promised each other that the moment one of you has a chance to leave the Odyssey in the dust and make a break for it, or the chance to sell the Odyssey gang out, you’ll be pulling the other along and leaving together. You have no intention of honoring that promise, but for now, you’ll play along and bide your time.

SHOTGUN. You despise them for many reasons, but the biggest one of all is their callous pretense of being the kinder of the two in their dynamic with Cain. What you saw in that hotel as they killed your (albeit new, fair-weather) friends in cold blood for entirely understandable hostility — that wasn’t kindness. It was brutality, and they’re lying to themselves if they pretend otherwise. At least their partner, Cain, embraces their viciousness: they hone it openly and unapologetically. But Shotgun? They’d rather slither beneath the grass, disguising their bite beneath the flare of roses. Hypocritical as it is, their cowardice disgusts you, and though you’re keeping your hatred on a tight leash, you’ve given them enough of a glimpse for them to know it’s there. You long for the day when you can finally let it loose.

WIDOWER MAY I. For whatever reason, they’ve mistaken you for someone who ought to be taken under their wing, and you’d have given them hell for it if it weren’t for all that you’ve gained. Committed as most members of the Odyssey are to leaving you the bottom of the barrel in terms of jobs and robberies, Widower’s mindless endeavor to help you is just about the only venture that’s shaved a portion off your debt. You haven’t thanked them for it, and you have no intention to, but you’ve steadily grown less and less hostile in their company. Of all the outlaws you could find yourself in the company of, you’re glad it’s them. If their kindness continues, Widower might just be spared when your reckoning descends upon the Odyssey.

— VEX is currently TAKEN and played by JULIE.

#vexbio #all #taken #lsrp #lsrpg #new rp #crime rp #blood tw #death tw

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x-fern-weh-x · 3 years

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my favorite grishaverse quotes - part two: six of crows duology

"Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you'll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won't matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart." (Six of Crows)

"Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return." (Crooked Kingdom)

"No mourners. No funerals. Among them, it passed for 'good luck.'" (Six of Crows)

"I would have come for you. And if I couldn't walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together-knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting." (Crooked Kingdom)

"Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?" (Six of Crows)

"Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway." (Crooked Kingdom)

"Kaz leaned back. 'What's the easiest way to steal a man's wallet?' 'Knife to the throat?' asked Inej. 'Gun to the back?' said Jesper. 'Poison in his cup?' suggested Nina. 'You're all horrible,' said Matthias." (Six of Crows)

"She smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'I can hear the change in Kaz's breathing when he looks at you.' 'You... you can?' 'It catches every time, like he's never seen you before.'" (Six of Crows)

"'Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?' 'So?' said Kaz. 'Well, usually it's just half the city.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all." (Six of Crows)

“Mati en sheva yelu. This action will have no echo." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'What do you want then?' The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie's voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You." (Six of Crows)

"Don’t worry, Da. People point guns at each other all the time in Ketterdam. It’s basically a handshake." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.' Brekker’s lips quirked. 'I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.' 'My ghost won’t associate with your ghost,' Matthias said primly, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain." (Six of Crows)

"He doesn't say goodbye,' Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. 'He just lets go.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"Besides, she was the Wraith – the only law that applied to her was gravity, and some days she defied that, too." (Six of Crows)

"I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.' 'Don't be ridiculous,' he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot." (Six of Crows)

"'You can only sharpen a blade so far,' Kaz said as he joined them at the front of the church. 'In the end, it comes down to the quality of the metal.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Oh, I see. I'm the wicked Grisha seductress. I have beguiled you with my Grisha wiles!' She poked him in the chest. 'Stop that.' 'No. I'm beguiling you.'" (Six of Crows)

"'Do you really have a flying ship?' blurted Jesper. 'No.' 'Oh.' 'I have several.' 'Take me with you.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse." (Six of Crows)

"Wylan knew that even if he'd had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose." (Crooked Kingdom)

"I don’t know!” Jesper said angrily. 'Maybe I liked your stupid face.'" (Six of Crows)

"He sometimes suspected they could forgo all of Kaz's planning and simply let Jesper and Nina flirt the entirety of Ketterdam into submission." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?' 'If the cripple is you, then any man with sense.'" (Six of Crows)

"'Curse you and all your Saints,' he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'I like singing,' said Alys. Wylan shook his head frantically, mouthing, No, no, no. 'Shall I sing?' Alys asked hopefully. 'Bajan says that I’m good enough to be on the stage.' 'Maybe we save that for later—' suggested Jesper. Alys’ lower lip began to wobble like a plate about to break. 'Sing,' Matthias blurted, 'by all means, sing.' And then the real nightmare began." (Six of Crows)

"My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. And my father is profit. I honor him daily." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.' 'I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.'" (Six of Crows)

"'We were all supposed to make it,' said Wylan softly. Maybe that was naive, the protest of a rich merchant’s son who’d only had a taste of Barrel life. But Jesper realized he’d been thinking the same thing. After all their mad escapes and close calls, he’d started to believe the six of them were somehow charmed, that his guns, Kaz’s brains, Nina’s wit, Inej’s talent, Wylan’s ingenuity, and Matthias’ strength had made them somehow untouchable. They might suffer. They might take their knocks, but Wylan was right, in the end they were all supposed to stay standing." (Crooked Kingdom)

"It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted." (Six of Crows)

"I am not sorry, she realized. She had chosen to live freely as a killer rather than die quietly as a slave, and she could not regret that." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Always hit where the mark isn't looking' 'Who's Mark?' asked Wylan." (Six of Crows)

"This was the kiss he’d been waiting for. It was a gunshot. It was prairie fire. It was the spin of Makker’s Wheel. Jesper felt the pounding of his heart—or was it Wylan’s?—like a stampede in his chest, and the only thought in his head was a happy, startled, Oh. Slowly, inevitably, they broke apart. 'Wylan,' Jesper said, looking into the wide blue sky of his eyes, 'I really hope we don’t die.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"'If only you could talk to girls in equations.' There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they’d created in the link, Wylan said, 'Just girls?' Jesper restrained a grin. 'No. Not just girls.'" (Six of Crows)

"'A chemical weevil,' said Jesper, 'But Wylan still hasn’t named it. My vote is for the Wyvil.' 'That’s terrible,' said Wylan. 'It’s brilliant,' Jesper winked. 'Just like you.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

#grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nina zenik #six of crows #crooked kingdom

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friendlyneighborhoodpsyop · 3 years

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Quotes about Kaz Brekker:

Every act of violence was deliberate, and every favor came with enough strings attached to stage a puppy show.

The boy called Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason any more than he needed permission.

He was a collection of hard lines and tailored edges.

“Who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?” “If the cripple is you, then any man with sense.”

“I’m a business man,” he’d told her. “No more, no less.” “You’re a thief, Kaz.” “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I’m not here for a taste. You want a war, I’ll make sure you eat your fill.”

The boy he’d been talking to had been cocky, reckless, easily amused, but not frightening—not really. Now the monster was here, dead-eyed and unafraid. Kaz Brekker was gone, and Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you one day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“Well I’m the kind of bastard they only manufacture in the Barrel.”

Inej was always trying to wring little bits of decency from him. “When everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.” “And what god do you serve, then?” “Whichever will grant me good fortune.”

“What’s the difference wagering at the Crow Club and speculating on the floor of the Exchange?” “One is theft and the other is commerce.” “When a man loses his money, he may have trouble telling them apart.”

“You’re a blackmailer—“. “I broker information.” “A con artist—“. “I create opportunity.” “A bawd and a murderer—“. “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.”

“You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those that take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach—the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone—a single brush of bare skin caused your flesh to whither and die. “Pick one. They’re all true enough.”

Kaz was not a giddy boy smiling and making plans for a future with her. He was a dangerous player who was always working an angle.

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

Brick by brick. It was a promise that let him sleep at night, the drove him everyday, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay.

Kaz’s servant, greed, luring them South like a piper with a flute in hand.

“Being angry at Kaz for being ruthless is like being angry at a stove for being hot. You know what he is.”

“I wouldn’t trust you to tie my shoes without stealing the laces.”

Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark—he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.”

“I don’t want to die.” “I’ll do my best to make other arrangements for you.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

Matthias suspected that Brekker would drag the girl back from hell himself if he had to.

He’d gifted her her first blade, the one she called Sankt Petyr—not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical.

“Kaz told me...he said it was my choice, that he wouldn’t be the one to mark me again.”

Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to your for two days.

He needed to know she believed in him.

“What to do you want, then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.

Kaz would always remember that moment, when he’d seen greed take hold of his brother, an invisible hand guiding him forward, the lever at work.

There could be no judgement from a boy known as Dirtyhands.

“Let’s say the mark is a tourist walking through the barrel. He’s heard it’s a good place to get rolled, so he keeps patting his wallet, making sure it’s there, congratulating himself on just how alert and cautious he’s being. No fool he. Of course every time he pats his back pocket or front of his coat, what’s he doing? He’s telling every thief on the Stave exactly where he keeps his scrub.”

It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.

He’d heard there were sharks in these waters but they wouldn’t touch him. He was a monster now, too.

He’d imagined his death a thousand ways, but never sleeping through it.

It was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her.

“If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” Better terrible truths than kind lies.

He knew he was being reckless, selfish, but wasn’t that why they called him Dirtyhands? No job too risky. No deed too low. Dirtyhands would see the rough work done.

A good magician wasn’t much different than a proper thief.

She could see it took every last bit of his terrible will to remain still beneath her touch. And yet, he did not pull away. She knew it was the best he could offer. It was not enough.

“Some people see a magic trick and say, ‘Impossible!’ They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good nights sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for the skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind”

“You love trickery.” “I love puzzles. Trickery is just my native tongue.”

“Do you know the secret to gambling, Helvar? Cheat.”

There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not been healed wrong. There was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.

Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in the world. She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

You’ve cheated death too many times. Greed may do your bidding, but death serves no man.

He needed to tell her...what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her.

“Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot.

“I can hear the change in Kaz’s breathing whenever he looks at you.” “You...you can?” “It catches every time, like he’s never seen you before.”

“How will you have me? Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch? I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“I’m not big on bluffing, am I, Inej?” “Not as a rule.” “And why is that?” “Because he’d rather cheat.”

Inej wanted Kaz to become someone else, a better person, a gentler thief. But that boy had no place here. That boy ended up starving in an alley. He ended up dead. That boy couldn’t get her back. I’m going to get my money, and I’m going to get my girl.

“A proper thief is like a proper poison. He leaves no trace.”

There were no good men in Ketterdam, Kaz said. The climate didn’t agree with them.

“If you don’t care about money, Nina dear, call it by it’s other names.” “Kruge? Scrub? Kaz’s one true love?” “Freedom, security, retribution.”

“It’s pragmatic. If I were cruel, I’d give him a eulogy instead of a conversation.”

“You haven’t been alive long enough to rack up your share of sin.” “I’m a quick study.”

Patience, he reminded himself. He’d practiced it early and often. Patience would bring all his enemies to their knees in time.

“You’ve got the devil’s own blood in you, boy.”

Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch.

“I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. My father is profit. I honor him daily.”

Desperate for some sign that he might open himself to her, that they could be more than two creatures united by their distrust of the world.

They could continue on with their armor intact. She would have her ship and he would have his city.

Sure, a lock was like a woman. It was also like a man and anyone or anything else—if you wanted to understand it, you had to take it apart and see how it worked. If you wanted to master it, you had to learn it so well you could put it back together.

He always liked returning to a home or business he’d had cause to visit before. It wasn’t just the familiarity. It was as if by returning, he laid claim to a place. We know each other’s secrets, the house seemed to say. Welcome back.

“When people see a cripple walking down the street, leaning on his cane, what do they feel? They feel pity. Now, what do they think when they see me coming?” “They think they’d better cross the street.”

“We can endure a lot of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools. I nurture my grudges, Rollins.”

It was as if Kaz had a secret map of Ketterdam that showed the city’s forgotten spaces.

“I’ve taken knives, bullets, and too many punches to count, all for a little piece of this town. This is the city I bled for. And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it’s that you can always bleed a little more.”

Was Johannus Rietveld meant to be his Jakob Hertzoon? Or had it been some way of resurrecting the family he’d lost? Did it even matter?

“I wreak all the havoc I can until my luck runs out, use our haul to build an empire.” “And after that?” “Who knows? Maybe I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Tell her to get out, a voice inside him demanded. Beg her to stay.

Kaz thought he knew the language of pain intimately, but this ache was new. It hurt to stand here like this, so close to the circle of her arms.

“These things don’t wash away with prayer, Wraith. There is no peace waiting for me, no forgiveness, not in this life, not in the next.”

Two of the deadliest people the barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both keeling over.

A black glass boy of deadly edges.

A bit of entertainment, the dramatic end of Kaz Brekker, the humbling of Dirtyhands. But this was no cheap comedy. It was a bloody rite, and Per Haskell had let the congregation gather, never realizing the real performance had yet to begin. Kaz stood upon his pulpit, wounded, bruised, and ready to preach.

“You have two minutes to get out of my house, old man. This city’s price is blood, and I’m happy to pay with yours.”

“What is wrong with him,” Nina grumbled. “Same thing that’s always wrong with him. He’s Kaz Brekker.”

“Rich men want to believe they deserve every penny they’ve got, so they forget what they owe to chance. Smart men are always looking for loopholes. They want an opportunity to game the system. The toughest mark is an honest man. Thankfully, they’re always in short supply.”

“Well, Brekker, it’s obvious you only deal in half truths and outright lies, so you’re clearly the man for the job.”

“What do you think my forgiveness looks like, Jordie?” “Who’s Jordie?” “Someone I trusted. Someone I didn’t want to lose.”

He put his gloves back on and didn’t take them off. He became twice as ruthless, fought twice as hard. He stopped worrying about seeming normal, let people see a glimmer of the madness within him and let them guess at the rest.

The rage inside him burned on and he learned to despise people who complained, who begged, who claimed they’d suffered. Let me teach you what pain looks like, he would say, and then he’d paint a picture with his fists.

That was what destroyed you in the end: the longing for something you could never have.

“I will kill you, Brekker. I will kill everything you love.” “The trick is not to love anything.”

“Suffering is like anything else. Live with it long enough, you learn to like the taste.”

She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It’s a smile he thought he might die to earn again.

“He doesn’t say goodbye. He just lets go.”

“Ketterdam is made of monsters. I just happen to have the longest teeth.”

#soc #kaz brekker #quotes

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gamergirluprising · 4 years

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Alastor’s Possible Backstory, Emotional, And Mental State.

Okay, so, I find Alastor from Hazbin Hotel one of the few characters that interest me due to his sheer mysterious aura. He has a lot of secrets and I’d like to dissect this man down to his mannerisms, his beliefs, his (low-key/high-key?) pessimistic view of life, and his use of voodoo. I personally am not a fan of the said show since it’s pretty vulgar and hasn’t caught my attention due to the possible problems I see in the show (Why the heck did the God in this universe allow a hierarchy to take place AND give people superpowers by turning them into magical animals and such? Why did he even make a Hell?)

But anyway, I’m not here to discuss my likes and dislikes about the show, I'm here to discuss the Radio Demon and what could have possibly happened in his life as a child to start this craziness and explain his complex personality, mental state, and emotional state. Alrighty with that being said, LET’S DISSECT!

ＭＥＮＴＡ L~𝓔𝓜𝓞𝓣𝓘𝓞𝓝𝓐𝓛 ~BEGINNING

Dude’s got a mental problem fam, and I'm not saying this just cause this man’s teeth are as yellow as Bill Cipher’s entire existence. No, no, no this man is crazy for not just his unhinged need to see other’s fail and to have utter and complete control(Will tackle later) he’s crazy for his huge narcissistic behavior. Dude, Honestly thinks he’s better than everyone and ONLY allows those he thinks are worthy into his “friend” circle. I quote friend because I’m not too sure how exactly and deeply he feels about Rosie aside from their relationship being like Jack and Mary from Mary Poppins Returns, as stated by Vivzie on twitter. He finds those who don’t always smile as people who are WEAK and LAUGHABLE and regardless of how they are, he still finds them to be weak, which BY GOD is such a flawed way of thinking GEEZ. Now after reading about Alastor and becoming more intrigued, I decided to do research on his behavior and when and how it starts.

𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐦 has 9 defining traits. I’ll go over a few that I’ve noticed.

1. He really thinks he’s more important than anyone else and has shown this through his mannerisms, the way he speaks, his vibe and just his general character scream “I’m better than you!”

2. HE LOVES SHOWING OFF! Dude can’t seem to get enough of the spotlight, thus why he LOVES to broadcast his carnage on the radio! Why else would he do so!? He finds constant admiration and respect when he does his “little” display of power!

3. Now, we ALL know he has done some pretty...gruesome things to claim strength and be seen as the strongest, even when there are others who are stronger he displays himself as if he is more dominating and wouldn’t waste his time with, how you say, vermin. This is evident by his response to Vox

You can find where I found this here at Faustisse’s cleanup and Inking vid of the upcoming Alastor Comic https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_15UYpcWJ_Q

In case it is too hard to read due to the bad quality, Alastor is saying “Show off all that and no cattle.” which is pretty much “all hat, no cattle” (or, alternately, “big hat, no cattle”) which refers to someone who is all talk with no action, power, or substance behind his/her words. I’d applaud this power move, and still kinda do, if it weren’t for this dudes BIG HEAD lol.

BUT, you get the point, the dude is an egomaniac! “We already knew this, I mean DUH!” you say to me pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why do you point out the obvious?!”

Well, notice how severe and prevalent these traits are. Don’t you find it odd how this dude has SEVERE megalomania? Well, I did research and found out that Narcissism has a very sad connection most of the time and affects males more than females.

at https://www.healthdirect.gov.au/causes-of-npd here’s what I found

Notice the parental factors during early childhood are all abuse-related. This could very well be one, if not the main reason, why Al is the way he is: He was abused as a child! And to make matters worse, as I was looking deeper into this, I noticed that sexual abuse is ANOTHER factor, which would explain why Alastor doesn’t like being touched without consent or by surprise but will GLADLY invade other’s personal space to feel in control (He's a hypocrite like that). Sexual assault victims ALSO don’t like being touched without consent so this just adds more proof to my claim! And serial killers tend to have a rough family life and have been molested, taken advantage of, neglected, or all of the above!

It’s also come to my attention that Alastor enjoys talking with women more than men for 2 reasons. 1) Alastor finds it easier and more enjoyable to talk with women. 2) He finds men to be dumb brutes at least in hell.

I give COMPLETE CREDIT to @dollymoon

Thank you for the awesome amount of facts you’ve provided! RESPECT! https://www.tumblr/dollymoon

Alastor most likely has a very harsh grudge against the world due to his treatment as a young child. His abuse, and possible loss of his mother growing up, lead to him finding joy in seeing those suffer and fail EVERY SINGLE TIME! Notice the way he talks creepily to Charlie about watching sinners “Repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pits of F A I L U R E.” Look at this man’s face as he’s saying this! The man looks turned on with the VERY fact of people suffering, that’s his kink, y’all, he a damn sadist! (No, being asexual doesn’t mean you can’t have kinks, I’ve checked, lol. Got you fam.) Ima kink shame the hell out of this man (Pun-unintended)

Ahem, anyway, this dude has got a hate boner for the world and finds relief when exacting pain on others because he feels wronged and feels the world is to blame. He does seem to acknowledge and accept that where he’s at is the end of the road for those who want to change, their chance was when they were alive, and has accepted that this is the natural order of things and they can’t fix that. I had this vibe that he must have gone to church as a kid due to his mom being religious and he loved his mom so he obeyed, Has been stated by Faustisse that he’s a mama’s boy, BUT remember, Vivzie said anything that comes out of HER mouth is what’s canon. Unless she has already stated it as fact any other info can’t be trusted. (Even though this info is PAINSTAKINGLY clear just by him mentioning his mother’s cooking and it just makes too much sense, lol.)

So he must have grown up to be low-key violent but with manners like he practiced being slick and suave in order to trick people into trusting him so that he may kill them without getting caught, which would work perfectly with him not chasing people due to his moral code. He practiced and practiced and seeing as how he was well-off in his later years, I’d assume he started doing his radio schtick when he was in his early 20s or at the age of 18. So he began when the roaring 20s was just starting, a new beginning for him!

Alastor's name means "he who does not forget", "avenger", "persecutor", "tormenter", "one who suffers from divine vengeance".

(This also makes me think his real name is Alexander/Alexandre since it's the exact opposite of his Hell-Name and more interestingly, in terms of name-giving traditions, between the latter half of the Spanish period (1790-1803) and the beginning of Jim Crow Segregation (1893-1964), gallicized names of classical Greek and Roman origins dominated in Loiusiana. This may be due, in whole, or in part, to the fact that New Orleans had North America’s (excluding Central America and the Caribbean) first Opera Houses and Theatres, owned, frequented and operated by Creoles from Louisiana, Cuba and Saint-Domingue/Haiti. Adonis is my second choice since It literally means "handsome man" and that would totally fit him for his handsomeness to the fact I feel that his mom would def name him this outside of Alexander/Alexandre.) http://www.mylhcv.com/common-creole-names-for-males/

This is a HEAVY hint to what happened in his life and why he’s so drawn to seeing people fail and helps hold my theory together quite a bit, if not a lot. Of all the names to give this dude, he was given a name that legit is on par with the word “Vengeance” and “Avenger”. Vengeance for what? Avenge who? He was wronged. He possibly is angered also by the death of his mother, who was most likely his ONLY ray of light. He is a broken man who most likely has insecurities, based on the info of narcissism which tells us that narcissistic people are the most insecure sorts of people. Alastor is aware of this and sees it as a weakness, something to be culled and hidden from the world never seeing the light of day. His only way of making himself feel stronger and more in control was through voodoo and cannibalism. Many Cannibals believe to be the bees-knees since they go a step FURTHER into crime by devouring their victims and placing themselves into a rank different and more feared by the rest. They see that no one else would even have the balls to attempt to reach that spot, which again leads back to the way Alastor thinks. He just adds oil to the fire when doing voodoo and doing BLOOD RITUALS which you can see him doing when attacking Sir Pentious! https://twitter.com/hntrgurl13/status/1197918059836690433?s=20

Dude has so much baggage that he hides behind a smile he thinks ALONE brings strength like niBBa are you serious? I’d like to see this man try and say that to the faces of strong people like Superman, Goku, Midoriya, Naruto, Broly, Wonder Woman, GOD. Yo even GOD shows emotions. Wanna know why these beings are strong? It ain’t just cause they smile, Nah, it’s cause they’re determined or the very literal embodiment of determination. they have a damn balance and that strength helps them smile through the pain, they don’t need to exhibit a smile to be strong cause them being themselves and having the strong mentality is what gives them strength, not a damn smile. Watch Charlie hit him with the good old reality check when the man attempts to freaking take over her joint (Both hotel and hell) and she proves strength ain’t just gained through smiling or dominating others. He high-key sounds weak for even having that mindset, only weaklings think like this. He has a very weak view of life which brought forth a monster, or should I say DEMON.

Here’s the info of him not liking being touched.

I’d also like you guys to keep in mind that Vivzie has stated that none of the characters have split personalities, proving Al knows EXACTLY what he's doing.

It’s all them but some have a DUALITY to them. As hinted at by the word "dual" within it, duality refers to having two parts, often(but not always) with opposite meanings, like the duality of good and evil. If there are two sides to a coin, metaphorically speaking, there's a duality. Notice how Alastor also has a duality in him. What kind tho? Remember those shadows that follow him everywhere? Yeah I'm pretty sure those shadows represents his duality in some way, shape, or form.

I also forgot to add that Masochism and Sadism both ALSO stem from the same things Narcissism does or similar things like being sexually abused as a kid. Remember not all cases are the same, I just wanted to put that out there (Not sure If Al is still a Masochist since that’s old info from him being just a deer and liked it when people tried to kill him.)

So in conclusion:

-Dude was possibly abused as a child by his Father

-he hates society/the world due to his terrible child life

-He possibly feels shame for what he has done and thus has accepted his fate

-He loves his mama and MOST LIKELY hates his father who probs is the one who did him a terrible service for just being his father growing up, this would explain his view on men as well

-He also feels shame for being so weak to even allow his father or any male figure to do what they did to him

-Man gets turned on when seeing people like sinners suffer.

KEEP. IN. MIND. None of this excuses his terrible behavior and excuses for being so power-hungry, He’s an interesting character and I love his quirks but he is by no means a victim without faults. He is a product of society and that’s sad but he needs to pay for his horrible actions. Cannibalism is going to far, using you and your victim’s blood for voodoo isn’t excusable, and just killing someone for the sake of vengeance won’t make the pain go away, so nothing he does that involves harming people is cute or a way to suppress his anger, which he’ll have to learn the hard way in this story, I bet. Hopefully, it’s done well cause he’s still very much a bad guy regardless of the fact that he is aiding charlie.

WHEW, that was a long post, one of my longest ones! I really wanted to write out my thoughts on this character cause I’m ALWAYS intrigued by the mystery characters like him withhold. They tend to have hints to their behavior and it was really fun traveling through the possibilities of his nature. I’m probably 100% wrong about all of what I said since I am still not sure about everything and I researched as much as I could. I wouldn’t have had such an easy time if it wasn’t for @dollymoon and their amazing efforts to inform the community, y’all crazy but y’all dedicated so respect. I am not part of the community so I wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint all the info and more. So this is my piece on Alastor the Radio Demon, a.k.a dude who looks like he’s taken ecstasy.

P.S

-Why is this man wearing a torn up and ragged jacket when he can easily make himself a better freaking jacket? The man wore a one that was fresh as hell during his reprise, so what gives?! and why in God’s name is his damn teeth yellow? How you gonna say “You're never fully dressed without a smile” but got on one of the dirtiest smiles I’ve ever freaking seen? I'd rather not smile and be strong than to wear my clothes at its dirtiest(his smile I mean). Ain’t no way in the fresh hell would I invite an edgy radioman, who I know does voodoo, into my damn house, I am too black/Haitian for that bull.

-Y’all finna tell me why y’all falling for a man who canonically has stank breathe...?

At least clean his damn teeth and give him a mint first, D A M N people!

again, thank you very much @dollymoon

but yeah, that’s my theory y’all, hope you enjoy and sorry for the constant repetition in here! DISSECTION OVER. . .

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel thoughts #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel character #hh theory #alastor radio demon #radio demon alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor theory #Alastor is freaking crazy ya'll #cartoon theory

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jamiebluewind · 4 years

Text

Character Descriptions for Fantasy High 2.9!

***

As always, let me know if I need to edit or add anything and tag/ask/PM me about art and stories so I can check them out!

Warning: trauma, abuse, mental abuse, neglect, starvation, manipulation, memory loss mention, dark themes, isolation, imprisonment, fantasy racism, vomit mention (please let me know if I missed any)

All pronounciations typed out have a rolled R.

***

Facts

The party is currently at 44,100 exp. each. Next level is at 48,000 (which will probably take 3 more big battles, 2 if Brennan is super generous with RP awards).

Abernant family had all their land and wealth reclaimed by The Court of Stars for their treachery and failure to prevent a war with Solace. Elianwyn committed treason and betrayal as well.

To save Adaine, the group decided to break up into 3 teams: Pylon 1 (Ragh, Tracker, Cathilda, and Sandra Lynn), Pylon 2 (Gorgug, Fabian, and Riz), and Recovery (Ayda, Fig, and Kristen). Team 1 and 2 would simultaneously take out the pylons. Then, the recovery team would go in (invisible and/or disguised) and gets Adaine and Aelwyn. They would all meet back at Van where they would most likely use Ayda's teleport to leave Fallinel (or regroup to plan their next move).

***

New Characters

Tell-ah-mine Low-men-el-da

Fabian's grandpapa

Tall elf with regal green robes, a silver circlet, long platinum white blond hair with a widows peak, and shimmering blue eyes

Crinkle in the corners of his eyes shows his age in sort of an Elrond way. He look of a dude in his late 40s/early 50s who took excellent care of his body and kept it tight

Moves with supernatural grace

Can turn into silver sand and float away

Has no concept of what time means

Obsessed with the fact that his grandson will die before him (Your human blood has brought mortality to this family. You will one day die.)

Offers to send word to an elf who is a fabled eye smith who lives on the high mountains at the heart of Fallinel that can craft a working eye (from songs, whispers, beams of moonlight, jeweled edges of the blue of the sea, and shimmering poems pulled from the ether itself) for Fabian, but has no clue how long it will take (a moment, a year, or a hundred years).

Can't pronounce words in common very well, especially words he's never heard before (which delights Fabian and pisses off Gorgug)

Calls Fabian Aramais Seacaster fa-bee-ahn ah-rye-ah-my-ess Seacaster (which might actually be the proper pronouncations of his name in that region as "Seacaster" was said correctly and that's how all the other elves say his name as well) and calls Hallariel ha-lair-ee-el

Weeps without moving his face, but also sometimes makes a soft eeehhhh sound when he cries (at one point he cried over a drop of water)

Gifted stewardship of Khy-low Meh-new-rah 3000 years ago after he crafted The Sword of the North Star (he was the smith of fung-dran-ghoor) for the ancient king of Fallinel Th-wrist-win Eversong.

"Without the Elven Oracle, we are lost."

Saw the Abernants as power hungry and cruel and can't understand why they would leave Fallinel. He found Anguin in particular to be a crass and small man with no nobility, only a thirst for power.

Thinks Riz has a harsh energy, is "a little dick", and calls him "a strange green mouse thing"

Got physically ill when a gun was explained to him, calling it gross and some dwarven kind of thing before vomiting which he turns into a flock of white crows

Vhan-lair-ee-el

Fabian's aunt

Tried to heal Fabian's pneumonia with elvan singing

Said "I have failed" when her singing doesn't work before she fades into starlight and vanishes

Hal-door-in and [unnamed youth]

Elven teens in white linen shorts arguing because [unnamed] believes Hal-door-in took his lute.

Calmed by a distant song which stopped their fight.

Faf-threth-riel

Lithe elven youth (around 17 or 18 years old) with a blond mop of hair covering one eye

Bakes elven whey bread

Lived a sheltered life

Ragh was the first half-orc he met

Mostly into Ragh due to Ragh being half orc, excessively talking about his green skin (like the boughs of a tree leafy, my leafy man), being big and beefy (your legs are like the mighty trunks of trees), was really into rage (like when Ragh punched a seat cushion) to the point of it making Ragh uncomfortable

Sang in bed

Treth-thren-ren

Elven youth who does morning dance yoga

Tried to get Fabian to eat a grape

Oak Warriors

Elemental plant based automaton soldiers made of pure magic

Look like 8 foot tall green men with leaves coming from their faces

***

Changes to Established Characters

Aelwyn

Matted long blond hair

Dry skin, chapped colorless lips, and thick bags under her eyes

Severely dehydrated and trance deprived (probably hasn't been allowed to trance for nearly a year)

5 points of exhaustion. Only magic is keeping her from going to the 6th level and dying.

Her "room" is a large large beautiful elven chamber with silver and marble. Ambiant light glows from the white stone.

Trapped inside a 15 foot diameter orb that's constantly turning so she can't trance

Crawling on hands and knees while trapped, shaking with the effort

Doesn't give Adaine up to Kear

Can still remember how to cast the message cantrip

Feels strange and addled (unable to think clearly; confused), can't remember what's real or imagined anymore, doesn't clearly remember what happened in her past (including what she did to get imprisoned), and forgets what she and Adaine have already talked about (causing a lot of reputation).

Thinks her parents "tried their best they could" and that "they expected quite a lot of us, but isn't that what- doesn't that... didn't that make us great?" (possibly due to something her father said or did since her imprisonment as it echoes a few things he's said)

Gilear

Looks scruffy (from not shaving), dirty, and has pit stains

Somehow didn't mess up being diplomatic with Fabian's grandpapa

Unbuttons the top button on his shirt when he "lets loose"

To Fig about Sandra Lynn and Garthy: Are you aware of such... hanky panky?

