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americangirlstar · 2 years

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Meet Claudie - Infodump

So bc agwiki hasn’t got any real info on Claudie yet and they’ve banned me from editing, here’s a quick rundown of the info we garnered from Meet Claudie!

Date: The book takes place during the Summer. It’s not specified when, but it’s at least a month before school starts, as Claudie’s mother’s trip is for two weeks and two weeks after that is the variety show, which will still be summertime. I suspect very early summer.

Claudie info:

Claudie is a dreamer and storyteller, though she doesn’t realize the second part of herself quite yet and sees herself as someone with no talent, which makes her insecure.

Claudie often ends up daydreaming and losing her focus. She doesn’t realize until later how good she is at making up stories in her head.

She is incredibly shy around strangers and when public speaking. She hasn’t done any solo performances, mainly due to her anxiety.

She is noted to be very responsible, especially with her little brother, and never breaks a promise.

She enjoys learning about history, curious to learn about how life came to be as it was. “Besides, if you understood how life came to be, you could also imagine how it might someday be different.”

Claudie likes to read the funnies in the newspaper every morning, and visits Angelo’s Bakery every afternoon, as her dad will give her a special treat. She also likes watching the writers at the café across the street.

Claudie takes dance classes with the Harlem Angels, who dance in ballet, tap and African dance. She has poor motor skills however, and can “barely sway in time.” This embarrasses her, but she likes dancing when she’s alone or just with her family.

She also says that she’s “no singer” and sings quietly in church so nobody can hear her. However, Selma believes she has a beautiful voice.

She was born and raised entirely in Harlem. Claudie’s family lived in a cramped apartment when Claudie was “little,” but she doesn’t remember it, and only remembers Miss Amelia’s boardinghouse. Her parents sometimes talk about finding their own apartment, but Claudie likes the crowded and noisy house.

Three years before, in February, Claudie, Jody and Mama waved a flag in the Hellfighters welcome home parade, waiting for Daddy. Claudie remembers being bundled in “the prettiest blue coat.” An older white woman cried happily beside her; she also spotted Mr. Rockefeller. She finally saw Daddy with a fold metal, and Claudie called for him, though she thought he wouldn’t see her. However, when the formation broke, she ran right into her father’s arms, and felt like she was flying.

Claudie vaguely remembers people marching or fighting in the street that summer, because she couldn’t go outside to play. She didn’t realize at the time this was the Red Summer.

For her eighth birthday, Claudie got a leather-bound maroon notebook from her mother. She still hasn’t written in it.

The previous Christmas, Miss Amelia had sewn Claudie several finger puppets. Daddy made a stage out of cardboard box, and Mama used scraps of fabric to make the curtains. She uses her set to tell Jodie stories at bedtime. The three characters she has are Domino the cat, Puddles the duck, and Miss Pink the pig. Domino is a poor dancer like her. She considers the puppet show as “just a thing” she does for her brother.

Claudie’s Family:

Jody: Claudie’s little brother, who is six years old. He’s often mentioned racing his toy car. He adores Claudie’s puppet shows. He is also obsessed with the NLB. His favorite player is Joe Williams. He also idolizes Henry Johnson of the Hellfighters.

Mama: A brave and dedicated newspaper reporter for the Amsterdam News. She is always working or reading or hunting down a story. She has a beloved Underwood Typewriter. Claudie wishes she could be as passionate as her.

She likes living at the boardinghouse, as she often works late and likes knowing that someone is there to take care of her kids. She likes when her kids visit her at work, but will flip over the article she’s working on if it’s something too grown-up for them.

She was raised in Shellman, Georgia on a farm, but she came up north because she didn’t want to be a farmer and hated the way black people were treated; as such, it’s “hard for her to go back” and she is hesitant to take her kids there.

Both of Claudie’s parents are described as practical.

Daddy: An artistic baker and veteran of World War One. He works at Angelo’s Bakery. He’s famous in the neighborhood for his beautiful cakes. Every time Claudie visits the bakery (which she tries to do every afternoon), he offers her a sweet from the counter display.

He grew up in South Carolina. Daddy tells Claudie a story of the first caked he baked; he wanted to make a birthday cake for his mother, but it looked and tasted awful. He kept working on baking however, and after the war, he would bake during his insomniac episodes.

Daddy served in World War One (referred to as the “Great War” in everything but the narration, presumably so little kids don’t get confused.) He fought with the 369th Infantry Regiment, the Harlem Hellfighters. He would like the “peace and quiet” of their own apartment as he had to live in crowded barracks during WW1.

I think it’s safe to say he’s showing signs of PTSD, with insomnia and nightmares when he does manage to sleep.

Grandma: Mama’s mother in Georgia. Claudie has never met her.

Cousin Sidney: Either Mama’s cousin or nephew, I’m not sure. He’s a woodworker who lives upstate, and whenever he visits he brings Claudie and Jody a new toy.

Non-Wells Characters:

Miss Amelia: The woman who runs the boardinghouse. She is an immigrant from Port Antonio, Jamaica. She came to Harlem to visit her cousin thirty years previously, and ended up staying as she fell in love with the city. When she was young, she worked in a shop as a seamstress. She now uses her skills to mend clothes for extra money.

Dizzy Dot: Miss Amelia’s dog. She’s described as energetic.

Gwen: A watercolor artist who paints pictures of Harlem.

When Gwen was little, she used to sneak off to art museums to study paintings. Her mama gave her a watercolor set for Christmas, and that set Gwen on the painting path forever. She came to Harlem to study art, dreaming of becoming a famous painter, but the racism around her crushed her dreams.

She doesn’t care much for sweets, but still admires the decorative artwork that Claudie’s Father does in the bakery window.

Gwen doesn’t "take to” children very much, so Claudie avoids her out of politeness.

Nina: Claudie’s best friend, who loves to dance. She has a solo for the performance the Harlem Angels are practicing.

Nina hates history lessons, finding them boring.

Nina seems to be more well-off than Claudie, and lives at Striver’s Row in her own apartment. Her place is mentioned to be “big”, and she has a pedal car. Claudie sometimes visits Nina, but feels strange and restless at how quiet her place is. Nina’s family hosts Christmas parties there.

Nina’s mother is also mentioned, making “finger sandwiches.” Nina’s father belongs to the Elks Lodge, and lets them rehearse in the lodge basement as long as they left the space as they found it.

Porter: A musician who plays cornet in a brass quartet.

He grew up in New Orleans, “the birthplace of jazz.” He fell in love with the surprise and improvisation of jazz. He drove his cornet teacher crazy by continuously riffing off the music.

Porter also served in WW1, playing in a band. He says the “french boys” called their horns magic. However, after the war, he returned home and was jumped by white men who didn’t like seeing him in uniform. After that, he left the city.

He acts fake-offended when Claudie compares cornet to a trumpet, telling her it’s “smaller, and the sound is warmer.” He says it’s a perfect instrument, as “you carry it in this little bitty case,” so you can take it anywhere, unlike a trombone or tuba.

Porter helped Claudie learn to balance while riding her scooter.

Selma: A glamorous and talented jazz singer. Claudie likes visiting her because Selma keeps a trunk of costumes that she lets Claudie try on, and would tell her stories about performing over the city while she shows her perfume or does her nails.

Selma grew up a preacher’s daughter in Texas, and grew up singing in the church. She learned she wanted to be a traveling performer from a vaudeville troupe that visited her town when she was “about Claudie’s age” and visited with her cousins. She was enchanted by the everyday wonder of it, “the simple beauty.” But she was most entranced by the blues singer at the end of the show, knowing that that was what she wanted to do with her life. When she finished school, she went on the road with her own traveling show. After becoming tired of living out of a trunk, she arrived at Miss Amelia’s boardinghouse intending to stay for only a few days. But she found herself home there.

Selma had taught Claudie how to tie her shoes.

Winston Martin: A boy from the South who loves to draw. He is Claudie’s friend, with dark skin and thin, wire-rimmed glasses that he always forgets to clean.

He comes from Canton, Mississippi, and was surprised by how big Harlem was. He started drawing so he could remember everything. His family moved to Harlem because his parents wanted him to have more opportunities.

Miss Zula: Claudie’s dance instructor. She is endlessly patient, and says that “There was no such thing as a bad dancer, only an unskilled one.”

Unnamed Characters:

English Teacher: Claudie dreads when she has to read a book report in front of their class.

Synopsis

We begin with Claudie in dance class. Miss Zula is teaching them a griotic dance, with griot being a traveling poet or musician in West Africa. “A griot tells stories that keep history alive. Dance is a form of storytelling, too.” While Claudie likes the idea of telling a story in ways other than words, she’s too distracted trying to keep up with the other kids to pay attention to the story. As she watches Nina practice for her solo, she feels sad she wasn’t born with a special talent.

Claudie scooters on over to meet her dad at Angelo’s Bakery. She reads through The Brownies’ Book trying to enjoy the stories about heroes of color, but is still sad. She goes to the kitchen and asks her father if she has any special talent, and he tells her that she’s kind, smart, and a good sister and friend. This does not cheer her up.

Claudie returns home to the boardinghouse and asks Miss Amelia about how she came to Harlem. The kitchen then “descends into its typical chaos” as the other boarders enter. Claudie’s mother is working late and misses dinner, and while Claudie understands, she misses her mom and wishes she had a normal job that would mean she could be home.

Claudie is eventually cheered up after telling Jodie a puppet story, taking comfort in the fact she’s good at making her brother happy. Mama arrives after Jodie has fallen asleep, telling her she was late because she had to interview a few more sources. She asks her mother what she’s good at, and Mama says she’s inquisitive. She then informs her daughter that she’ll be going to Georgia for two weeks, but says it’s “not time” for Claudie to go. Claudie is worried that Mama thinks she’ll get in her way.

She wakes up the next day and decides to spend the rest of her summer finding her talent. She proceeds to interview all the other boarders and ask how they’d discovered theirs. She starts with Selma, who tells her her backstory, and then teaches her the song that made her want to become a performer. Claudie then talks to Miss Amelia, who is mending a pair of trousers for extra money, which she has been doing a lot recently. She tries to teach Claudie to sew something, but Claudie is predictably bad at it. She tells her to practice, and Claudie asks how to practice something you’re not good at. Amelia says, “A lot of people quit if they aren’t good at something right away. But don’t worry about sewing the whole dress. You just start with one little button.” Claudie thinks about focusing on the smaller steps of something.

That afternoon, Claudie takes Jody to Amsterdam News headquarters to visit Mama. As the kids arrive, Mama flips over her article, and hesitantly tells Claudie that another man was lynched the day before. Claudie notes that while her mother can write any story, she most often writes the scary ones, and asks her why. Mama says that she wants to help people see what they’d rather ignore, then takes her and Jody home for dinner.

The rest of the week, Claudie tries to find her talent. She shadows Daddy at Angelo’s, but she keeps losing her focus and forgetting important steps. She follows Mama next, but while she’s fascinated by her mother’s bravery, she knows she’s too shy to do her mom’s job.

The next afternoon, Claudie visits Porter in hopes of learning to play cornet. He tries to teach her “When the Saints Come Marching In,” but she’s not great. He tells her about improvising in her music, the way she improvs her puppet shows. In the afternoon, Porter takes her and Jody to the Bronx to watch the Lincoln Giants. Claudie spots her friend Winston and sees him drawing Joe Williams, and she’s shocked by how realistic his doodle looks. He tells her that Harlem has more opportunities for black people than Canton did. Joe Williams hits a baseball high, and Jody cries that he hit it to the moon. Claudie imagines that something like that could only happen in Harlem.

Claudie awakes that night to find her father baking a crepe in the kitchen. She asks why he’s awake, and he told her he had a nightmare he was still in the war. She asks why some people were mad that the black soldiers came home, and he tells her that the white men were scared they’d think highly of themselves. The Red Summer occurred when they came home, which was disheartening for the men who thought they’d proved themselves in Europe.

In the morning, Claudie arrives downstairs to find everyone surrounding an Eviction Notice. Mama tells Claudie to take Jody to play outside with Dizzy Dot, where Claudie has to explain to him what eviction means; she had previously heard horror stories of classmates’ families receiving eviction noticies. She assures her brother everything will be fine, though she herself is afraid. That night, the boarders around the table only discuss making more money. Claudie eavesdrops, finding out that the rent was raised and they will be evicted if Miss Amelia can’t pay over a hundred dollars by the end of the month. Porter complains that black residents are given unfairly high rent. While Mama suggests talking to the Tenant Association, Papa tells Claudie that a lawyer would be more expensive than the rent. He then tells Claudie that people have started having rent parties, where they throw a party and charge people to enter. However, he doesn’t think they could throw a party big enough. The boarders all pick up extra jobs to pay rent, putting extra money in the coffee can in the kitchen, but it’s nowhere near enough.

Claudie gets ice cream with Nina and tells her about their problem. Nina suggests Claudie doing something to help, like a lemonade stand or sidewalk sale. Claudie isn’t sure what any of the boarders would be able to sell. That night, Claudie thinks about putting on a variety show as a rent party, selling tickets around the neighborhood to earn money. She thinks about organizing, as she doesn’t have a talent to put on. She would have to gather the performers, find a rehearsal space, and get word out. At daybreak, she decides to attempt it.