Learning of Sandra Lynn's infidelity with Garthy "Honestly? Perhaps this is... fucked up. It makes me feel... like there wasn't something uniquely wrong with me. Maybe a tiny little w for Gilear."

Spent the night walking through the forest with Hallariel's father, reciting poetry (badly)

To Fabian after Hallariel's father threw up "You're low and he's low. It's Gilear's day baby! It's Gilear's day."

Tried to ask Hallariel's father for her hand, but even though Fig gave him bardic inspiration and Riz helped by covering Fabian's mouth, he failed... so much. ("Lord Tell-ah-mine of Khy-low Meh-new-rah I like you am-" *makes himself throw up* "We get it. We both get it. We... We're the throw up boys." *passes out*)

Ayda

Hid in the van the entire visit

Might have rejection sensitive dysphoria (which is common in those with autism or ADHD)

Did a sending spell to Zelda for Gorgug for 150 gold (after reminding him that she very much does not like anyone in her debt or visa versa)

Offered to exact vengeance on Zelda for Gorgug

Is powerful enough to know teleport and learn plane shift (so level 13 or higher)

Stated that Adaine is her best friend and decides that since Fig is also Adaine's best friend, by the transitive property she is best friends with Fig as well (and Fig agreed). Learning this, she says "Fantastic. I grow richer by the day. I'm emotional." before starting to cry fire "I'm emotional. I'm gonna fly away." She then flew away, returning after she had calmed down.

Ragh

Ate grapes and started burping musical notes after he left Khy-low Meh-new-rah.

Lost his virginity to Faf-threth-riel who then got creepy and kinda racist, making Ragh very uncomfortable (and want to get out of there asap)

Fabian

Lost both points of exhaustion thanks to the 8000 thread count elven sheets (did they get to keep the sheets or at least one sheet for help with exhaustion?)

Felt really good when he tried out dance yoga, even wondering if he should be some kind of yoga dancer instead of a fighter (how about a whirling dervish dancer like Cathilda?)

The grapes he put in his pocket (after refusing to eat them) turned into song

Indifferent towards saving Aelwyn and doesn't want to be on the retrieval team

When he started feeling anxious about the Aelwyn stuff, Riz told him to lose himself in dancing again to feel free (Riz: You are the only one that I wanna see dancing right now.) It made him feel much better.

***

Other Characters

Adaine

Taken by Court of Stars

Her jacket and spellbook were taken

Trapped in an orb which is soft and doesn't hurt her, but the constant movement of its slow turning doesn't allow her to be still or trance

The walls of her room glow with runes and there are many perminant magical effects, making her captors capable of some crazy things (like prepared directional counter spells), but the setup wouldn't counter cantrips

Escaped the orb with dispel magic (dc 15) which makes a couple counter spells go off and an alarm sound

Hid in Aelwyn's room. The sister's spoke before she was recaptured and placed back in her orb. Adaine told Aelwyn that she was going to get her out

Discovered that her room was close enough to Aelwyn to talk to her via the message cantrip

Repeatedly cast Ray of Frost to turn her orb into a slip and slide to stay entertained

Instead of speaking to her father in elvish, she responded in common. Also cast Tasha's Hideous Laughter on him.

Anguin and Kear said she would be executed for treason for staying in Solace and refusing to cooperate. She demanded a lawyer and then the Ambassador to Solace, citing her age and being a student at Augefort Adventuring Academy which summoned a recorded hologram of Arthur Augefort.

Arthur Augefort

Has a recorded hologram that is activated when a student claims the need of his diplomatic help in foreign affairs.

It threatens the listeners with graphic and terrifying violence and doom, giving them the options of either rectify the actions that summoned him (Yes) or refuse and welcome the aforementioned punishment for their actions (No).

Gorgug

Fabian's grandfather called him Jhor-judge

Finally got a message to Zelda via Ayda using her sending spell (Zelda. Safe in Fallinel. Gonna finish cell tower soon. Sorry about everything, but hope your break is going well in spite of this. Miss you.) and got a reply the next morning a little while after waking up (Sorry. Was at a party. You don't have to build a cell tower. That's crazy. It's all whatever Gorgug. I don't blame you.)

Didn't sleep well, but still got the benefit of a full night's sleep due to elven sheets.

Kristen

Got in a fight with Tracker and then got 3 nat 1s on persuasion checks when she tried to make up with her.

Slept in Adaine's room

Doesn't know how to make a cell tower

Took one of the 40 to 50 foot long diaphanous silk scarves with her

Gave (inspiring?) speech ending with "Friendship is thinker than water and we need water to live." which gave everyone 11 temp hit points

Accidentally called Pok a "smiling elf" and then blew it off as being due to her being human

Can now see Shadow Cat in the picture (along with Tracker, Sandra Lynn, Garthy, Riz, and Sklonda and possibly the dead cambian, Pok, Jace, and Adaine's mom) and reacted by saying "Was I spooning the cat all night in the milk!?"

Sandra Lynn

Dropped out senior year and got her diploma after the fact to join an adventuring party

Joined as a replacement member for an existing adventuring party that was already active in the world and included an older much more powerful married couple.

Fresh out of high school, fell in love with one person from the couple (nonbinary or gender intentionally hidden) who "did not treat her very kindly"

When it all came out, she was ejected from the adventuring party, her romantic partner took great pains to smear her name (so no one would accept her), no other party would take her as a replacement, and she was forced to become a Celesian Ranger

Gilear knows who the couple were, but doesn't want to tell Fig (could she know the people involved?)

Key-heir/Khear

Child-like elven maiden with long brown braided hair, a white gown, and a large staff.

When confronted by Arthur Augefort's hologram, she chose to not heed his warnings.

***

More from 2.9!

***

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #d20 character descriptions #d20 descriptions #fantasy high live #descriptions #tw dark themes #tw imprisonment #tw isolation #tw abuse #tw neglect #tw mental abuse #tw manipulation #tw starvation #tw fantasy racism #tw vomit mention #fantasy high spoilers

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obsidianarchives · 4 years

Text

BGC Recommends: Black Magical Reads

Black Wizard History Month may be a celebration of the Black magical people in the Harry Potter universe, but there are plenty of stories written by and about Black magical protagonists. If you’re looking for books about Black kids living in magical worlds and/or with magic of their own, check out this shortlist of recommendations pulled together by the BGC team!

The Belles, Dhonielle Clayton

The Belles is a fantasy story that follows Camellia Beauregard, a Belle — one of few who control beauty in the world of Orleans. In her quest to become the favorite of the royal family, Camille learns that for all of its obsession with beauty, Orleans has a sinister underside that threatens not only her but the people she loves. This book interrogates the concept of what is beautiful, who gets to decide beauty, and who gets to control beauty, with an original magic system set among a lush and descriptive backdrop.

The Legacy of Orïsha series, Tomi Adeyemi

The Legacy of Orïsha series follows diviner Zélie Adebola on a journey to restore peace and liberate the maji of Orïsha after a chance encounter with a mysterious runaway, who turns out to be Amari, the princess of Orïsha. In their quest to restore balance in the world and exact justice, Zélie instead throws the very structures of magic and identity into chaos. The first two books in the series, Children of Blood and Bone and Children of Virtue and Vengeance, inspect systems of oppression outside of a western colonial lens, the dangers and pitfalls of power, and the importance of cultural knowledge all while celebrating the beauty and power of Blackness.

A Phoenix First Must Burn, Patrice Caldwell, et al.

Looking for a bunch of Black Girl Magic in one concentrated dose? That's exactly what you find in this anthology of 16 fictional stories by as many Black authors. From the vampire/Hollywood star Black girl romance you didn't know you needed (“The Actress” by Danielle Paige) to an over-qualified magic apprentice conversing with mermaids (“Melie” by Justina Ireland), your magical wish is this book's command. Super powers? (“All the Time in the World” by Charlotte Nicole Davis) ✅ Neuro-atypical loner meets mysterious — and magical — queer romance? (“Letting the Right One In” by Patrice Caldwell) ✅ Magical elder hidden in plain sight? (“Tender-Headed” by Danny Lore) ✅✅

Are you a Phoenix yet?

A Blade So Black, L.L. McKinney

Often called Alice in Wonderland meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer, A Blade so Black follows Alice as she fights monsters between Wonderland and Atlanta, juggling school with training in magic weapons and psycho killer queens. The story includes the very real threat of police violence in the real world, and how that affects people, especially Black mothers who don’t know their daughters have magic powers to defeat evil. There are great twists on Alice in Wonderland characters (Addison Hatta, get it?) and the cover is gorgeous.

How Long 'til Black Future Month?, N.K. Jemisin

There are many stories of magic and science-fiction in this short story collection by N.K. Jemisin, but some favorites with magical characters include: “Red Dirt Witch,” which features a battle between an older Black magic practitioner and a white fae who comes after her kids in the Jim Crow South. “The City Born Great” — a sort of prequel short to Jemisin’s upcoming novel, The City We Became — stars a homeless queer Black man who must fight a being older than anything (Cthulhu-style, and which may be the cause of gentrification) and reclaim New York City for it’s more marginalized inhabitants. “L’Alchemista” is about a Black chef who is visited by a strange visitor who leaves her some curious ingredients and challenges her to make what he says. The whole collection is great, and even the sci-fi stories have Jemisin’s particular magical talent of fantastic writing.

Daughters of Nri, Remi K. Amayo

Twin sisters separated at birth can be pretty cliché, but Daughters of Nri takes this trope and makes it passion. In this story, Naala and Sinai begin on completely different paths — Naala, to become wife of her village chief's son and Sinai, keeping her head down in the palace courtier system to avoid bullies. Through some pretty lethal stakes (loved ones murdered by a tyrannical leader) and challenges (powers manifesting for the first time) we see each girl using her haters as motivators to a satisfying victory in the end of the book. Almost too satisfying… Suffice to say this is a series to keep an eye on.

A River of Royal Blood, Amanda Joy

While the title alone could win an award for its drama, A River of Royal Blood aptly describes the protagonist's, Eva, magical ability and the blood letting it requires as well as some major plot points in the book. As a princess and younger sister of a land where only one princess can survive to adulthood, Eva is already short of luck. Add in her mother's preference for her older sister based on bias against her blood magic abilities alone, and Eva is almost a guaranteed failure. Luckily, she befriends some boss magical Black fae and others who help her stand a fighting chance. Come for the drama, stay for the multi-magical species historical mystery that unfolds.

#reading #Black Wizard History Month #books #diverse books

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tarotdeckshuffle · 5 years

Note

I really like the paintball idea/ask... Could you create a Nyx x reader fix out of it? Like s/o and Nyx are a team and they show absolutely no fucking mercy? No-holds-barred!!! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

If you’re wondering what ask they’re talking about, you can find it here.

I have gone paintballing exactly one time in my life lol, but I’ll try!

After some of the angsty Nyx written here recently, let’s have some fun Nyx!

Taglist: @idiotflowerex, @laststory1013, @sayaoqueen, @jophinabean, @mysme-already

If you like what you read, please consider supporting me on Patreon or buying me a Ko-fi!

Pride and Paintball

“Do you ever see someone and wonder what’s going on in their head?” Nyx asked through a mouth full of sandwich. He sat next to you on the edge of a building.

“Nope,” you answered, pinpointing your target in the sight. “But I do know what’s about to go on the outside of their head.”

TWACK!

Tredd’s helmet and the hair that stuck out of it, were painted orange. You heard intermittent cursing on the wind from below as he left his hiding place with his hands raised.

“Nice!” Nyx commented, inhaling the last of his lunch. You stood, basking in your short victory and smiling over at your teammate. It felt extra rewarding because you hit the asshole in his stupidly dyed hair. He’d see the orange mark and soon know who did it. You only wished you could witness that moment.

The sniper rifle held before you looked like the honor child of steampunk and gothic cannons, but one that decided to be a pacifist. Sure, the thing only shot paintballs, but it did so incredibly well.

“Now let’s leave before my hair is dyed, too.”Nyx flipped on his helmet and grabbed you before warping off.

It was the Glaives yearly training exercise: a no holds barred paintball fight across the entirety of Insomnia. Only one team could win.

The competition had been going on for years. It was meant to test the soldiers’ stealth, ruthlessness, stamina, and resourcefulness. It did. But it was also immensely fun.

The rules were supposed to be simple:Teams were formed of two to three members. The competition could be run over all of Insomnia until only one team was left standing. You were out if you got hit or you hit a bystander.

Over the years, the Glaives had made it into a more elaborate competition, creating new weapons and rewards for whoever won.

One innovation was that each team was assigned a color of paintball. The idea was that it would be easily determinable who shot a bystander. It turned into a pride marker and a chance for sabotage.

Now, everyone knew who got them out. But paintballs could be stolen. There were cases of bystanders getting hit by someone using the wrong color paintball and teammates eliminating each other by using different colors.

But that’s what the Glaives were all about, right? Sabotage and savagery.

You and Nyx had chosen each other for your team as soon as the event was announced, smiling as Libertus and Crowe had to team up. Libertus complained about the pairing loudest, but you felt worse for Crowe.

Each team had a unique color of paintballs; yours was fluorescent orange. Both you and Nyx laughed your immature asses off when Tredd got blue paintballs.

Today was the first day of the exercise. Nyx was throwing shade at the other Glaives by bringing a picnic for lunch. It was in a cute little basket with a tablecloth and everything. You were sort of excited for all of the food, but your dearest had something better in the basket: your new sniper rifle. Sure, there were a few dry sandwiches, too, but your new toy came apart and fit beautifully into the square basket.

The day had been spent warping between rooftops. You took out opponents one by one with from afar, while Nyx either closed in for the “kill” or watched your back. Everything had been easy going so far, but that was about to change.

Now, the two of you were pressed together in the shadows of a gargoyle. Two teams were duking it out on the street below you and you didn’t want to draw their attention. But the wind had other plans.

A single crimson paintball caught on a gust, altering its course to splatter on your stone guardian. Red paint dripped from its granite teeth. Both you and Nyx looked at each other, shocked at how close disqualification had come. Yelling in the street below drew your attention.

The culprit of the rogue shot was staring up at the two of you, yelling to the other teams and pointing you out.

“Looks like the jig’s up, Bonnie,” Nyx said in a horrible mafia accent. He smiled wickedly at you as he summoned a paintball gun.

“Then let’s go out in a blaze, Clyde,” you responded, mirroring his wicked lust for competition. You summoned two paintball pistols, determined to look cool if you went out.

Nyx threw the short rifle towards the ground. Just before it could collide with the pavement, he warped to it and spun to unload orange fury on the nearest opposing Glaives. Two opponents’ chests looked like a field of poppies had bloomed from their hearts as they fell backwards, soon to be covered in bruises.

You were far more exact with your targets. You threw one pistol into the air far to your left and above the opposing teams, warping to it as it still hung midair. A single shot from above is all that it took to exact orange justice upon the unsuspecting Glaive below. They bent over as the paint bloomed on their helmet.

Your second pistol flew from your hand and to the right as you warped in the opposite direction, regaining height and changing position. A new target’s time was limited, they just didn’t know it yet. They were raising a gun at you but your vengeance was swift. Their gloves were stained orange as you disarmed and disqualified them.

Soon after landing, you and Nyx stood back to back, prepared to defend your love and prowess from the remaining two Glaives.

“C’mon, Hero! Why haven’t you taken them out yet?” You were only half jesting with Nyx.

“Cause I’m out…” he stated bluntly, holding up the empty auger of his gun.

You sighed in exasperation. The Glaives smiled at each other as they closed in on you, new allies against the reigning champs.

“Then get good, scrubs!” You yelled, throwing one pistol high and behind you.

Nyx caught it and you simultaneously spun, using the advancing Glaives as a canvas for the paint. It was a complete “slaughter” in the street.

Silence fell as only you and Nyx remained standing…

Before laughter and applause came from the “fallen” Glaives. You were congratulated on a blitz attack with claps on the back and good natured jokes before they made their way back to base.