Claudie finds Selma at the theater and tells her about the variety show, which Selma is excited about. She asks if Claudie will perform, and Claudie, insecure and full of anxiety, doesn’t think she’d be good. Selma suggests focusing on some spot in the back instead of the large crowd, and assures her that lots of performers get stage fright. When Claudie still declines, Selma says that she can still be their director, which is a very important job.

Porter agrees to have his brass quartet perform. Claudie starts writing ideas in her notebook, before going to Miss Zula’s dance class. At the end of the class, she tells them about her variety show and Miss Zula agrees to perform and choreograph a new routine just for her, with her own solo. Claudie is ashamed at the idea of doing a solo, but Miss Zula says this thing that made me bawl my eyes out:

Miss Zula paused. “Claude,�� she said, “do you like to dance?”

Claudie paused. She supposed she did, at home at least, when she knew that no one was watching. She would dance with Jody to the phonograph or stand on Daddy’s feet as he twirled her around the living room.

“I think so,” Claudie said, “But I’m not very good at it.”

Miss Zula smiled. “I did not ask if you were good at it,” she said. “I asked if you like to dance.”

Claudie nodded. Then Miss Zula patted her on the shoulder.

“You will miss the dancing,” she said, “if all you do is stare at your feet.

– Meet Claudie, Chapter 8: “Calling the Shots”, pg. 54-55.

Claudie cautiously goes to Gwen’s room. She asks her to paint a backdrop for her show. Gwen says she doesn’t know about painting backdrops and tries to close the door, but Claudie wedges her foot in the doorway. Claudie begs to see her paintings, and Gwen only lets her in after inspecting her hands and ensuring she won’t touch anything. Claudie is amazed by Gwen’s paintings, but shocked that she will sell them as they are art. Gwen compares her father’s cakes to art, and Claudie realizes that artists are not separate from other people. Gwen tries to get Claudie to understand they may not sell a lot of tickets, but Claudie says she still has to try to protect her home. Gwen carefully says she’ll paint the backdrop under one condition: that Claudie will be in the show, too. She says this is because Claudie wants to be an artist, and art is about taking risks and sharing yourself. She suggests Claudie put on a puppet performance and write a sketch for it, and Claudie agrees, though she doesn’t know what to write about.

That next afternoon, Claudie goes to the YWCA pool with Nina, then takes Dizzy Dot to the park. While Nina and Jody play with the dog, Claudie goes through The Brownies’ Book for ideas. Nina discourages her from writing about someone else, though Jody says that he’d wright about the Hellfighters, especially Henry Johnson. Claudie doesn’t like to imagine the war, however. She thinks about asking the writers at the café, but is too shy to.

The day before Mama’s trip to Georgia, Claudie has set the show date for two weeks after Mama’s return, just before rent is due. Claudie asks Gwen, who is surprised to see her, what she should write a sketch about. Gwen and her painter friends set Claudie up to paint for inspiration as Gwen details her backstory. She compliments Claudie’s painting, though Claudie hates it. Gwen assures her that it’s her first try, and the important thing with first tries is noticing and observing. She encourages Claudie to find her inspiration in something new. She wanders down the block, wanting to tell a story about her city, about the feeling she had long ago at the Hellfighters parade, “as if she were invisible yet part of a community at the same time.” She feels discouraged.

After dinner, Claudie asks her mother, who is packing for her trip, what she does when she needs to know what to write. Mama had been busy recently, writing about the NAACP’s anti-lynching campaign and tutoring children in reading and writing to earn extra cash. Mama suggests talking to someone else, who either know information she doesn’t or can help her talk through an idea to see it differently. She compares writing to a conversation, talking to the people they care about. Claudie remembers Gwen’s advice to do something new, and realizes everyone she’s talked to came to Harlem from somewhere different. Claudie begs her mom to go with her to Georgia, so that she can learn her own story.

“You said we never write alone. I think that’s true, and that each person is part of a much larger story. I want to understand my story. Until I do, I won’t be able to write a sketch and... save the boardinghouse.”

Claudie had never spoken words so true– or pushed back so firmly after her mother had told her no.

– Meet Claudie, Chapter 9: “Inspiration”, pg. 69-70.

Hesitantly, Mama agrees, which excites Claudie immensely. Mama warns her there will be different rules they have to follow, and Claudie will have to mind her completely. After talking it over with Papa, Mama gives Claudie a suitcase and Claudie excitedly packs for her own adventure. Lastly, she packs her maroon notebook, daydreaming about the stories she will write for it.

#meet claudie #claudie wells #american girl #american girl dolls #american girls #beforever #1922 #mine

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campwillowpeak · 2 years

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Hiiii this is sharp teeth drabble anon ^^ I do not have an AO3, that is actually the first peice of fiction I've written in years lol

I just wanted to pop in and say thank you for your responses tho, they were really sweet and I was def jumping up and down excited over it 🥺💕

You may see me more in the future, no garuntees, but you might even spot me in other otome game blogs too like STNAF, RestartHeart, and 14DWY 👀

Also I did wanna say I follow your acc religiously and even have notifications turned on. I basically treat your page as my personal morning newspaper and bedtime stories. I can't wait for the demo to come out and I'm excited to see all the amazing things you have up your sleeves! 💕

-✨️

Awwwww anooooonnnn❤❤

The responses were well deserved, your writing is so good!! If you do end up posting more I'd love to give you a follow!!

Also I am so sorry, rip your notifs, I set up a queue and you're gonna get pinged like 2+ times an hour ;v;

#MamaSlothJabbers

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raspberryranpo · 3 years

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hi hii~ can I request how the golden deer boys would fare as fathers? love your stuff!

the golden deer as fathers

fire emblem three houses: golden deer boys

i have been ITCHING to talk about this for ages 😭 dad hcs are my favourite things

CLAUDE

the best dad there is, no question about it. he’s a natural with the children around the monastery, and his dream since you both got together was to marry you & start a family

takes his children to work with him and he sits in important meetings with them in his lap, occasionally bending down to give them a kiss or to squish their cheeks

gives them piggybacks around the castle, waving at all of the servants - they wave back of course, and seeing claude with his toddler is the cutest thing they’ve ever seen

the sound of their joint laughter can be heard from anywhere in the castle and it’s loud enough to bring joy to the most miserable person’s day

claude’s most favourite thing of all is waking up to both you and his child next to him, and being able to admire the little family he’s created

you’ll often be able to find him in the sitting room, holding his baby to his chest, gently rocking them back and forth to go to sleep - most of the time, he’s asleep too, but he always invites you to join them whenever he can keep his eyes open

always takes the child out to see the people of his country and everyone loves it. he gets thousands of comments saying that he and the child look exactly like one another & claude is basking in it

is always there to comfort his kid when they need it - a nightmare? he’s right there, beside them in their bed, reading them a quiet bedtime story. someone said something mean at school? they never bother them again.