“Really?! ‘Get good, scrubs?! You thought that was cool?” Nyx poked at you, laughing heartily as he started to reload his rifle.

“You’re included in that, mister.” You pointed your pistol at him for emphasis. “Learn to aim!”

The rest of the afternoon passed with little more action.

The day was drawing to an end. Two teams had come out on top, eating through the other teams with ease. Insomnia had become a jungle, one with only four tigers.

You and Nyx had no idea who the other team was. They had kept their helmets on and stayed silent the whole day. It appeared that they hadn’t fired a single shot! No one knew what color their paintballs were or how they had been hiding so well all day.

A full moon lit the skyline as the rest of Insomnia slept. Nyx stood with one foot on the edge of an old apartment building as you sat by the water tower, cleaning your sniper rifle.

He looked down into the city. “I don’t know, Libertus wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut if he was still in the game…” You zoned out as he talked through who he thought was the other remaining team.

You continued to wipe the paint off of the barrel of your gun as a strong wind brushed your hair. It felt pleasantly warm in the cold night, making the leaves on the roof dance in the swirls like tiny tornadoes.

…Tornadoes.

Your eyes grew wide with terror as you realized why.

“NYX! GET DOWN!” You chucked your rifle towards him, warping to it to tackle him off of the roof as a shower of pink paintballs fell from the sky onto where he had just been standing.

You were on top of your love as you fell through the air. You looked at each other, nodding as you understood the plan without a word passing between your lips. In an instant, you had both warped in different directions, disappearing into the night.

From the shadows of a church spire, you watched your past hideout. Two Glaives appeared, one slender and the other larger. They looked around, stupefied as to where you had gone. The slender one hit the shoulder of the larger one, seemingly in frustration. The larger of the two shrugged and was waived off. It had to be Crowe and Libertus.

You thought threw their plan. It was amazing! No one had known what color their paintballs were because they hadn’t been using them! Crowe had been using magic to divert the path of everyone else’s paintballs! It was her magic you saw on the roof! She must have used it to delay and divert Libertus’s shots to land directly on you!

And you were now going head to head with this genius.

With no idea where your boyfriend was.

And very few paintballs left.

Great.

The sun was beginning to rise and you still hadn’t formed a plan. You wandered from shadow to shadow, running from your friends, half hoping you’d find Nyx. But you were a Glaive and so were they. You were all too good to be found.

It was only a matter of time before Nyx did something dramatic to try to find you, likely drawing everyone out in the process. He’d be taken out, by Crowe, in a matter of moments. If you tried to find them, you’d likely be successful. Then it’d be two on one and they (Crowe) would have you down in an instant.

You paced, trying to figure out what to do next. You were going through all of the Glaive training you had ever had, hoping to find a plan no one else would think of, when it struck you: The solution was to not be a Glaive for a moment.

There was a large, open park just outside of the Citadel. It was meant as a strategic defense for the castle, allowing it to tower over any intruders. For you, it meant snipers couldn’t snipe.

In full Glaive garb, you bought yourself a doughnut and coffee and plopped down on a bench in the middle of the open field. Passersby took pictures of a “real Glaive”. You took your time to enjoy your breakfast while you waited for Libertus and Crowe.

It didn’t take long. Libertus approached from in front of you. His mask was off and he was empty handed. You licked the frosting off of your fingers as he reached you.

“Alright, I give. What do you want?” His hand was on his hip as he surveyed you.

“Fight me,” you replied matter of factually.

Libertus blinked in surprise at you for a moment.

“What?”

“Fight me.” You sat on the bench still, looking up at Libertus like a young child.

“I know what you said, but…what?” He was royally confused now. You were making the Glaive short circuit.

You stood to face him. “This is a trap.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m counting on that.”

“Good.”

“So, where’s Nyx?” The corner of Libertus’s lip curled into a smile. He thought he had you.

“Hiding. And I know where. But I’m not going to tell you, but I definitely know where he is.” Sure, you were bluffing, but did Libertus believe that you were bluffing?

“Riiight…You’re bluffing.” His eyes narrowed at you, trying to figure you out.

“Am I? Or am I pretending that I’m bluffing? Bluffing about bluffing, if you will.”

“I don’t think so…”Still eyeing you suspiciously, he moved, ready to summon his weapon against you.

“Typical, you’re ready to fight because you can’t keep up with banter.” You acted exasperated, but your eyes darted around. Crowe was nowhere to be seen.

Libertus didn’t buy into your stall tactics. He summoned a fully loaded paintball rifle with a war cry. You simultaneously began to summon your weapon, but you knew you were behind him. He was raising the rifle and closing in on the trigger in what felt like slow motion.

When the side of his face erupted in orange. You must still have been in a time bubble, as you watched his face contort as the hard paintballs collided with the skin of his cheeks and hair.

Nyx had been watching you from a distant vantage point when he saw Libertus approach. Fearing for you, or demanding to be the hero (who could tell) he had begun to stealthy move towards you, warping at the last possible moment to take out Libertus.

“I can be your hero baby…” Nyx was singing he moved towards you, moving his hips to his own beat and smiling. He got to you, putting his face less than an inch from yours. “Made you love me!” He winked.

You could feel his breath on your lips as you retorted, “I was counting on it.”

A glint caught your eyes. It was now!

You fully summoned your weapon: the sniper rifle.

Using your free hand, you grabbed Nyx’s shoulder and spun him around. He was caught by surprise, having expected a kiss, and looked like a deer in the headlights. The image was made whole by a very angry Crowe striding towards you, firing off round after round while watching you down the sights.

Using Nyx as a human shield, you knelt and aimed your rifled past his hip. You let a round fly, only to have it stopped by what appeared to be a wall of wind before Crowe. The paintball was swirled in a circle around her before being flung away.

But there had to be an opening. There always was.

You took aim with another paintball, letting it fly. It took what felt like an eternity, but it connected…With the barrel of Crowe’s rifle.

“Does that even count?” You heard Nyx sputter above you.

But it didn’t matter. As Crowe tried to fire, again, her gun jammed. The barrel had too much paint in it.

She paused just long enough, letting her eyes slip from you to her gun. That was what you had hoped for.

You threw the sniper rifle. She dodged it, expecting you to warp to it. But this time you ran. You ran straight into her and smashed a handkerchief full of paintballs on her arm.

Her arm had a great orange blob on it, while you were spotless.

You had won.

For a moment, the world was quiet as realization set into everyone around.

“Damn! Nice job!” Libertus boomed, already laughing at the situation. A black eye was forming on his face.

You turned to see Nyx absolutely covered in pink paint. The amount on his face made him look like a circus clown.

Crowe laughed and congratulated you, promising to buy you a drink for that later.

“You used me!” Nyx shouted accusingly. You simply smiled and wiped pink paint from his lips.

“I love you, honey,” you cooed, closing in for a kiss.

“Don’t you honey, me! I’m…” but the rest of his protest was muffled by your lips.

~Epilogue~

Your victory earned the respect of all of the Glaives. Officially, you and Nyx won a week of paid vacation. Unofficially, you won the pot of money everyone had contributed to.

Your hero was still mad at you. You had relied on him to come save you, then used him. You promised to make it up to him by letting him use you on your upcoming vacation. ;)

#ffxv #nyx x reader #nyx #nyx ulric #final fantasy #paintball #fanfic #asks #final fantasy kingsglaive #KINGSGLAIVE #final fantasy xv

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lichlairs · 4 years

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Checkout our new post over at https://lichlair.com/daily-monster-46-leshen-witcher-week

Daily Monster #46: Leshen (Witcher Week)

This has got to be hands down my favorite monster for the Witcher series… Not only is it fun to fight and has compelling lore behind it, but it also gives me the creeps. I think these alone are great reasons why the Leshen deserves a place in our home campaigns, so let’s take a closer look at today’s monster:

The Leshen

The basics

As you hopefully learned from our first Witcher inspired Daily Monster, we’re going to be using Regerem’s Book of Beautiful Horrors for the Leshen’s stats.

This awesome book presents us with not one, but three different stat Leshen stat blocks depending on your needs and the level of your party. Similarly to the Drowner article, the plan is to go over all of them, so you might want to click that link and take a look at the numbers yourself.

To start things off, the standard Leshen has a STR of +7 which, if you’ve played the games you know that to be pretty accurate. Even outside of the video games your best bet is going to be relying on its slow speed (-1 DEX) unless you want to end up half dead in seconds like this guy:

Even the standard version of this creature has some insane saves and pluses to its skills, not to mention their wide list of immunities and their super high passive perception of 18. With fire being their only vulnerability, a trigger-happy Fireball casting wizard sounds pretty good about now. You know, if they can get pass the Leshen’s Magic Resistance.

Today’s monster also gets a few spells thanks to their Innate Spellcasting, though some are certainly more useful than others (looking at you Speak with Plants). Considering how there will most likely be a small swarm of animals to aid your boss Leshen in combat, I think it could be fun to use the Polymorph spell on a couple of them and make them that much lethal. Likewise, Insect Plague is bound to add even more mayhem to the already chaotic battlefield.

Just like in the video game, if you decide to run this creature you’ll have access to its Root Strike (Recharge 5-6) and a small army of forest minions though the Leshen’s Call Primal Beast action (2/day), but what really sets this encounter apart is the Leshen’s Totem Stride, which basically allows it to teleport from totem to totem at the cost of 10ft of movement.

No more hiding in the back, squishy casters.

As mentioned before, the book offers us two other variants; the first one being a Black Root, which is basically a corrupted version of the Leshen. The main changes for this variant is a switch from Wisdom to Charisma (probably because they’re really spooky), a couple of changes in resistances and vulnerabilities, and a different spell list. While the Black Root won’t be able to summon creatures at will or make roots attack their foes, they gain access to Life Drain (Recharge 5-6) and are basically indestructible thanks to their Rejuvenation feature. Your party’s only hope lies on them having done some research on how to permanently get rid of these creatures.

Last but not least, the third and final version of this creature is its Ancient form. Apparently being a very old tree trunk means your hit points increase almost by a third of the max and so does pretty much everything else. Thankfully for your party, the Ancient Leshen’s DEX is still at a -1 so at least there’s hope of running away.

Other than getting the pay to play version of the features a standard Leshen gets, the Ancient variant gets access to a couple more fun spells like Eternalness and Storm of Vengeance.

Oh yeah, and Legendary Actions.

The lore

Can I just say? It’s really refreshing to look up the lore of a creature and actually be able to find tons of information on it rather than just write bad jokes about wooden donkeys and giant crabs. Step up your lore game, WotC!

To common folk in the Witcherverse, Leshens are often venerated almost as Gods. Many consider them to be Nature’s way of protecting itself (the name Leshen comes from the Slavic word for forest). Witchers, however, are aware of their status as monsters, Relicts to be exact.

Leshens can only be found in the most primal and deepest of forests where some of them have lived for hundreds and thousands of years undisturbed by mankind. They have incredibly strong bonds with the land and its natural beast inhabitants, going as far as being able to call upon them for combat situations.

Although there are still Ancient Leshens that live undisturbed in forest areas that haven’t seen and travelers in eons, there are some others who almost preside over small villages on the outskirts of their territory. This, of course, can be a double edge sword, since despite rejuvenating the local wildlife for hunters and foragers alike, Leshens can still wreak havoc on the nearby populations if their territory isn’t treated with respect.

On a similar note, expect for these very rare occasions in which villagers are able to strike some sort of pact with the ancient woodland beings, Leshens tend to be extremely territorial and aggressive. Those who venture into the deepest part of forest might just come across dead bodies that have been impaled by massive roots, their face still contorted in terror as a warning for future trespassers.

For those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the Leshen’s lair, they’ll often find monuments, totems really, that have been erected throughout the area. In the video game, the only way to truly kill a Leshen involves destroying its totems first. In the Book of Beautiful Horrors, however, they are used as means teleportation. But truly it’s up to which version you want to use for your encounter.

While the only thing separating the standard version of that creature and the ancient one is age, Black Roots are a little different. The one way to make a Black Root is for a Hag to steal a child and trap them inside a tree trunk within a Leshen’s territory. Once the child dies, the tree grows and turns black in color, becoming the point of respawn for the now corrupted Leshen. Once this has been done, the forest in the Leshen’s territory starts to corrupt as well, animals turn sickly and infected, plants blighted.

The execution

At this point I think it’s pretty clear that the Leshen most definitely has all the markings of a great boss for your party to fight. Even if you choose the standard version of the creature you still have a powerful creature able to summon minions at will to keep the battle going for a respectable amount of time.

Now, how are we getting our party of intrepid heroes into trouble this time? As far as forests are concerned, adventuring groups go near them frequently enough but I feel like there should be something stronger to motivate our heroes to tread Leshen territory. Maybe they hear rumors about a magical weapon that is imbued with the power of nature itself, or perhaps a local group of halfling boy scouts go missing and our heroes must rescue them, up to you really. Whichever choice you end up making, we should probably talk about the Leshen’s lair.

If you end up pitting your party against a Black Root I’d definitely recommend having the fight take place near the blackened tree so you could maybe hint at it being the key for destroying the corrupted Leshen. If, on the other hand, you’re hoping to have them fight a regular Leshen or even an Ancient one (I hope your party has life insurance), they definitely come with a preferred terrain; i.e. the area near their totems. Let’s take a look at what the Book of Beautiful Horrors has to say about this:

Other than a few interesting regional effects including stronger beasts in the area, and being able to control the weather, our Leshen is also able to use its totems as means of scrying similar to the arcane eye spell, expect limited to six miles around its lair. In terms of combat, there’s a small list of lair actions that we can take advantage of:

Roots and plants burst out of the ground, grappling and lashing at creatures. The area within 60 feet around the Leshen becomes difficult terrain until initiative count 20 on the next round. Huge or larger creatures are not affected.

The Leshen and allied creatures within 60 feet of it heal 4d8 hit points.

A green mist fill the lair. All creatures within 60 feet of the Leshen must succeed on a DC 18 Constitution saving throw, taking 13 (4d6) poison damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.

One of the most important things to keep in mind with running this encounter is the idea of using the environment to keep the player characters away from the Leshen and distracted fighting what’s around them. As a Dungeon Master you are free to use tree roots and vines, and crows and wolves, or whatever it takes to make this encounter a memorable one.

Oh, how time flies! We’re already halfway through Witcher Week! How are you guys enjoying it so far? We’d love to hear about your favorite article and what you hope will be the last Witcher inspired Daily Monster for the week. Make sure to follow us on our social media so you won’t miss out on any of our content. We post new articles every day of the week.

#Behind the Screen #Daily Monster #dnd #dnd5e #dndbeyond #dungeons and dragons #The Witcher #Witcher Week #Theme Weeks

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ask-the-phan-site · 4 years

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Phan Cam: We ain’t your ordinary Rugrats

WARNING: SOME PERSONA 5 ROYAL SPOILERS AHEAD.

>We arrive at a place called Java Lava Coffee House. We came here to learn a little more about our target, Coco La Bouche.

Let’s see, we need to find her old employee. If anyone knows more about what kind of person who old boss is, she might.

It’s a good thing they’re closing early today, we might get our chance.

How are we going to do this? Mrs. Finster isn’t going to just tell us without a good reason.

Leave that to me.

>We go inside.

Welcome to Java Lava! Sorry, but we’re closin’ soon. So what are- Wait a sec... Holy Cow, you’re the Detective Prince, Goro Akechi!

Crow: Glad to see that I’m known even here.

Loud Woman: So, what’ll ya have? For you, I’ll put it on the house.

Crow: I’m actually here to see your employer, Mrs. Finster?

Loud Woman: Alrighty then. Hey, Kira, someone’s here to see ya! You’ll never guess who it is!

>Then, a woman comes from the back.

Yes, Betty, what is it? Goro Akechi?

Crow: Kira Watanabe-Finster? If it’s alright, I would like to talk to you.

Kira: Alright.

>Kira and the woman known as Betty clears the rest of their customers out and put up the closed sign.

Kira: What is it you want to talk about?

Crow: It’s about your former employer, Madame Coco LaBouche?

>Hearing this, both Kira and Betty go silent.

Guess I’m on the right track.

Kira: I guess... You know.

Crow: About what she did to you and your husband years ago? Yes. I did research. But I here she’s still not over it.

Kira: Then you also know that... That me, Kimi, Chas, Chuckie have been getting threats.. And in her handwriting. Here’s the latest one.

>Kira hands Crow a letter.

Miroir miroir sur le mur, Qui est la vraie reine de tous?

L'envie est mon nouvel amour. Il me donne le pouvoir d'en haut.

La luxure sera mon meilleur ami. Avec cela, vous rencontrerez votre fin.

Finsters, votre temps est venu. J'aurai ma vengeance. Vous allez tout perdre.

Exactement comme moi.

Crow: My French is a little rusty.

Noir: I can read it. I’ve studied French.

>Noir reads the letter.

Mirror mirror on the wall, Who is the true queen of all?

Envy is my new love. He gives me power from above.

Lust shall be my best friend. With it, you will meet your end.

Finsters, your time has come. I will have my vengeance. You will lose everything.

Just like me.

Kira: I just don’t know what she means. She loves being jealous of me? And how is lust going to hurt us?

Crow: Then I don’t suppose of heard of this man.

Kira: I think I have. There’s a picture of him Coco kept in her desk.

Betty: That looks like Lucas Brimstone.

Kira: I think that’s sounds familiar.

Betty: You should. He the Minister of Envy, one of the highest members of L.E.G.I.O.N.

Queen: The League of Evil Gentlemen Intent on Obliterating Nations? I have heard of them from my father’s old files. I think one of them also talked about Lucas Brimstone. He’s English, was the CEO of Brimstone Industries, and the ministry he leads are known for intelligence gathering and assassination. But what does he have to do with Coco LaBouche?

Lucky for you, I also did research. As of last year, Coco LaBouche and Lucas Brimstone...

Are husband and wife!

Kira: (surprised) I didn’t know she got married.

Crow: But I doubt she has gotten over what happened that day in Paris with you and Chas. I can only guess what happened next. After L.E.G.I.O.N.’s attack on Paris, Madame LaBouche must have gotten mixed up with them and met up with Brimstone.

Queen: But if she already had a picture of him, I guess she already knew him.

??????? and ??????: Indeed she does.

>We were shocked by the two newcomers.

Grandma Lindsay? Grandma Martha?

Betty: How did you two get in here? Guess I forgot to lock the door.

Lindsay: Can really expect a couple of old biddies to recall everything that’s happened?

What are you two doing here?

Martha: We were just in the neighborhood and we saw you.

Lindsay: So we thought we would drop by and see how you are doing. We heard you were speaking of Coco LaBouche and Lucas Brimstone.

Martha: So, as fortunetellers, we might know of some things that might help.

Joker: Well, I normally have another who does my fortunes, but I guess I can ask you. I don’t want to take too much of her time by having her come all the way to America...

Bruce san will be disappointed.

Martha: Very well. Would you like to speak to Lindsay?

Lindsay: Would you like to speak to Martha?

>We’re listening.

Lindsay: Did you know that Coco LaBouche and Lucas Brimstone know each other since high school.

Martha: Coco LaBouche and Lucas Brimstone were both students at Francoise Dupont High School... As was Madame Coco’s rival.

Lindsay: She was the one who one Mr. Lucas’s affection and became... his first wife.

Persephone.

Martha: Yes. They both were after Mr. Lucas’s heart. In the end. Ms. Persephone came out the victor.

Lindsay: Since then, Madame Coco buried herself in her work with Yamaguchi Industries which was a big rival Brimstone Industries. And in time, she became head of EuroReptarland.

Martha: And the rest is history.

Crow: Indeed it is. Persephone and Brimstone were married and they joined L.E.G.I.O.N. Brimstone became the Minister of Envy and Persephone became the Minister of Gluttony who deal with theft. Then came Devil’s Night, an even in which L.E.G.I.O.N. unleashed a worldwide attack. When Persephone saw this, she felt nothing but remorse for it and left L.E.G.I.O.N. and Brimstone. This only made him angry and attacked Paris. This convinced Persephone that it was time to take down L.E.G.I.O.N...

And M.A.Y.H.E.M. was born.

M.A.Y.H.E.M.?

Crow: Multinational Agency for Hunting Evil Masterminds. My guess is that they met up again after the attack. Sensing how much they were hurt, they got together. And then, got married last year. Followed by L.E.G.I.O.N. gaining a new ministry, the Ministry of Lust... With Coco LaBouche being its minister.

Oracle: And my guess is that for their one year anniversary, they’re going to get rid of the people who they believe gave them the most grief. And judging by the threats the Finsters got, they’re first. They’ll get rid of Persephone later.

Kira: This is terrible. Should we tell this M.A.Y.H.E.M.?

Violet: I doubt such a big organization is going to waste their time on a revenge plot for something like this. Do you even know what the Ministry of Lust does? ... White collar crime.

Oracle: My guess is, that “Cucu” lady might try to steal your identity to frame you for a crime. Do some kind of fraud job. Or even bribe someone to take you down.

Betty: I think I know how the bribery fits into this. The cafe’s annual health inspection is comin’ up. Coco might try to bribe the inspector to fail us. That will close down this place.

Kira: She’s right. This cafe is all me and Chas have left. It’s our sole source of income. If we lose it, we might lose everything. I know we have each other, but I don’t want us to end up on the streets.

Betty: Now Kira, you know we won’t let that happen.

Besides... I hear the Phantom Thieves might do something about it.

Kira: Can they really? I’ve heard of them online, but can they really stop Coco?

Crow: If they succeed in giving her a change of heart, yes.

??????????: Perhaps. Men once called her a heartless shrewd, but I guess getting married changed that.

Betty: Now I really wish I remembered to lock that door!

I doubt it wold have made a difference.

Kira: And we don’t permit smoking here.

Right, sorry about that.

Violet: (surprised) I guess I was wrong. M.A.Y.H.E.M. would help with something like this.

Persephone: (putting our her cigarette stick) My ex-husband marries my old rival and plans to surprise her by giving her the power to destroy her enemies as an anniversary gift and I wouldn’t know about it?

Kira: So, what will you do about it?

Persephone: ... We might come up with something soon. Right now, you should relax. Your family is already worried about these threats, they don’t need more worrying over you.

Kira: Al- Alright. Just do it. Not just for me and Chas... But for our children.

Persephone: Rest assure, we will.

Betty: And in case M.A.Y.H.E.M. is lookin’ for more members, I think I might be available.

Friday: ... You should know, we won’t compensate your family if anything happens to you.

Betty: ... Strike that. Never mind.

Joker: Right. We should-

>I see that Grandma Lindsay and Grandma Martha have already left... But I’m sure we might see them again.

>Out side after Kira and Betty left, Persephone and Friday have us follow them to the park.

I take it you want to talk to us.

Persephone: Quick to the point. (lights up her cigarette stick) Just what I’d expect from the Phantom Thieves.

I’m not actually surprised that you know who we are. You guys are a multinational organization after all.

Persephone: Actually... You just told us.

Oh, crap.

Friday: Forgive us. But we learned you might try to steal Coco LaBouche’s heart after our hacker found your website. The request that was made.

Oracle: By your hacker, you’re talking about Safeword.

Friday: So you know her?

We’ve crossed codes before. Along with a few others.

Still, what do you want to talk to us about? Are you here to arrest us? Or help us?

Friday: Believe it or not, it’s the latter. We know we can’t actually take down Ms. LaBouche and the Ministry of Lust. They already learned too well from when we dealt with the Ministry of Pride back in South Korea. And since they deal with white collar crimes, they can’t actually be charged with anything... Unless Ms. Labouche confesses to it. But that’s where you come in.

Joker: What can you do for us? I doubt you know how we change people’s hearts.

Persephone: Do we now?

>Suddenly, in a flash of light, we were somewhere else.

Joker: (overwhelmed) Th- This is...

???????: It sure seems that way.

Mitsuru san?

Yes, I am here, too. When they found out you might be targeting someone from L.E.G.I.O.N., I thought I might be needed. And it looks like I was right.

Joker: So does this mean M.A.Y.H.E.M. now knows about Personas and Shadows?

Mitsuru: No, but I will explain it to them now.

>After explaining for about an hour, I think they and pretty much any agent who heard us over their com links got the gist of it.

Whoa! That’s quite the story.

Friday: Yes. To know that there’s a world made from human cognition, and you can summon the power of your hearts to create a being to fight? It just takes my breath away.

Panther: I know. I couldn’t believe it either the first time. But after seeing it and gaining my Persona, I’m kind of use to it now.

Friday: So you’ll be using this place to change LaBouche’s heart?

Joker: That’s how we usually do it. And we better do it or there’s a family that’s going to suffer. After learning more about Coco LaBouche, I think we can get a grasp on the keywords to enter her Palace. She thinks she still deserves to become CEO of a Japanese corporation. Maybe... A feudal lord’s home.

Nav: Candidate found.

Mona: Now we have the who and the what. We just need the where.

Persephone: I think I know.

Joker: What is it?

Persephone: As a wedding present and to honor the creation of the Ministry of Lust, the Morningstar gave Coco... her own A.R.K.

Joker: Let’s try it out.

>I enter the word.

Nav: Results found. Updating guidance system.

It;s a hit. It’s go time!

Friday: Hold on, I know you’ll go to that world to change hearts, but you’re still going up against L.E.G.I.O.N. The least you can do is let us help you. So, we had Gremlin make something for you on the fly.

But because I had to work quickly, they haven’t been tested yet... No time like the present.

>Gremlin shows us what looked M.A.Y.H.E.M. versions of our Phantom Thieves outfits with agency’s colors: black, purple, and white with the agency’s white fleur-de-lis on the backs.

For real!? You made these!?

(on screen) We took the inspiration from your video calling cards. By the way, it’s nice to finally see you face to face, Alibaba.

Likewise, Safeword.

Gremlin: Actually, me, Safeword, Mixer, and Joule were already fans of you guys and already had this idea in mind.

(also on screen) Having a fashion designing mother does come in handy. But the rest, like the engineering and the technology in it, are all me and Gremlin. The measurements? That was left to Safeword and Mixer.

Mixer: And I gotta say, the girls’ measurements are wicked. Especially Takamaki’s.

WHAT!?

Safeword: Relax, he’s kidding. I did the girls’ measurements. I stuck Mixer with the guys’.

Mixer: (a little disappointed) It was a real bummer. Though, I was a bit surprised to find that their asses are... Enough. And your...

>Me and the other guys just blushed and were silent.

(also on screen) We Japanese grow off, not show off. We’ll leave it at that.

Mixer: (intimidated) Whatever you say.

(whisper) Thank you.

>We gain the Thieves of M.A.Y.H.E.M. Costume Set.

Gremlin: I’ll give you a quick run down on the works. Listen up.

Tutorial

The Thieves of M.A.Y.H.E.M. Costumes all have two of the same features: They improve your stealth and they enhance your Persona’s elemental attributes and affinities.

Of course, each suit also has their own individual ability.

Joker’s suit can let him use his Third Eye to get a grasp of a Palace floor’s layout without a map. But you’ll still need to find a map as this ability tends to be inaccurate.

Skull’s suit can enhance his leg muscle so the chances of him landing a critical hit increases and raises his evasion.

Panther’s suit changes her appearance so she can go near enemies without being noticed.

Fox’s suit can create decoys to lure enemies away.

Queen’s suit enhance her physical capabilities. Basically, it’s Attack Master, Defense Master, and Speed Master all at once.

Oracle’s suit grants her the ability, Palace Scan (similar to Mementos Scan). However, she can only use it once per visit.

Noir’s suit empowers her axe so she can bust through walls that hide secrets. It can also enhance her chances of landing a critical hit.

Crow’s suit can let him shoot an enemy from a hiding place for an ambush.

Mona’s suit grants his Persona the Skill, Traesto. This will allow you to escape a dungeon at the cost of 18 SP.

Violet’s suit allows her attacks to inflict Dizzy or Confusion.

Gremlin: There’s something else as well. You know how you guys use infiltration tools and other gadgets like your grappling guns? Well, Mona’s and Oracle’s suits comes with a portable work stations so you can make tools and work on gadgets in the Metaverse.

Joule: But keep in mind the only places you can do those things are in Safe Rooms and Waiting Rooms. But if you want to do it on the field, be sure to have Fox with you.

No arguments from me.

Same here.

Friday: Right, that is all we can provide you.

Mitsuru: The technology in your suits are powered by Papillon Heats. All that’s left to do is wish you all luck.

Joker: Thanks. Now let’s do it!

Phantom Thieves: Yeah!

>Coco LaBouche’s A.R.K. Some cyborg guy called Quartermile drops us off here in what I can only describe as a flying limo.

Buona fortuna, amici miei. Radio us when you’re ready to return.

Queen: Grazie.

Quartermile: Prego, signora.

>With that, he takes off.

Joker: Alright, let’s do this.

Nav: Beginning navigation.

>After the familiar red wave passes, we were now at Japanese fortress with a Reptar theme.

(Insert song: A Woman)

(imagine her and us in M.A.Y.H.E.M. versions of our outfits) I guess she really poured her heart and soul into her old job. I wonder what ever happened to this franchise.

After a lawsuit was filed because Reptar was way too similar to another kaiju, everyone just lost interest. Mr. Yamaguchi tried to bring it back, but he passed away before he could get the chance. And since he never found his successor before then, his company was bought out and just ceased to exist. And that was the end of Reptar.

Well that’s a shame. Sis used to tell me how when she was younger, she and Dad would get treats after she had a big test at school. And some of those treats were Reptar Bars.

Oracle: They have the recipe online. You can just make her some. Especially what with Christmas coming up.

Really? I’ll have to remember that.

Yeah, I might even make some for these heists.

And White Day. You still owe us girls.

>Actually, I’m not even gonna.

Anyways, let’s have a look around and see if we can find a way to establish a route to the Treasure.

>We look around. Look like these suit really do help. We managed to get past some of the Shadows (which all look like samurais and ninjas themed after Reptar) with ease. I used my Third Eye and I managed to find some rooms with treasures. One of which lead to a crazy strong Treasure Demon which almost killed us. Luckily, we got away from it. When we had to face regular Shadows, Skull proved quite good with critical hits and evade the enemies’ attacks. In times where we can’t hide, Panther took on the Shadows’ form and helped us get through. When we reached enemies we can’t fight and can’t be fooled by Panther, Fox sent his decoys to lure them away. Queen’s stats were incredible in battle. When we reached another part of the Palace, Oracle scanned it and we found more treasure chests. And with it, Noir found secrets places. Even one with an Ishi. Also, when it lead us to a Treasure Demon, Noir did a great critical hit. Speaking of more enemies, Crow managed to snipe one for an ambush. And in that battle, Violet inflicted Dizzy and Confusion on them. After awhile, we find a Safe Room.

(signing in exhaustion) Finally, we’re here.

But you have to admit, these suits really are helpful. I want to try out that tool making station.

If only Harry, Blurr, and Overflow can see me now.

Heck, if only Bald Cape could see me.

And maybe Mumen Rider.

Joker: Two more connections?

Crow: Seems like it.

Fox: I wonder if Kanji would be impressed about my decoys. Or Aleksei... Or Jotaro Kujo...

Would Cor be interested as well?

Yusuke, you too?

Fox: I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’ve been having dreams of them. Just like with Skull and Crow. This has been going on ever since the day you were to return home. On our way back to your home town, you sang that song, Hoshi To Bokura To.

Violet: (puzzled) I don’t remember that.

It happened in the original game.

Queen: Though in the new one, that never happened. But I guess he still sang and we heard him... During that final battle.

Which we will not be talking about to avoid spoilers.

Noir: Anyway, I still can’t believe it was Joker’s singing that made those connections.

Joker: I know. I talked to Lavenza about it and she said, “It took you long enough. I found out on the second day of the Dream Festival. It seems that you have gained a unique new way of creating connections. And now that you are aware of it, you can now control it. You can now sing without the fear of forming connections without your knowledge.”

Queen: Did she say how you gained that power?