definitely calls then “kiddo” or “little dude”. uses dad language right from the start

he has like five children (or even more if you’re still down). he can’t get enough of these little creatures you’ve made together & won’t stop until the entire palace is full of laughter

LORENZ

his parents never really treated him like a son, but rather like the next in line to their position, so he has a difficult time being kind to his children in turn

is always doting on them - making sure that they’re dressed warm or cool depending on the weather, making sure that they eat properly, and making sure that they go to sleep happy

is the type of dad to sit by the fire reading the newspaper with dorky glasses, looking up occasionally to watch his children playing nearby

insists that he’s not soft for his children but literally everyone can hear him doing a baby voice for them from a mile away

likes to show them off to claude, who thinks that they’re absolutely adorable. tells them that they’re much cuter than their father which cheeses lorenz off so badly

claude’s children also enjoy tugging on lorenz’s hair, which he insists annoys him, but everyone can see the gentle smile on his face - lorenz is also a big softie for children too

cannot say no to his children. there’s no chance that, if they give him big puppy eyes, he can deny them whatever they’re asking for

often ends up letting them sleep in your bed for the night, which is always a cute image to wake up to - lorenz and the toddler, lying on his chest, sleeping soundly

their matching violet hair is also a sight to see - they both get many compliments on that whenever you go outside, much to lorenz’ pleasure. he makes sure to take care of their appearance just as much as his own

just… don’t let him cut the kid’s hair. please don’t. please.

RAPHAEL

the best dad to play with, hands down. his children and the children of the other golden deer always come running into his arms to be picked up and swung around

he’s like a jungle gym with no bounds. everytime he goes outside, or every time the golden deer bring their children, he’s got five toddlers hanging onto something and he’s clearly enjoying it

his children are all well fed & they all have the chubbiest cheeks in the world. all the old ladies in his hometown and most of the golden deer enjoy squishing them & they’re definitely not to blame

always carries his children around on his shoulders proudly around his house and around the town, showing off how proud he is to everyone

his children are absolutely his pride and joy and he’d do anything to help them in any way - he’s always there for them, no matter what else he needs to do

encourages them to be open about their problems, and to always be polite and honest. you’ve probably never seen more polite children in your life

his children are also best friends with ignatz’s children. they’re just as loud and overbearing as raph is with ignatz - it’s wholesome to look at

mealtimes are always the happiest times of the day, with the brighrest smile on raph’s while he laughs very heartily - your children also laugh along with him, and learn to enjoy the simple times with family

IGNATZ

his children are just as quiet and as awkward as he is, but they’re just as talented and kind too

he makes sure to bring them up to be sensible, kind-hearted people - however, raphael’s children’s influence always seems to make them a bit less sensible every time they hang out together

free time is always spent in the garden, with ignatz painting the surrounding scenery, and his children at his side, desperately trying to paint just like him, even at their young age

they look up to their father so much & he can never believe it, even though he can tell how much of an influence he has on them

their first word is “paint” or “blue” or something artsy like that. it’s never anything normal with him

they inherit his poor eyesight & it’s always a big hassle trying to find so many pairs of glasses at once

only sticks with one or two children because he doesn’t know if his heart can take any more cuteness. the main focus of his paintings after his first child arrives is definitely his children

makes sure to read to them every night, even if he’s incredibly busy - will run straight from a meeting if he knows it’s bedtime for his children. nobody minds because it’s actually really wholesome to see ignatz wrapped around his children’s fingers

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses headcanons #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe3h x reader #fe3h headcanons #golden deer #golden deer x reader #golden deer headcanons #claude x reader #claude x byleth #lorenz x reader #lorenz x byleth #raphael x reader #raphael x byleth #ignatz x reader #ignatz x byleth #my posts #headcanons

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dottielovegood · 3 years

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ASMR - chapter 2

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

______________________________

Since a few people seemed to enjoy the first chapter, I decided to continue this story. You can find the first chapter here And you can read the story on AO3 here.

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CHAPTER 2

Flower Girl ASMR 1 day ago I am so happy that I could help you sleep, @Shadowsinger <3 ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. It is that tingly feeling you might get from certain sounds. You can also have visual triggers. Supposedly, if you find the right triggers, they will help you relax and they can even help you sleep. I hope that sleep treats you with kindness from now on.

Azriel stared at his screen. She had responded. She had actually responded to his message. He had scrolled through her comment section again to see if she replied to all her messages, but she didn’t. She liked most comments, but she only replied to a few. It made him feel special, which was absurd. Why did he feel special because some girl on the internet had replied to his comment? She had probably already forgotten about it.

But Azriel carried it with him for the rest of the day.

He also carried with him the annoyance of some of the comments he had seen. This girl really needed to learn how to block some words. Especially: boobs, nudes, cock, jerk off, and cum. Azriel made a disgusted face when he thought about it. If they knew each other, he would help her with that.

But they didn’t know each other, so Azriel didn’t have to think about it. Those comments shouldn’t affect Azriel in the slightest. He had read way nastier things on the internet and never cared.

What was it about this girl?

Azriel was sitting at his desk. He was working at Velaris Times – a web-based newspaper that his best friend Rhysand had started a few years ago. He hired Azriel to work in IT and their other friend, Cassian, as a photographer. It was a pretty small newspaper, so they all felt like family there.

Azriel was feeling naturally energized for the first time in his life. He didn’t even need to down his usual three cups of coffee this morning. Cassian was sitting next to him, editing some photos for an article that their co-worker Mor had written.

“You wanna grab some lunch later?” Cassian asked.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave his computer, but he nodded in agreement. “Sure. Should we invite Rhys?”

Cassian snorted. “Nah, he’s on that weird health-cleanse, remember? Feyre probably packed him a kale juice and some broccoli.”

Azriel chuckled. Feyre was Rhys’s wife and since they decided to get pregnant, she had been all about healthy eating, to Rhysand’s dismay. He wasn’t even allowed coffee - it was all about the green tea! Some days, Cassian and Azriel ate their lunches at the office which always lead to Rhys staring longingly at their food. It felt like having a dog begging for scraps underneath the dinner table.

“So that’s still going on, huh? I thought he would have given up by now. There’s only that much kale you can eat,” Azriel said.

“Yeah, but he’s whipped. Remember when they first started dating and she served him soup from a can and he ate it like it was a gourmet meal.”

“Fair enough.”

“You know that I can hear you, assholes?” Rhys called from his office. They had been very aware of this fact. Rhys strode out of his office, wearing his usual uniform of a dark suit and a crisp white shirt. Azriel was happy that he worked in IT so he could get away with just wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt - and maybe a hoodie on cold days.

“Are you telling me that Nesta doesn’t have you wrapped around her little finger?” Rhys smirked and leaned against the doorframe.

Cassians ears turned red. “She could never get me to drink kale-smoothies every day.”

Rhys shook his head. “You were pining for her for two years before she even agreed to go on a date with you. She could probably tie you to your bed and get you to call her mistress if she wanted to.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair and gave Rhys a purely male grin. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Azriel groaned. “Too much information, Cass.”

Cassian shrugged. “Don’t be so sensitive, Az.”

Azriel glared at him. “I’m not sensitive just because I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“That’s because you don’t have a sex life,” Cassian muttered under his breath, which elicited a burst of laughter that sounded more like a snort from Rhys.

Azriel shook his head and tried to concentrate on his work, which was almost impossible when his two friends were still staring at him. He could almost feel them scheming.

“Hey, Az. How’s the dating going?” Rhys asked.

Azriel didn’t answer, mostly because the answer would be that it didn’t. He didn’t date. He was tired of going on dates with people he didn’t know. He wasn’t very talkative, so dates were basically his nightmare. And it was even worse when he agreed to download Tinder on a drunken night a few months ago. Dating like that just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to meet someone on the internet like that.

“You want me to set you up on a blind date?” Cassian asked, and Azriel pretended not to hear him.

“Nesta has some great friends,” he continued. “What about Gwyn?”

Rhys nodded. “Yeah, Gwyn is a nice girl.”

Azriel stared at his friends. “I’ve met Gwyn.”

“So?”

“If I’ve already met her, it’s not a blind date.”

Cassian thought about it for a second and shrugged. “Eh, semantics. Should I tell Nesta to give her a call?”

“No. She’s not my type.”

Truthfully, Gwyn was a very sweet girl. She was cute and funny and determined, but she just wasn’t for Azriel. They had met a few times but there had been no attraction - no sparks. Azriel wanted to feel something from the start. He didn’t want to be in a relationship just to avoid being lonely.

“So, what is your type exactly?” Rhys asked.

An image popped into Azriel’s head. Usually, he couldn’t imagine what his type would be, but now, he saw someone in his mind. She had golden hair and cute little freckles on her nose. She was gentle, kind and calm.

It was Flower Girl ASMR.

Azriel closed his eyes, trying to get the picture of her out of his head. What was wrong with him? He didn’t want to date someone he had only seen in a few videos. That made him as creepy as those assholes in her comment section. He didn’t even know her. He didn’t even know her name.

“I don’t know,” Azriel muttered. “Could you please let me get back to my work?”

And after a few more suggestions of people they could set him up with (he kindly, but firmly, declined), they finally let him work.

That night, Flower Girl ASMR was hosting a livestream on YouTube. Azriel wondered if they might live in the same time zone since the live stream seemed to coincide with a reasonable bedtime for him.

Azriel joined the livestream just a few minutes after it had started. A few hundred people were already logged in. Flower Girl ASMR was sitting in front of a background that looked like the night sky; dark blue and full of fairy lights. Her hair hung in waves around her face and she was wearing a pink top that matched her complexion. Not that Azriel noticed such things, why would he?

She was brushing her camera with a make-up brush, making it look as if she was brushing his face. “I am so happy that you all could join me here tonight,” she whispered into her microphone. “As promised, I was going to host my first livestream when we reached one hundred thousand subscribers, which we did last week.” She smiled at the camera, one of those smiles that reached her eyes. Azriel could feel himself smile back. Which was stupid. She couldn’t see him. “Tonight, you can make requests or ask questions in the comments, and I will answer a few of your questions,” she continued. She was still moving the brush over the screen. The combination of her whispering voice and the visual trigger of the brush made Azriel tingle all over.

Most comments were very nice; telling her that she helped them sleep, or wanting her to say hello to them. People asked her about her favorite color and if she had any pets (lilac and no). One person asked her to do something called hand sounds, and Azriel had never in his life appreciated hands rubbing together as much as he did at that very moment. Maybe it was something with the setting on her microphone, but the sound was like a wave of pleasure in his brain.

He could feel himself relax. But then, of course, the nasty comments started.

HybernCoolKid Show a little skin babyyyy. Those tits look perky af

MortalGraysen Trying to look so innocent when you’re a fucking slut

Amarantha_utm I would honestly rather watch paint dry

Azriel could feel his blood boil. He recognized the names from the video he had watched last night. Why didn’t she just block them? On the screen, he could tell that Flower Girl had seen the messages; her face fell for just a second. And one second was all it took for Azriel to suddenly feel very protective. He was just about to go tell them to go fuck themselves when he saw that he wasn’t the only one with that idea. The comment section was flooded with love for her and in just a matter of moments, the mean comments were drowned in a sea of heart emojis. Flower Girl smiled at the screen, silently thanking all of her followers for the love. But she didn’t address the hate. She just kept going as if nothing had happened. There were a few more nasty comments during the livestream, but the same thing happened every time; her followers love-bombed her. Azriel was happy to see that most people seemed decent enough, but god, she really needed to learn how to block people.

Before he could think about it, he clicked the link in her description that led to her Instagram. Her username was the same on that app, and it was mainly used to tell her followers when a new video was uploaded. Azriel quickly looked at his own feed, making sure that there was nothing embarrassing. There wasn’t. He didn’t post very often, and when he did he usually posted pictures of food.

He clicked the button for her DMs, and before he could talk himself out of it, he wrote her a message.

Shadowsinger Hey! I just watched your livestream (it was great!) but I couldn’t help but notice some really rude comments. I hope you don’t find this weird, but have you tried blocking them? If you don’t know how, I could send you a link that will describe how to do it. God, this is weird, isn’t it? If this message makes you uncomfortable, just delete it. I’m sorry. But if you need help with blocking those douchebags, please tell me.

He sent it without even reading it and as soon as it was out in cyberspace, he groaned. What the fuck was he doing? She wasn’t his friend. She wasn’t his anything. Yet, there was something that drew him to her. Maybe it was the fact that she helped him sleep? Yes, that had to be it. It was either that or witchcraft, and Azriel didn’t believe in the occult.

Azriel was just about to put his phone in another room and go die from embarrassment when he saw that she had answered his DM. He was afraid to open it. What if she told him to fuck off? He would never be able to watch her videos again, and then he would never again feel rested.

FlowerGirlAsmr Hello! I recognized your username from one of my videos! I’m happy that you enjoyed the livestream :) I have blocked them multiple times, but they keep coming back. But thank you for offering to help me. That is very sweet! Ps: The lasagna on your feed looks delicious.

Azriel stared at the message dumbfounded. She had answered him. And she didn’t tell him to fuck off. She had remembered his username. And she thought that his food looked delicious. He didn’t understand why he suddenly felt so nervous. Should he tell her that after watching her video he had the best night’s sleep of his life?