Joker: She says it’s most likely because of this.

Mona: The World Arcana?

Crow: Our friend, Yu Narukamai also has the World Arcana, yet his singing doesn’t do what Joker’s does.

Joker: Lavenza says each Wild Card who gains the World gains a new ability unique only to that Wild Card. Yu’s power is to seek out and recall lost bonds, whether they’re his own or another’s. Aigis can feel true empathy, Lavenza’s sister can traverse different world’s, and a previous guest of the Velvet Room can keep disaster at bay.

Crow: I see...

I wonder what power I would get if I obtain the World Arcana? I also have the Wild Card if you have forgotten.

I’m sure we’ll know soon enough.

Mona: Right now, I want to see how this work station works.

>After a while, we managed to make a few Lockpicks and we did some improvements on our grappling guns.

Oracle: We really have to thank Safeword, Joule, and Gremlin for this.

Crow: Let’s not forget Mixer. He also had a hand in this.

Oracle: Okay, we’ll thank him, too. Anyway, it looks like we’re nearing some early point. Shall we get going?

Joker: We will, but first, some Rejuvenating IV.

>After some healing, we went to the point Oracle was talking about.

Panther: What are they?

>Looking down from a balcony, we find robotic Reptars walking around. Then, we hear a voice in a French accent coming from some speakers nearby.

Woman’s voice: What are you waiting for? Get off your posteriors and get the show on the road! We have a revenge plot to carry out! TOUT DE SUITE!

Violet: (sounding hurt) I take it that’s our target.

Oracle: Pretty much.

>Then, a Reptar falls over and breaks apart.

Coco’s voice: How dare you fail on the job! You’re fired! VOUS ÊTES VIRÉ!

>Then, the Reptar explodes in blazing inferno.

Holy shit! When says “fired”, she really means it!

This is terrible. This is no different from my father’s Palace.

>I could tell that Noir was upset.

Joker: I’m sure this time it will be different.

He’s right, just have faith and believe.

Noir: I... I know.

Thank you.

Voice behind us: Hey, you!

>It was a couple of Shadows.

Shadow 1: You’ve been causing too much trouble for the boss.

Shadow 2: I think it’s time we kick you out.

Shadows: Petites souris!

Oracle: Persona!

>Necronomicon scans the Shadows.

REMINDER: THE OFFICIAL STATS FOR CAIT SITH HAVE NOT YET BEEN SHOWN, SO WE’RE JUST GOING TO GO WITH WHAT SKILLS AND WEAKNESSES IT MIGHT HAVE.

Oracle: I’ve got it. It’s weak to Bless Skills. And... Hold on! I’m sensing something else. But I may have to go higher for it. Even higher than Ultimate.

>Oracle goes Third Tier.

Oracle: PERSONA!

>Al Azif scans again. Then, one of the Cait Siths

Oracle: Thought so! That Cait Sith’s a Kyouma. Everyone, be careful. If you attack it, it will attack stronger than ever.

Crow: Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.

Violet: Then let’s do this!

>Crow and Violet both go Third Tier.

Crow and Violet: PERSONA!

Queen: (also going Third Tier) I’m fighting as well. PERSONA!

>I change Personas.

>Cait Sith uses Lucky Punch on me. Luckily, it didn’t knock me down. Kyouma Cait Sith did nothing. Hereward uses Kougaon on Cait Sith. It was knocked down. We don’t attack the Kyouma Cait Sith, but Crow passes the baton to Queen and Agnes uses Marakukaja. Ella uses Sword Dance on the Downed Cait Sith. Agnes uses Freidyne on the Downed Cait Sith. Then, Melchizedek uses Hamaon on Kyouma Cait Sith. It wasn’t an instant kill, but it did drop its HP to 1 with a knock down.

Joker: Let’s do this!

>After the attack, the Kyouma Cait Sith exploded and the other Cait Sith was gone.

WARNING!

>Two more Cait Siths come. Luckily, none of them are Kyouma.

Crow: Not to worry, I can handle this.

Joker: Are you sure?

Crow: I’ll be fine. Here goes... BLACK MASK!

Oracle: Whoa! Crow, your reading are really high!

You haven’t seen anything yet. Now, Hereward!

>Hereward uses Rebel’s Blade on one of the Cait Siths. It is knocked down. Crow passes the baton to me. Melchizedek uses Mahamaon. It missed both of them. Ella tries to use Kougaon on the still standing Cait Sith. But it dodged it. Agnes tries to use Flash Bomb, but it dodged again. Melchizedek uses God’s Hand. It took a huge chunk of the Cait Sith’s health.

Cait Sith 1: (getting back up) We’re not done here. VIVRE MADAME COCO!

>Cait Sith 1 uses Mediarama. Cait Sith 2 uses Trapped Rat on me.

*squeak*

Queen: That can’t be good.

Crow: I’ve got us covered. No mouse is getting eaten in this fight.

>Hereward uses Heat Raiser on Queen. Ella uses Vajra Blast. Cait Sith 2 is knocked down in a critical hit. Violet passes the baton to Queen. Agnes uses Marakukaja. Then, she uses Mediarama. I obviously can’t do anything in mouse form. Cait Sith 1 tries to use Double Fangs on me. Luckily, I dodge it. Cait Sith 2 gets back up and tries to use Trapped Rat on Queen. Luckily, it missed. Hereward uses Brave Blade on Cait Sith 1. Ella uses Kougaon on that same Cait Sith and knocks it down. Violet defends herself. So does Queen. I change back.

Joker: Okay, enough is enough. Let’s finish this. Melchizedek!

>Melchizedek uses God’s Hand on Cait Sith 2. It knocks it down.

Joker: Let’s do it!

>After the attack, the two Cait Sith were still up.

Crow: I still have some time left in Black Mask Mode. Joker, shall we?

Violet: Really? I was hoping me and senpai would finish this.

>>Crow >Violet

Joker: I guess I can have Crow help me.

Crow: Then let’s do this! Bring forth the pain!

>And with that, the battle’s over.

Skull: Man that was tough!

Noir: Either way, I think we have more firm grasp on the kind of person Coco LaBouche is.

Panther: Yeah...

She’s a total bitch.

Queen: No arguments here.

Mona: All this just because she got spurned. We can’t just let her go ding whatever she wants just because she has the power.

Right, we’ll change her heart before she hurts the Finsters and their love for each other.

Phantom Thieves: Yeah!

Mona: Alright, let’s head back for now. We’ve explored all that we can. Zorro, Traesto!

>In a flash, we were back at the entrance. There, we return to the real world.

Queen: Quartermile san, avremo bisogno di un ritiro, per favore.

>Meanwhile, in her A.R.K.’s bridge, Coco could have sworn she felt something pass her. Then, her assistant, Jean-Claude, sees something.

Madame, it appears someone was just on our ship.

It would appear so... Do something about it! For all we know, it could be M.A.Y.H.E.M.! Could any of you be so incompetent!?

?????????: Guess good help is hard to find these days, eh love?

Coco: Ah, my dear husband. How was your trip?

I get the feeling some people in a small nation in Europe won’t be missing their prime minister too much.

Coco: (impressed) Tu es tellement incorrigible, mon amour.

Brimstone: By the way, I just thought I should tell you.

Coco: And what is that?

Brimstone: Well, my sources tell me that... The Phantom Thieves of Hearts has selected you as their next target. I suggest we be careful from this point on. I even got word just now that they’ve teamed up with M.A.Y.H.E.M. to do so.

Coco: I like to see them try. But since M.A.Y.H.E.M. seems to be on their side, I suppose I should be cautious. I refused to let a bunch of masked buffoons get in the way of my revenge. (making a dangerous look) No matter what. (back to a friendly position) Now, about my Christmas gift for L.E.G.I.O.N.

Brimstone: I still can’t believe you’re going to do that. I know he was L.E.G.I.O.N.’s most popular agent, and he was one of the Ministry of Pride’s top lieutenants, but still... I thought the Ministry of Lust did white collar crimes.

Coco: (being flirty) You’d be surprised by what that could do. Just have to know what you’re doing. Trust me... They’ll love it.

>She then takes something out.

>To be continued...

#phantom thieves cam

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ceruleanmusings · 5 years

Text

Selenophile

note: so a bit ago I stumbled across a gif of Emily Rudd that someone made with red Alpha eyes. I filed that away to the back of my mind and, since I’ve been stuck on my Teen Wolf fic lately, I brought the idea of Mel being an alpha werewolf to the forefront and haven’t been able to get it out of my mind while at work so here it is. This is just a snippet to get the idea somewhere. I may write more later but, for the moment, this was fun to get out of my head. Just in case I wasn’t clear, this is an AU for my Teen Wolf fic series. Let me know what you think!

selenophile (n.) - A person who is fond of the moon.

There wasn’t much that could shake up the status quo in Beacon Hills. In fact, everyone seemed to turn a blind eye to the common goings on in the small town. The disappearances, the homicides, the animal attacks. All a notorious part of it’s rustic charm. So when the news of a body being found in the woods of the Beacon Hills preserve began to be whispered one night in January, it went in one ear and out the other. Until the exact state of the body started to come to the forefront. A dead body is normal but half of a dead body? Stop the presses!

“What!?” Melanie Crowe’s outburst was quickly followed by a dribble of foam spilling over her bottom lip. Holding up a finger, she turned towards the sink and spat out a stream of bubbly toothpaste foam. It plopped into the otherwise pristine sink with a wet splat. She wiped the excess around her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the residue on skin rather than the sea-shell covered towels hanging nearby. “Waddya mean they found half a body?”

“Exactly what I said, Hummingbird,” her father, Jean-Laurence, “Laurence” to everyone—he insisted his full name sounded a tad too stuffy; with a California backrop, Mel couldn’t help but agree—commented from the doorway. Even while leaning against the doorjamb, he took up a lot of space. Years of MMA training filled him out. While he looked like a solid mass to others, to Mel he was a giant teddy bear. “Out in the woods. Same place they found the deer.”

“Which deer?” Mel asked.

Laurence lips pulled back on one side, forming a smirk. “The one that can fly.”

“Dad!”

“The only deer that has any sort of importance. The one with the—” he poked his finger in the air and circled it, drawing an invisible spiral.

"Right. That one.” The only one that mattered. After all, it’s been a while since the symbol for vengeance had appeared anywhere in Beacon Hills, or so her father reported. And on a deer of all things. It had thrown her for a loop when the news first came to light. Why put it on a living animal, Mel had wondered at the time. It was Laura Hale who’d put the idea in her mind that, whoever made the mark, wanted them to know about it. Wanted a moving billboard.

A roaming mark of death.

Wait.

“Dad,” Mel asked, stretching the word far beyond it’s normal syllable usage, “what kind of animal tears a body in half?”

“The worst kind.”

Mel nodded slowly, tapping the end of her toothbrush against her chin for a moment before making a face. She, again, wiped off excess toothpaste and ran the head of the toothbrush under the water. Yes, of course. Because no normal animal would take the time to break a body in half. There weren’t wolves in California—proper wolves—to do it, coyotes tended to stay away from humans, and she’d never heard of a bear doing that much damage during their attacks. So it was all laid out for her, all made clear, just what sort of animal would do this.

“So we’re looking for a Wendigo, huh?” she asked, turning back towards her father. At his lifted eyebrow, she continued barely able to conceal her excitement. “See, I knew there were Wendigos in Beacon Hills! It all makes sense! Because why else would the body be found in halves?,” she rambled, gesturing wildly with her toothbrush as if it here a professor’s teaching pointer, “so they can get to the insides faster, duh! And...and, some of the robberies at the cemetery? Wendigos! Stealing jewelry and stuff has to be just a cover to get away with it. Like...the press would definitely be all over someone stealing kidneys or something and—”

“Mel!”

Her father’s curt tone stopped her all at once and silence settled in the small bathroom. She heard every tick-tick-tick of the of the clock on the wall. The kind with cat eyes and a tail that shifted with each second. It came with the house when they moved in years ago; she’d always meant to take it down and replace it but had never gotten around to it. It became like a touchstone, like a piece of normalcy and innocence that she could come back to every now and then when she needed a break from everything. When she needed to be transported back in time before she knew about the dark underbelly that ran just out of reach in Beacon Hills.

“Focus,” Laurence continued, his voice softening in a matter of seconds. “That’s not the kind of animal I’m talking about.”

“I know,” she conceded. She licked her mint-flavored lips and set her toothbrush aside. “I just don’t want you to be right.” Laurence unfolded himself and straightened in the doorway, studying her. She pressed her lips together and cleared her throat, ducking her head to get out of his line of vision. He had a way of being able to look right through her that she didn’t particularly like. Maybe it was the look of a previous leader. And maybe it was the look of a concerned father.

He stepped further into the room and reached out of her. He gently laid his hand on her head, slipping it down to her cheek where he ran his thumb against the soft curve. She turned her face into his palm, nuzzling the warmth beneath her skin. A weary sigh made her body sag and she looked up at him, sorrow filling her big, blue round eyes. “Because if you are...I have an idea of who it is. And...and I don’t want it to be her. I don’t. It...it can’t be her, Dad.”

“...You’ll never know if you don’t check.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Aren’t parents supposed to keep their kids from sneaking out at night?”

“Only the normal ones.”

Mel nodded. Her lips briefly pressed into a line. It was her turn to check the deer anyway. That was the plan. Wait a couple of days and, if there was no new news, go out and check herself. Her phone had been silent for days but her mind had been loud in the interim. For her to go out in the woods and look for the spiral herself...that only meant there was a wrench in their plans. Or, in this case, a sword. “Tell Mom I’ll be back in two hours. Tops. If I‘m not, well...then I’ll need some backup.”

“You shouldn’t go by yourself.”

This time Mel laughed out loud. “Who said I was?” She turned to the sink where her cell phone sat, lying face up. She tapped the screen, illuminating a picture of Erica Reyes blowing a kiss to the camera. Her thick, black reading glasses and a few healing spots of acne on display. Erica hated the picture. Mel loved it. Beneath it numbers counted upwards as the seconds ticked by. “Can you sneak out past your mom, Eri?”

“I think I can,” Erica’s replied, her voice sounding small, far away, and tinny in the expanse of the bathroom. “If she finds out I can just tell her that I stopped by your place to get some clothes for the first day back.”

Mel’s smile only filled half her face. Unfortunately it was a sound excuse. Mrs. Reyes—whom Mel wondered should really be back to Ms. Martinez at this point—put her foot down about a lot of things regarding Erica but when it came to fashion she didn’t say a word. It was hard to find clothes that Erica liked and didn’t make her feel so defeated about her body and her condition. After many changing-room arguments, Mrs. Reyes finally took a step back on the fashion front. And, since half their clothes didn’t belong in the proper closets due to many sleepovers over the years, it wasn’t unusual for either to show up at one another’s houses looking for particular shirts, jeans, or shoes.

“I’ll bring some with me just in case she actually checks.”

“Oh, good, because I have been meaning to get that sweater back that I loaned you.”

“Which one?”

“That red polka dot one.”

“Aww, man, I liked that one.”

“Yeah, so do I. Which is why I want it back, Mellie.”

“But what about—” Mel stopped right away when she saw the way her father looked at her: hard stare, set jaw, furrowed brows. She cleared her throat. “Okay, I’m leaving now. Be there in a bit. Wear good shoes.” Mel ended the call with a tap to the screen.

“I should have known,” Laurence said with a shake of his head. She wasn’t sure if it was in amusement or reluctance. “I really should come with you.”

Mel lifted her hand and shook her head. “You need to stay with Mom.”

“You’ll be weaker on your own. If something comes up—”

“If something comes up they’ll think that it’s just two curious teenagers out past curfew,” Mel pointed out, sliding past her Dad to head back into her room.

“You’re giving hunters too much credit,” Laurence said. “They could be lying in wait.”

“They could be,” Mel agreed, grabbing a sweatshirt off her desk chair. “But I don’t think they’re looking for snooping teenagers. They have a code, don’t they?”

“If they decide to follow it,” Laurence pointed out. “You know that saying about waiting thirty minutes to swim after eating?”