Probably not. That might sound creepy.

Shadowsinger Yeah, I commented last night. Have you tried blocking words from appearing in your comments? If you did that, you might not have to endure such nasty comments. (Yes, the lasagna was very delicious)

He was staring at his message. Did he sound stupid?

Yeah, he definitely sounded stupid. The lasagna was very delicious ? Why did he add that?

Stupid, stupid, stupid

But despite his stupidity, she answered.

FlowerGirlASMR You can do that?? I had no idea! I am not very good at computers. Honestly, I have to google every single thing about YouTube because I understand nothing, haha. How do I block words?

Shadowsinger I’ll send you a link that describes the process!

He sent her the link and waited for a few minutes, feeling happy to help her.

FlowerGirlASMR I hope you don’t think I’m stupid, but I understood absolutely nothing :( Is there a link for dummies?

Azriel laughed at the last part of her message.

Shadowsinger Unfortunately not. But if you want, I could help you.

She didn’t answer him for a while after that. Azriel was staring at his phone, trying to will a message to appear. Did he cross a line?

FlowerGirlASMR I won’t give you the details to my account. We don’t know each other.

Oh god. She thought that he was trying to scam her or something. Fuck.

Shadowsinger I don’t need to log into your account.

He sent the message quickly.

Shadowsinger I could guide you if you like? I work in IT so I’m used to just guiding people through these things.

FlowerGirlASMR How could we do that? I’m not very good at understanding instructions when they are written…

Azriel had an idea and it was both brilliant and idiotic. He typed quickly before the logical part of his brain told him to stop helping this girl he didn’t know.

Shadowsinger I could give you my number and guide you through the phone? I could share my screen with you so you could follow along like that if you are more of a visual learner. You could call me with a hidden number.

He added the last sentence to make her feel safer. And because he didn’t trust himself to have access to her number.

Again, he had to wait for a small eternity before her message popped up.

FlowerGirlASMR That would be great! Could I call you tomorrow at 10.00?

He didn’t even check his schedule before typing “Yes.”

She answered with a smiley.

Azriel sent her his number and she said that she would call, and that was that.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Azriel muttered to himself and got back to bed.

He opened the youtube app, and one of her videos was the first one he saw. His finger hovered above the video. Would it be weird to watch her now that they had messaged each other? He decided to click another ASMR video instead. And then another. And then another.

After 2 hours, he realized that all ASMR was not equal.

So he gave in and clicked on one of her videos. Flower Girl ASMR’s face filled his screen. “Hello my lovelies, lovelies, lovelies,” she whispered, and Azriel thought that she was the loveliest person he had ever seen.

Five minutes later, he was fast asleep.

#elriel fanfic #azriel x elain #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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supportclassstan · 3 years

Text

Misc Medic Imagines/HCs

A/N: I feel compelled to complete the trinity. Also maining Medic has given me a kinship to this man that is indescribable, I used to wonder why he was so crazy but after maining him I get it. I understand.

---

His hands. Holding yours, touching your face, your neck, your body... They're a little rough in texture, but when he puts them to use they're heavenly.

He calls you a myriad of German nicknames, but he's quite fond of "taube," which means dove.

The way he perks up at any sign of affection from you, he was overthinking like he usually does but the kiss of a cheek was all he needed to derail his train of thought and focus his attention on something worthy of it: you.

The battle is tense and the team is pushing, you see him rounding the corner behind the Heavy. You have injuries, bad ones, but you don't want to jeopardize the mission, so you say nothing. After your team wins and he's on his way back to the base he finds you half-dead and carries you all the way to the medbay, scolding you during the walk there.

He offers you a lolipop after every procedure.

He notices when you stare, and oh boy does he relish the feeling. He does everything he can to keep your gaze for as long as he can, even when you get embarrassed.

He wasn't so sure how he felt about the Burly Beast until he saw your reaction to it.

He reads you bedtime stories in German sometimes, especially if you've had a bad day/nightmare. He makes sure you snuggle up to his chest while he rests the book on his stomach, and while he reads the doves gather around and get comfortable as well.

He likes to feed you treats that he makes. Sometimes they're laced with something, other times they aren't. Is he running experiments or just being nice? You'll never know.

He isn't organized to the naked eye, but believe me there is a method to the madness. His lab and personal office are in a state of disarray but it's almost enchanting: like a wizard's domain but more... Sciency.

If he hugs you and you're short then prepare to be suffocated by his bulging pecks.

Sometimes he finds it comforting to play with you while you sleep. Mostly your head, he has a knack for messing with your hair but he will *never* admit it. Assuming you're bald like Heavy, he simply likes to run his fingers across the surface of your head.

Watching Archimedes is a sign that he really trusts you, and the more trust you gain the more often he'll allow you acess to his birds. Sometimes they're your only company whilst he's busy, but they're a good audience. They listen to you when you talk, and nestle into all sorts of nooks and crannys if you happen to fall asleep. Be sure to change the newspapers though.

He's a lot more affectionate when he's sleepy. It's rare you ever really get to see him when he's sleepy because he's hard to wear out and also very hard to ever catch in his awake stages. He burns the candle at both ends but tries to fix his sleep deprivation with all sorts of supplements and caffine.

That being said, you will need to help this fool get *some* kind of sleep. You're one of the only people who will be able to successfully convince him otherwise he refuses.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #medic #medic tf2 #tf2 medic #medic imagine #medic imagines #tf2 headcanons #tf2 imagine #tf2 imagines

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takivvatanga · 3 years

Text

sick day

“Mum? My head hurts.” Stella coughs as she pads into the lounge on her bare feet, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her little face flushed, blue eyes burning bright with fever. She’s stayed home sick today, same as yesterday, same as the day before.

Whatever illness it is that is making its way around at school, it’s horrid. Neville has it too, apparently. Assire thinks about Mary, about how she must feel having a sick child to look after once again - even though this isn’t bad. Well, it is, but it’s nothing compared to… the horrible thing that happened. Assire remembers Mary’s little boy. Clever and quick and so very full of energy, full of life - until he began to fade, his body slowly but surely giving way to something dark, some insidious decay that got hold of him and would never let him go.

Assire had kept her distance, hesitant to interfere in another woman’s grief. They barely knew each other, back then. To reach out would have been inappropriate, surely. But Assire can’t help but feel that she let her sister in law down. Better give her a call, later on tonight. See how she is, see how Neville is. Assire might not be able to make up for the missed opportunities of the past, but she has here and now, doesn’t she? Never too late to set things right, do things a little differently. Yes, she’ll do that. She’ll call. “Mum!” Stella’s voice is thin and reedy, thick with congestion. She sounds much younger than what she is, when she’s unwell. Assire beckons her closer, and Stella doesn’t hesitate, climbing up onto the couch and curling up in her mother’s arms, blanket trailing behind. She coughs again, wipes her runny nose with a crinkled pyjama sleeve. Assire brushes a strand of dark hair out of her daughter’s face. Her skin is hot to touch, a little sticky. How bright her eyes are. Blue as the sky on a clear morning, blue as the ocean on a sunny day. Stella has her father’s eyes. Assire wishes Stella looked more like her, doesn’t realise that she is right there, reflected so clearly in the way Stella frowns, in the way she blinks her eyes in astonishment, in the restlessness in her little hands. Sometimes I still don’t feel as if you’re truly mine. A part of me. You feel so far away, and at the same time you’re so close. “Can I get a hot drink?” Stella shifts, pushing her bare feet against the armrest of the couch, pressing closely against her mother’s body. Assire pulls her close, presses her face to the crown of her daughter’s head, inhales deeply. Stella smells like green apples and Vick’s Vaporub, like wax crayons and unwashed pyjamas. She needs a shower, but Assire doesn’t want to force her to have one. Not when she’s unwell like this, not - Assire doesn’t want to force Stella to do anything. No. She wants her to choose, to make up her own mind, to walk her own path without restriction, without limitation. “She needs discipline”, Mary has told her, more times than Assire cares to remember. “She needs to learn how to cope with having rules. I understand what you’re trying to achieve, I really do, but it doesn’t work like that.” But Mary doesn’t understand, and as far as Assire is concerned, things are perfectly fine just the way they are.

“I’ll make you some tea, alright?” Assire stirs. Stella clings to her. “No, Mum! Don’t get up!” Assire sighs, relents, settles back into the couch, tugging at the edges of Stella’s blanket. “No hot drink, then.” “But I’m thirsty”, Stella whines, in her sick-little-kid voice. “Can I just have some of yours?” “No, sweetheart. That’s black tea. It’s not for kids. And it’s gone cold anyhow, see?” She picks up her cup - with its chipped rim and its fading print of cavorting cats, her favourite - and presents it to her daughter. Stella holds it tightly, with both hands, the remnants of bright pink polish still noticeable on her little nails. Stella has lovely hands. Nothing like Assire’s own, their skin thin and sallow, already flecked like those of a much older woman, the nails bitten down almost to the quick. Stella’s hands are slim with long fingers, her nails fast-growing, strong, perfectly shaped. The hands of an artist or a musician, a clockmaker or a surgeon. What will she grow up to do with those hands? Assire worries about Stella. Stella still cannot read. She only pretends, guessing the words based on the letters she can make out, relying on her memory to replicate the texts of her story books. At Stella’s age, Assire had been reading fluently for quite some time. As a matter of fact, she cannot recall ever not being able to read. Not like there was much reading material available when she was small. She’d read street signs instead, street signs and work rosters and every now and again that rare treat of a discarded newspaper that the wind had carried over the fences of the compound. FLASH SALE DON’T MISS OUT! Weekend Weather Unemployment at Record Levels Stella sniffs at the dark liquid in the cup, pulls a face, glances up at her mother with her bright blue eyes. The little girl takes a sip, erupts in a violent coughing fit. “It’s gross, Mum!” “I told you.” “I want a hot drink! Hot chocolate or milk with honey in it!” “Well, you’ll have to wait for me to make it then.” Another cough, smaller this time but twice as phlegmy. Stella spits into her pyjama sleeve. “Alright. Can I play on your computer while I wait?” “No, sweetheart. Now let me get that drink for you, yeah?” “I don’t want a drink no more. I want a story instead. Can I have a story, Mum?” Stella looks up at her mother with pleading eyes. As much as she sometimes resents her inability to be normal, like other mothers, her stories are the best. As far back as Stella can remember, Assire’s tales have taken her on a journey, deep into the centre of the earth or far beyond the skies, into other worlds, murky dreamscapes where nothing is ever quite as it seems. “Any more”, Assire corrects her daughter sternly. “Speak properly please, Stella.” The little girl sighs, rolls her eyes. “You sound like auntie Mary! She always tells me to talk properly too. I don’t know why it’s so important. You know what I mean anyway.” “You’ll understand someday. It’s complicated.” “You always say that when you don’t know how to explain something.”

Assire bites her lip, taken aback by the accuracy of her daughter’s observation. This is a discussion she is nowhere near prepared to enter into right now. “A story then. Alright. Are you comfortable?” Stella wriggles under her blanket, inching even closer, settling down to rest her head in her mother’s lap, her restless little hands tugging at the tassels on Assire’s scarf. She loves her fiercely, in this moment, with her messy hair and her sticky skin and her febrile eyes, in her unwashed pyjamas with her unbrushed teeth. Don’t grow up, she thinks. Or at least, don’t grow up too fast. “Am now.” Stella coughs again. Assire pushes a strand of hair out of her daughter’s face. “Let’s see. A story. Well, a long time ago, or maybe somewhere in the far distant future, far above in the High Wilderness Beyond The Skies, there was a girl. Only she wasn’t an ordinary girl. You see, instead of being born, she was made.” “Made? You mean she wasn’t a real girl?” “Oh, she was. She was just...where other people are made of skin and flesh and bone, she’d been put together from bronzewood and ivory and copper and steel and instead of a beating heart there was a clockwork contraption in her chest.” “Was she brave?” “She was. She was incredibly brave, actually. She-” “She was never afraid!” “No. She was afraid all the time. Of a lot of things.” “Then she wasn’t brave.” “She was. Because you see, being brave doesn’t mean never being afraid. Because if you’re never scared, that would make it easy to be brave, wouldn’t it now? But being brave isn’t supposed to be easy. It gets easier, though. What being brave means is being afraid and doing the right thing anyway.” Stella doesn’t reply. Assire can tell by the way she wrinkles her nose, by the way she purses her lips, that she is thinking very seriously about this. Good. Remember that, Stella. Remember that it is alright to be afraid. Because we’re all afraid, in our own way, and anyone who says they aren’t, well, they’re lying. “What did she do, in the Skies?” “She was a traveller. An explorer. She met a great many people on her journey, and if any of them were in need of help, she did whatever she could for them. Until one day…” Stella listens intently as Assire spins her tale, but soon her eyelids grow heavy, her curious questions and interjections become less frequent. Assire lowers her voice, little by little, and soon Stella’s breathing becomes slow and even, every now and again disrupted by a small cough. Assire begins to hum, deep and low in her throat, a strange melody that she cannot recall ever learning, but she has sung it to Stella for as long as she can remember. Stella’s Song, they call it. It’s something they share just between the two of them. She’ll be too old for it soon, just like she’ll be too old for bedtime stories. Assire wishes she could stop time, to keep her daughter here, like this, curled up in her lap, blissfully oblivious to life and all its hardships, its temptations, its wrong turns. Innocent. Where will you go, Stella? Who will you become? The thought fascinates and terrifies her at the same time. “We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”, she whispers as she straightens out the blanket that covers the sleeping child. “We’ll have to find out.”