Mel snorted. “Who follows that rule?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, in the event that something does happen...this is why I need you to stay with Mom. I can protect Eri. I’m not exactly defenseless.” She lifted her head and flashed her eyes to prove her point. They glowed ruby red for a few seconds and then faded a moment later. She shook her head at the rush of power that flashing her eyes sent through her and let out a slow breath, pushing it back down. She’d gotten in control of her alpha power surges in the past couple of years—going through two kinds of puberty at one time sucked—but every now and then the full moon could get the better of her.

“Neither am I.” Laurence flashed his gold eyes in response. “I’m just saying...” he hesitated, fiddling with his fingers, “I’m stronger with you here.”

“Awww,” Mel cooed, saccharine tones practically forming a puddle at her feet, “I love you too, Daddy-o.” She pulled the sweatshirt down over her head and smiled at the sequined picture of Pikachu’s face staring back at her. “Seriously though, I get it. I know it’s been hard for you to come to terms with not having your alpha powers anymore, especially now—”

“I’d give ‘em up for you again in a heartbeat,” he stated. She crossed the room and hugged him tight around the waist. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and ruffled her hair.

“But Dad”—she backed away, taking his hand and gave it a squeeze—”you’re going to have to let me be the Alpha at some point. Okay?”

He nodded; his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “Okay.” She slid out from his grip and had barely reached her open window, pushing aside her billowing curtains with a pair of Doc Martens curled in her fingers, when he spoke again. “If the hunters are back, we're going to need to start talking about you making your first Beta.”

Mel paused on the windowsill, one leg still in the room and the other dangling outside. “You’re my Beta.”

At that Laurence barked out a laugh. “I’m an Omega, remember? You didn’t bite me—thankfully. That’s not exactly a conversation i want to explain, in more ways than one.” He sobered up a second later. “Seriously though...I may not always be there. You’re going to have to think about it.”

“I will,” Mel said. She then tossed her shoes and a few clothes out the window. “After I figure out what’s going on with this body.”

“Be careful.”

She turned and flashed a wickedly fanged smile at him. “Where’s the fun in that?” she asked and then rolled out the window. Thankfully the drop wasn’t too far, not that it would hurt her. She always found a way to land on her feet.

Gathering up her things, she then hurried down the side of the yard and to the truck that sat in the driveway. Not officially hers—yet!—even if she did drive it a lot. She thanked anything that would listen for the body being discovered in the winter; it was the off season for her mother’s flower shop so she had wheels within reach at any given moment.

She dumped her clothes into the passenger seat, quickly pulling a pair of jeans over her sleep shorts which were then followed by her boots. And as she turned on the engine and prepared to back out of the driveway she opened her phone and checked her recent text messages. She highlighted the fourth name from the top, Laura Hale. Still nothing since the beginning of the month.

Grunting, Mel tossed the phone aside and backed out of the driveway. Either Laura Hale’s phone died and she hadn’t bothered to charge it or there were outside forces at play.

Either way, she was certain she’d get an answer in the woods. She just hoped it’d be in her favor. For all their sakes.

#ocappreciation #ficlet #melanie crowe #teen wolf #fyeahteenwolfocs #teen wolf fanfic #erica reyes #laura hale #if mel were an alpha #underneath it all au #crowe's nest series au #alpha!mel #selenophile #plot bunny

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sturdybackbone · 7 years

Text

sinking and sinking and sinking-drabble

When Artur is barely eight, he almost dies.

In hindsight, he should have seen it coming—But he’d been far too wrapped in the sudden freedom that grandfather’s death gave, that he’d forgotten to be wary. To be careful of Father, now. It wasn’t like it was his own father that had died, but it had been Mother’s—But, still, Mother wept. Mother wept for days upon days, and she didn’t do the housework, the cooking, the groceries, leaving it all to Father, and to Andrei and Sveta. Father was irritated at this. Housework was women’s work. He had to be able to drop everything, too, to care for Mother, lest she break out into hysterics and cry shrilly enough to get the neighbour’s dog howling. Father was irritated, he was tired, and he didn’t know what to do. And, so, when at a dinner, Artur went and did his customary action of taking far less food than anyone else, and dropped his plate, breaking the blotched porcelain, Father snapped.

Father was a week sober, and withdrawal was making his hands shake and his eyes bloodshot. Father burst out of his chair, rattling the table hard enough to make Sveta reach for her teacup, lest it would come tumbling down to earth. Artur didn’t even have time to flinch, to even attempt to flee, before Father was upon him. “You little whelp.” Father hissed, before yanking Artur up by his short, chopped hair. It had been long enough to reach his neck, once upon a time. Once upon a time, Artur could go to bed without making sure to not lie on a tender part of his body. “You useless little blight, you waste of space, look what you’ve done!” And angled Artur’s head so that he’ll look at where the broken plate, with wasted food, lay. Artur almost wanted to say, ‘How can I, when you’re yanking so hard on my hair that I can’t see?’ But he knows for certain that if he did, then he’d find his head suddenly smashed down onto the corner of the nearby stove.

Artur’s panting with pain, and, knows that all he can do is stay limp, quiet, and let Father work his aggression out. Father growls, low and animalistic, and as his siblings go hushed and stare down at their plates with their shoulders drawn, Artur can hear little Maxim mewl, and then start to cry up above. “Look what you’ve done.” Father is oh-so tired, having to deal with Mother and the house and the foul little baby, and Father, still holding onto Artur’s hair, goes and hauls Artur out of the summer house while Artur can’t help but to yelp like a dog.

Artur struggles, and gets thrown down the few stairs to the porch for his troubles. It more knocks the wind out of him than anything else, and Artur attempts to scramble to his feet, but more ends up with his head hanging down by where old pine needles lay, digging into the skin of his smooth forehead. Father does not immediately come stomping down the stairs, and Artur stares up, eyes gradually growing wider, as the time passes, and just as he attempts to put weight on his hand, to try to rise, Father comes sauntering out of the house, footfalls heavy. He’s carrying the poker from the cold fire. Artur’s eyes become saucers, and as his feet find dry earth, his Father finds his shoulder and uses his newly acquired tool to bash right at the junction of neck and collarbone. Artur feels a shoe smash down onto his stomach, and knows that it will bruise into the exact shape of the shoe very, very soon. Artur’s carried by the loose fabric of his clothes to the tree where a swing, the chains rusted and the wood seat covered in splinters, rests, and Artur finds that the feeling of tree bark against his back is truly not helping him in all of this. Artur does the sensible thing, and it’s to curl up into a ball to protect his vital, tender spots, and hears a painful crack in the general vicinity of his arm when the poker hits him next, and, after a few, blissful milliseconds of delay, the pain roars and fills him with heat and, well, pain, and just like little Maxim, he mewls, and curls up so tight his bones ache. There is no use in crying. And still, his eyes betray him. “We didn’t want you, we didn’t want this.” And Artur almost wants to laugh because is this really the time?

Instead he blubbers, like the distressed child he is. “We didn’t want you in our lives, with your floating and your healing and your bouncing. We didn’t want any of it, you blasted child!” A foot smashes down against his hands, aiming for the head that those hands protect. Father succeeds, eventually. “We don’t want you, need you, and you’re ruining us! We’re feeding you, clothing you, you ungrateful little bastard! The only reason you’re still alive, Devil-child, is because I’m a good person.”

Artur chokes out a little bubble of laughter, and a little bit of blood too. For his trouble, Artur’s beaten past the point of coughing blood, past the point when he can’t even properly curl up for the pain, past the point when he’s even all that there in his body, past the point when his bones would snap and past the point when they’d crunch like fallen autumn leaves, past any other point that Artur has felt, and, and, and when Father finally relents, panting, shaking, he wipes his brow, and walks away into the house, slamming the door behind him, Artur faintly realizes that he can’t really feel much of anything, at the moment, as he lies, crumpled, on his side. Which is nice, he supposes. It’s nice. It’s nice, even if all of this isn’t. He can only stare up at the leaves of the oak, and watch the sunset slowly roll by, painting the sky gold and pink, and then, purple and blue. And when the darkness comes, he does not fight it.

When Artur wakes up, he’s acutely aware of the fact that, by all rights, he shouldn’t have woken up at all. Artur dreamt, just nary a few moments ago. He dreamt of white, and of, of something pleasant and sweet and the more he stayed awake, the more the memories faded and faded until all that was left inside Artur was an ache at the loss of something he’ll never again remember.

Or, perhaps that ache was something different, something far more physical, because, from the very moment Artur barreled into consciousness, he came aware of blinding, impossible pain all over him. Artur blacked out for what had to be a few minutes maximum, and when he came too, the pain hadn’t magically vanished away, like he’d desperately wanted it to.

Artur rolled onto his stomach, tried to stand, retched bile and blood, and for the weight he’d placed on limbs which were bent and bruised in a way limbs were not supposed to, Artur got to have a lovely cry in the dirt afterwards, where every hitch of his chest caused his ribs to poke like knives into his soft tissue. Artur, writhing in the dirt like a worm, realized that he had never, in all of his days, hurt as much as he did now. And he knew in his heart of hearts, that it was only to get worse from hereon. … The bruises were going blue and purple at the edges, and, yet again, no one paid them any heed, when Artur was able to walk enough without collapsing head over heels into the side of the road. The hot summer day meant that an entire flood of children was out and about, playing in the forest, in the streets, on the bright playgrounds which littered the small village. In autumn-time, all of the families would crawl back into Moscow, where it was warm, and the datchas and the towns would stay still and quiet, with no soul in them save for little creepy crawlies, with no sound save for the harking calls of crows. “‘Fell’ again, did ya’, Artur?” Harked out a voice quick similar to crows. Artur, from his seat on a creaky swing, saw Michail saunter close to him, drawing the attention of a few of the boy’s friends, who stayed where they were, by the sandbox, but watched, glee making their eyes shine. Artur watched Michail, and felt very, very, very tired. Artur put his weight on the swing, using it to haul himself onto aching legs. Michail would ask for the swings soon enough, he knew. Michail’s face twisted. “No—No, sit back down, sit back down, will ya’?” And Artur stared at the boy who was practically twice his size, blinked, and, with a grimace, eased back into the seat. Michail’s chest puffed out, and he put his little fists on his hips, and he barked. “Now get up! Quickly, now, or I’m going to kick you right in the shin!” Artur blinked, and knew that he couldn’t get up as quickly as Michail wanted him to. Artur’s bones had magically healed, yes, but that still meant that he could feel still feel the bone deep bruises which had been left behind. And so Artur didn’t even bother, leisurely getting back up to his feet, and when he’d gotten there, he held his head high, and stared at Michail, head on. Michail blinked, and something flickered over his face, before Artur was met, once again, with a familiar friend. Pain bloomed in his legs, and Michail did, indeed, kick him in his shins, sending Artur down to earth with a pained wheeze. A hand pressed down onto his head, tangling in his hair, and lowered his face and pressed it into dirt and into grass. “Good job.” Crooned a voice by his ear, and in that singular moment, Artur could only think of tearing Michail’s fingernails off with his teeth and hearing him scream, high and shrill, and then hearing him blubber like a pig. He’ll have his vengeance yet.

…

The bruises were going green and yellow at the edges, but, like some demented rainbow, they were joined by new, glaringly bright purple and blue bruises which were sprinkled with the occasional scab. For the past few days, he had avoided Michail’s stomping grounds, quite successfully, might he add.

But now, a week since the day he made a great ol’ bloody stain by the old oak tree, Artur found himself coming back to the playground frequented by Michail. It’s the newest one in the village, repainted and overhauled in the early spring of this year, apparently. Some people had begun to tire of the appealing newness, but not Michail. Especially since it was, quite literally, a stone’s toss away from his own datcha. The wooden fence peered at him, as Artur weakly swung on the swings. It was near-sunset, and most of everyone had headed home to get dinner. That’s really, why Artur was here. For once, he could be somewhere quiet, where he could think, and think, and not find biting words suddenly behind his ear. “—Didn’t even want him, you bitch!” Artur’s ears pick on the all too familiar tone, and finds it odd that it’s not his father’s voice that’s yelling. “Well, yes! Because I didn’t even want to get married! You’re the one who tied me down, I didn’t want you, I wanted Sergei Koldovich! God knows he knew how to treat a lady in bed better—” “Natasha, Michail can—” The male voice was crumbling. Clearly, not the one who’s wearing the pants in the relationship. “Oh he can go to hell, Ivan! I don’t give two fucks about him! If it was up to me, I’d leave him out in the woods for feral dogs to eat!” The voices are coming from just beyond that wooden fence. Artur had long since stilled his swinging. And then comes the sniveling little devil himself. “Mamma, Pappa—Please, don’t argue—It’s dinnertime! Pappa made some really, really good plov, maybe we should eat it—” There’s the clatter of plates, and then their smashing. “Oh his plov can go to hell! And then he can go with it, the fucking idiot!” Artur hears the padding sound of little feet running away. He hears a door opening, then another, and then a gate opening. A gate in the wooden fence that’s still looking at Artur with as much interest as he has towards it. Michail, exceptionally pink in the face, runs out, clutching an arm that’s streaked in red. Michail scrambles past the slide, past the swings, unseeing, and hides in a little tunnel that’s coated in metal, just underneath a little mock witch’s hut. The tunnel merely amplifies Michail’s curses, his sobs, his low, mewling whimpers. Artur gets to his feet, and he finds that he doesn’t know exactly why, nor, can he feel his legs, in this moment. Artur feels his little feet waddling towards that tunnel, with almost no sound, on the grass and the dirty sand, which is likely soaked in drunk mens’ piss. Michail, when he’s blubbering, sounds less like a pig and more like a cat that finds that it’s suddenly lacking its tail. Artur’s legs carry him by the tunnel, and he finds himself leaning against the mock witch’s hut, feeling wood press into the tender flesh of his back. Michail sobs horribly. It’s all wet sounds, from his hands furiously rubbing his eyes, rubbing away snot, him sucking up snot with the best of his ability, and him opening his mouth, and weeping with that, which, of course, means that some dribble comes out too, which must be sucked back in, too. Artur doesn’t sound like that when he’s crying, right? He hopes not, at least. Because if so, then maybe there is a point in having him beat black and blue.

“I’m sorry.” Artur says, and Michail freezes up, going quiet. He must have stiffened and frozen, but Artur doesn’t see. Artur hears the rubbing of cloth against smooth skin, and hears Michail shift, and heave in a few more breaths, and then sob some more, as he fails to steel himself. Artur’s looking up at the sky, the sky which is red and orange and pink and purple. The sun, when it sinks, bleeds the very most interesting and beautiful colours into the sky. “What—What are ya’—Sorry—For—Loser?” Michail finally gurgles out. There is an edge to his voice. One that’s ever, ever, ever so hopeful, and high. Artur’s still looking up. “That you were ever born.” Michail makes a faint choking sound, and before the other boy can bluster and shriek, Artur speaks again. “Your parents seem to agree. I heard their argument. It sounds like you were an accident, honestly.” Artur’s looking at his nails, inspecting them for dirt. There’s plenty. “They certainly don’t want you, it seems.” He can all but hear Michail seething, growing angrier, hotter, like a kettle on an open fire. “You don’t—” He can hear Michail say, but Artur speaks again, voice steady, just loud enough to overcome Michail’s raw little pathetic excuse of a voice. “I do, actually. My own brother was a similar accident. They didn’t want him. But he still existed, and so, because of him, my parents got together. And now they’re very, very, very unhappy.” The sky is gold and orange, and Artur half has the urge to try to paint out its beautiful colours onto some parchment. “Your parents obviously did the same. It’s quite common. I’m guessing he got her with a baby on a date, or maybe they were in highschool, or something—And they knew that either they had to kill you, or raise you together, even if they both hated it.” “You’re a burden on your parents, do you know? They didn’t want you, they didn’t need you. They didn’t want you in their lives, and yet, here you came, a little bug, a parasite, come to suck the life and happiness out of them.” Michail was so, so, so quiet, that Artur could almost swear the boy wasn’t breathing. The words are purposefully familiar, on Artur’s tongue. “They’re feeding you, clothing you, and you’re still an ungrateful little bastard. The only reason you’re alive, Michail, is because they’re good people. Good people who you’re ruining. Who you are only making unhappier, day by day.” The sky has little red spots, like blood on a smooth, clear wood floor. “Why do you even bother, Michail? If no one needs you, wants you?” Artur’s eyes are at the entrance of the little tunnel. “Why don’t you simply go to the bridge on a rainy day, and let the rapids wash you away?” Artur’s lips are curling. His split lip sends a pang of pain through him, just as something hot and heady, something like pleasure makes up for that pain, making his nerves feel electric. “You’ll only be doing the world some good, Michail. Good to your parents. Good to everyone who’ve you’ve ever met, good to everyone who’s ever looked at you, and found you to be the very same blood sucking bug that your parents see you as. That you see yourself as.” The air is still and silent. A gust of wind rattles the nearby birch trees, and, in the very, very distance, one can hear cars running on the motorway that’s not too far from here. Artur’s little fingers let go of the mock witch’s hut. “Good night, Michail.” Artur says, placidly, and he walks away. He waits until he’s out of the playground before allowing a spring to enter his step. He whoops, he laughs, and scares a cat out of a tree in the process. On the next rainy day, Michail disappears. And that’s the day when Artur risks the beating, and takes the whole pot of plov, and runs away into the night, his father on his heels, feet sinking into the muddy, wet ground. He eats plov with his hands under a soaking wet tree, like some animal, and all he can feel is airiness, lightness, happiness, shining bright in him like the sun.

Artur isn’t a good person, but he doesn’t particularly mind that, he thinks.

#devolp #abuse tw #violence tw #verbal abuse tw #slurs tw #suicide tw #domestic abuse tw #child abuse tw #//dont know how else to tag this but this is not a good thing #//at the beginning there's mildly detailed child abuse so please avoid that if that upsets you #//everywhere else is also littered with Bad Stuff #//it's artur's early childhood and that time was... bad #bulling tw #//there is a point to the gratuitous artur hurting #//because this is the first time he turns his pain onto other people #drabble

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one-with-the-haze-of-smoke · 4 years

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Author’s Note: Take my characters away from me. I beg of you, I am so mean to my babies and, just take them away. Anyways this story includes death and panic attacks, self-hatred, thoughts of suicide. If any of this bothers you, please do not read this story. These are all scattered throughout the story, so please read at your own risk. Nothing involving real death is very graphic. --------------------------------------------------------------

Everything went numb as soon as he took his final breath in my arms. Alex and I were able to share our last “I love you” beforehand. Mine was much harder, as all I wanted to do was reassure him he would see his brother soon and that we were almost home. I wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t leave me and the others because we were so close and that all he had to do was stay just a tiny bit longer. Instead of all of that, I leaned in close when he asked, sobbing and stroking his hair all the while. He kissed me for the last time and muttered of his love, our foreheads pressed together while we shared his last breaths. I muttered back my own love, silently begging someone, anyone, to help.

According to Sinia, one of our friends and the one that was going to be our maid of honor, I went hysteric. She said I was screaming to the heavens to return my beloved, with tears and snot running down my face. At one point they had to restrain me apparently because I began to attack one of the subdued pirates that managed to just stay alive and was abandoned by his crew.

I recall none of this. I was in a little fragment of reality where time stood still. My ears sounded like I had stuffed wool in them and my fingers and lips went number than the rest of me. I already couldn’t feel my lower body, and all that was a sensation was the burn of the cut on my hand that continued to stroke Alex’s head, the salty tears in my eyes, and the hollow pit that once sat where my heart was. It was painful, it was so painful. Nothing hurt more than holding my love of my life close and feeling his last breath leave his body.

After I was restrained for a few minutes, Sinia said they allowed me back to Alex, where I had stayed for the rest of the 1 and 1/2 hour trip back to the town we departed from. I was apparently catatonic at the time, and even more so as none of us could come up with the funds to resurrect him. All of Alex and my’s money went into our wedding, which was two weeks from when I got back. Darris, my best friend and a successful adventurer, and his family couldn’t provide the fee the church was demanding and my father was back in my hometown preparing for a wedding that would never happen.

We got back home in a week, and we buried Alex the week after. I don’t know if it was Darris being spiteful or it being the only day we could do it, but he was buried on our wedding day. The entire week was such bad weather that it was the first clear day, so that might have also been the case. I was so distraught during the funeral, which by his family’s culture would have been setting him in the burial grounds of the family and letting nature take hold. However, Alex wanted to be buried with me, so our graves would sit next to each other in my family’s cemetery 6 feet under the earth, dressed in the successes of our life through jewels and carvings. I was supposed to give the last words before the dirt was to be piled on him, but I broke down once I was nearly finished.

After that, where only a select few could hear, Darris declared that he would seek vengeance, but told me that the next time he saw me I would be dead for the death of his brother. I don’t blame him, because it was my fault that Alex died. Not only that, but Darris just lost his baby brother, along with me losing my beloved. He was just coping in a different way than I was.

I thought back on his words that day, calling me every word in the book and then some, ranging from tame ones like weird eyes(like he could say anything) to declaring I was an irresponsible, unintelligent, untalented nanny(note: female goats are called nannies or Does) who never would accomplish anything bigger than writing my own name in simple common script, and who never deserved anyone like Alex.

I thought even harder about how it was my fault. I mean, I allowed him to come with me on the trip, but that was only because of his insistence, and the belief that the trip would only involve volatile weather and some potential weak sea creatures that the crew could take care of. The ship had enough life boats that everyone could get off if the ship began to sink and we were traveling close enough to the coast that it wouldn’t have been much of a problem. I shouldn’t have let him on the trip. But I also didn’t know that pirates would have been encountered, but I still shouldn’t have let him on the trip.

I went into a state of depression and denial for a year after that, cycling between eating and not, talking and not. The only constant was the priests and priestesses who demanded my attendance every day at the exact same time once I went to Victoria, my goddess, for help. I got that help and admittedly I probably shouldn’t have pretended I was fine. I fell apart a few nights on my own as I traveled to Saltmarsh on my own. Darris was right, all I could accomplish at that point was writing my name in common in the dirt, carving was difficult because it reminded me of the crumbling startup business I had created. It was flying high and was successful for a time, and them Alex died, and for a year I was unresponsive to the world.

After I got to Saltmarsh, I began to forget slowly. My group had helped with that. Although I didn’t speak much with many of them, they still already felt like a constant in my life, something good that I could turn to, even for a tiny bit. Admittedly, Godfrey was a pain in my side, but he reminded me of before Alex’s death, how Darris used to jest with me. Albeit Darris was a tiny bit less offensive when it came to people of different races but honestly their personalities were similar enough. I didn’t mind Hamshank or any of the other insults after a tiny bit, I considered them nicknames, not insults. Unless Godfrey quoted Darris word for word, nothing he could say would probably be enough for me to consider it an insult.

I try not to think about how I died, it was pretty pathetic honestly. I’m just surprised these people who knew me less than a week would go and do that, spend all of their, and my, money to resurrect me. It was strange, and I thought for a small moment that they actually cared about me. But I know not to get my hopes up too high.

I really fell once Oceanus died. I had brought him back, and Jotun was so close to saving him when Oceanus died. We were so close. so fucking close. I relapsed, and had to leave the scene to go off into the swamp to break down. I kept getting vividly wrong flashbacks of Alex’s death. I could see his body in Oceanus’ place, I saw Oceanus in Alex’s place. My thoughts were so confusing that I threw up. I took those stupid legs of that croc and it was only later that I realized the pain I had accidentally inflicted on myself. Both mentally, spiritually from tossing Victoria’s symbol out into the water, and physically.

I tried to focus but after that I couldn’t. I don’t remember what caused me to lose it, but I ended up telling Brandy a short and really simplified explanation of what happened. I got my hopes up too high after that.

Godfrey tried to take his life after I refused to stop healing him, refused to stop considering him a friend. I panicked, and when he shouted at me, just like Darris did, I broke. I got my hopes up too high, that I could actually keep the people around me. How did I anger the gods this way. What did I do?

I don’t understand anything that is happening right now. I’m not going to sleep for a little bit, probably a day or two. I’m going to avoid everyone too unless they need me. Why would they need me, the boat is in good condition, and Joton is also on the ship, he is another healer. They don’t need me.

I’m sitting here now looking out onto the sea, wondering if jumping would be worth it. It’s not like any of these people actually care. I mean, that is one less pocket to fill and one less mouth to feed. Brandy would no longer have to try and keep me up. I deserve a death like that, not in combat. I don’t fucking deserve to die an honorable death. I can’t live knowing Alex died because of me and Godfrey almost took his life because of me himself. Hell, Darris is out in uncharted land. I don’t know why but if I got news he died, I would probably be the cause as well.

The water would be cold, I would die like my parents did, of hypothermia. It would be easy too, there is only Grundr and the shit-head Keyblade prisoner, as well as a look out up. I could hop overboard and all of them would be too busy to notice. I’m too heavy to float, and the splash wouldn’t reach the crow’s nest. Grundr is too busy shouting orders for either of them to hear me either.

I begin to pull out my carving tools. I have to make one more attempt at this, I have to make his perfect. I have too. I contemplate for a moment carving an ‘I’m sorry for wasting your time, effort, money, and food’, but ultimately I just begin carving.

#my writing #dnd campaign #tw: suicidal thoughts #my characters #backstory #tw: death #tw: self blame

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reluctantrenegade · 5 years

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365 Day Writing Challenge, Day 20

Write a story set in a time period before your birth.

(I took an online quiz about what era of history I belonged in and it said the French Revolution because I wanna decapitate some tyrants so, alright, cool.)

Charles de Laurent was a quiet man. In school, he had never been wont to join in games, whether it was a small thing, games of catch and chess, or, later on, horse racing, cricket, or cards. He was more often found by himself, inventing little worlds that could be found between the tiny blades of grass or between the pages of a book.

He liked things he could do with his hands, which his father said would make him an excellent butcher someday. Butchers were well-respected, vital to the community and so on. But Charles did not like the sight of blood, nor did he particularly like the idea of having animals around him, becoming fond of them, and then having to rummage through their guts later on the very same day. So he opened a patisserie in Paris instead, and made what his father referred to as “trifles.”

They were trifles. They were trivial things. That was why Charles liked them. He liked crafting perfect, light macarons, buttery clafoutis, elegant piece montee for special occasions. He served the high-born, who tended to have exacting tastes. But he also enjoyed making smaller, simpler things for passers-by on the streets. He liked creating things that did not remind him of the drab, often foul-smelling world outside. It was a world that, in general, he did not like to meddle in.

But the world liked to intrude on him nonetheless, and so it was that in the spring of 1790, when Charles’ favorite purple irises were in bloom, that the world began to budge its way in once more. Young people standing outside his shop would speak with each other with a kind of stiff-jawed malice. Quietly at first, under their breath, and then loudly. So loudly that Charles could hear words like “Robespierre” and “taxes” and “Third Estate” being bandied about.

He was aware, of course, of the trouble with the debt and the bad harvests in recent years. It was difficult, often enough, to get his hands on good flour for pastries. And he wasn’t much fond of the taxes, either. He was not unaware of people going hungry or losing their homes. But it didn’t seem to be much of his business, on the whole. These things happened. And people got angry sometimes, but it did no good to be angry.

But like it or not, many people who passed by Charles’ shop seemed to be angry. Years passed and they only seemed to get angrier. Charles wondered if perhaps this was the norm, that all generations eventually became part of the enrage at a certain point in their lives. As always, he was on the outside.

He watched people handing out copies of L’Ami du peuple, watched as they gathered in the center of the city (while he was icing chocolate eclairs), and, inevitably, watched the guillotine was erected. It was not such a terrible thing to behold, he thought as he walked by the great stage on which it stood. It was kinder than an axe, and it almost resembled the sort of scraping tool he might use to level a crumb coat on a cake. It was a tool, like any other, for all the hysteria it was receiving.

But the hysteria only seemed to grow, until one Sunday when Charles was walking by on the street and was accosted by a group of ruddy-faced students. They had dangerous gleams in their eyes as they asked whether he was going to see the show this afternoon. When Charles replied no, as he didn’t know what show they were referring to, the dangerous gleam only grew brighter.

“Not counter-revolutionary, are you?” One of the boys asked. “Maybe he wants to be onstage rather than in the audience, no?”

Charles very suddenly realized what the boys were talking about.

“Oh, the show,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “Of course I’m going. Lead the way, sirs.”

And the boys clapped him violently on the shoulder as they lead him into the center of town.

There was already quite a crowd gathered, the air full of an excited rumble. As the boys pushed him into the edge of the crowd and went on, Charles saw that they were gathered before the now-empty guillotine. There was a basket lying beneath, crusted with rust-red stains.

The atmosphere was something akin to that of the fairs he’d visited as a child. There were men singing some old tavern song. Children ran by with streaming ribbons, laughing. Women knitting scarves and socks stood close to the stage, chatting easily with each other.

At some point a man with his hands full of papers came by and pushed one of the papers into Charles’ hand. On it was the date, the 7th of June, plus a list of names and, Charles assumed, their offenses:

Jean-Marc Bisset--Counter-revolutionary activity

Claude de Gasse--Counter-revolutionary activity

And so on.

It was a program, as one receives at the theater. It occurred to Charles now that the students had left him, and he could duck out and proceed with his usual walk. But some curiosity or fear held him firmly in place.

The crowd soon began to crush in around him, packed so close that he could smell the sweat on the neck of the man directly in front of him. The sweet knitting ladies near the front had begun shouting, speaking to the crowd about justice served, tyranny punished, vengeance satisfied. The guillotine was the people’s champion. The crowd responded with more shouts, clapping their hands like rolling thunder. The children stood on their tiptoes and crowed wildly.

Soon, a large wheelbarrow was being pushed through, and the crowd parted to let it pass. The wheelbarrow was large enough to fit five people--which it did. Five people in chains, their faces bloodless. Charles’ stomach seemed to have turned to ice.

They were led out onto the platform, where someone, the executioner, perhaps, read out the prisoners’ crimes. Some of them were stoic, their faces turned down. Others sobbed, pleaded with the crowd. The crowd jeered at them in turn.

First was Jean-Marc Bisset. He was tall and slim. His pale, smooth skin seemed to suggest that he was not a laborer, but perhaps a lawyer or statesman, someone who often worked indoors. He was silent as the crowd shouted to him, but even Charles, as far back as he was, could see the way his back tensed as if caving in on itself, his hands tight in fists.

There was a fair amount of lead-up to the actual thing, as the executioner and the knitting ladies worked to keep the crowd incensed, detailing the horror of Bisset’s crimes. He preyed on the poor. He led a life of comfort and ease while people died in the streets, and he paid them no mind. Charles began to have less sympathy with the man on the stage. Perhaps he was deserving of this sort of fate, really.

Finally, they set him down with his throat against the stocks. He did not struggle. Perhaps he knew it would do him no good. The executioner fiddled with the blade, perhaps prolonging the crowd’s suspense. But it could not last all day, and at last the blade went singing down, landing swiftly against its target, and with a satisfying clunk, Jean-Marc Bisset’s head parted ways with his body.

The crowd erupted in cheers, stomping their feet on the ground. Charles found himself idly clapping, the program tucked under his arm. The next prisoner came, and the next. Each time it was the same, the detailing of crimes, the excitement from the crowd, the anticipation, and the final drop of the blade.

The sun began to set, and Charles was still watching. He even began to cheer with the rest, feeling the energy of the people suffuse him. At last it was over, with the final prisoner gone. The crowd began to disperse, still talking among themselves.

Charles waited a few moments before moving his stiff legs, pointing his way towards home. He saw the group of students, laughing, disappear around a corner, and he almost wanted to say goodbye to them. He wondered if they would ever stop by his shop.

Two things did not occur to Charles on his way home, however. The first was that he had forgotten to buy eggs which had been his errand of the day, and which he would regret tomorrow. The other was that it seemed, at last, that he had found a group activity that he enjoyed. He would be back again for the next show, and the next.

#365 day writing challenge #day 20 #too dark?

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