#vignette: assire #vignette: stella #i started this ages ago and abandoned it #then today i came back to it while trying to do sth else #funny how that goes but i'll take it tbh #nothing happens just a moment between these two #i love them so much #also i am so proud of assire actually being responsive to her kid #i think that was the time when their relationship was at the best #when stella is like primary school age #it deteriorated pretty rapidly once stella hit her teens #and had to be rebuilt when stella came home as an adult #it's not until the end of assire's life when stella moves back in to look after her parents #that they truly understand each other and see each other for who they really are #it's GROWTH (tm)#also shoutout to the fact that the story assire is telling her #is pretty much stella's sunless skies verse

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ironhusbandsbingo · 3 years

Text

And our final roundup!

Title: Halves of a Whole Collaborator: newnewyorker93 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B5 - Halves of a Whole Rating: Gen Major Tags: N/A Summary: A new Iron Husbands-themed felt sachet design using the War Machine and Iron Man armors! At the suggestion of some lovely people in the TSB server, I flipped the arc reactor colors at the center so that they have each other’s “hearts” 💙 Word Count: N/A

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Title: Music Make You Lose Control Collaborator: Ducky Link: AO3 Square Filled: B4 - WTF Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Object Insertion Summary: Tony gets himself a speaker buttplug. How long before the Avengers can tell where the sound is coming from? Word Count: 892

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Title: This Is Not Gardening (You Can’t Fool Me) Collaborator: Faustess Link: AO3 Square Filled: O3 - Post Canon: CACW Rating: Gen Major Tags: IronWarHawk, shapeshifters, sleepy cuddles, domestic fluff, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War, Cute Ending Summary: Tony and Clint are waiting for Rhodey to come back from his run. Tony's got an event later that day, but some things are more important than galas. Word Count: 1605

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Title: The Prince and the Knight Collaborator: cami-chats Link: AO3 Square Filled: O3 - Bedtime Stories Rating: Teen Major Tags: MIT Era, Established Relationship Summary: Tony demands that Jim tell a story before going to bed, but he keeps interrupting. Word Count: 658

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Title: My Very Own Tron Collaborator: cami-chats Link: AO3 Square Filled: B5 - Inside a Computer System Rating: Gen Major Tags: Established Relationship, Hijinks and Shenanigans Summary: Jim gets stuck inside Tony's computer, and he works on getting him out. Word Count: 584

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Title: I die with variety Collaborator: simi Link: AO3 Square Filled: B2 - Multiple Orgasms, B4 - Bruises I1 - Out of Spoons I4 - Workshop Sex I5 - “I’d Kill for You” N4 - Forgiveness N5 - Howard Stark G1 - Tight Shirt O3 - Words Unsaid Rating: Explicit Major Tags: major character death, immortality in a way but it will end at some time, explicit sexual content. Summary: The first time that Tony dies, he is four and he’s building his very first circuit board from scratch. He’s connecting the finished product to the multimeter to check the voltage, the current and resistance, when a lead slips, a shock ricochets up through his spine, and he sees black. He’s on his back, when his eyes flutter open, and he’s staring up at the ceiling. He gets up, frowning, rubbing at his eyes, and then, he sees the frayed wire on the end of the multimeter. Huh, he thinks and moves on almost immediately. Word Count: 3992

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Title: partner Collaborator: half wheeze Link: AO3 Square Filled: N2 - Study Partner Rating: Teen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - High School Summary: In which James Rhodes has 3 million things to do at school, and yet all of those things are interrupted when one thing comes into his life: Tony Stark, his new Fury assigned study partner. Word Count: 3322

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Title: Birthday Pancakes Collaborator: newnewyorker93 Link: AO3 Square Filled: N3 - Free Rating: Gen Major Tags: Fluff and Humor, MIT Era Summary: Rhodey's first birthday at MIT, ft. a special treat from his chaotic roommate Tony. Word Count: 789

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Title: to forgive is not to forget and sometimes you cannot do either Collaborator: halfwheeze Link: AO3 Square Filled: I2 - Forgiveness Rating: Gen Major Tags: Post - Captain America: Civil War Summary: Having meetings after the Civil War is essential if they want the Avengers Initiative to survive. That doesn't mean that Rhodey has to like it. Word Count: 1386

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Title: Baby Let Me Swallow You~ Collaborator: J_Gun_i Link: AO3 Square Filled: N1 - Deep Throating Rating: E Major Tags: explicit deep throating Summary: Rhodey finally is seeing his boyfriend again. He had made plenty of plans, which got derailed the moment they eagerly pressed against each other.

Or-

Tony enjoys himself, especially with Rhodey kneeling in front of him. Word Count: 966

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Title: credit differential Collaborator: halfwheeze Link: AO3 Square Filled: B2: Dum-E Rating: Gen Major Tags: MIT Era Summary: According to the newspaper, Tony Stark had invented Dum-E all by himself. That wasn't quite true, but he hadn't wanted to take all the credit either. Word Count: 1072

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Title: The Day Rhodey Met the Captain Collaborator: J_Gun_i Link: AO3 Square Filled: B1 - Crossover Rating: Teen Major Tags: N/A Summary: When Rhodey came home, he was perplexed to say the least.

Tony explained his sudden brust of cleaning away with a simple phone call and some guests coming over.

No wonder that Rhodey was cautious when two men knocked on their door.

After all, someone that managed to get his boyfriend in a frenzy was in a position to hurt him. Word Count: 1849

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Title: A Love That’s Insured Collaborator: Nathan Link: AO3 Square Filled: B3 - Bodyguard AU G3 - Howard Stark O3 - “I’m used to the pain” Rating: Teen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - No Powers Summary: Apparently, people had tried to kidnap Tony one too many times and now Howard and Maria were pushing bodyguards on him left and right. As Howard had put it, the kidnappings “weren’t good for business,” but Tony thought this was taking it a stretch too far. Word Count: 1599

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Title: Medical Suite Collaborator: MagicaDraconia16 Link: AO3 Square Filled: O3 - Doctor AU O2 - Wanda Maximoff Rating: Teen Major Tags: Humour, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously Summary: In today's episode: Tony Stark wakes up from his coma; Doctor Rhodes and Nurse Romanoff share a stolen moment of passion; and Wanda makes a mysterious phone call. Er, wait, that's not right... Word Count: 2173

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Title: I’m Here for You Collaborator: J_Gun_l, honestmischief, Ducky Link: AO3 Square Filled: I1 - Howard Stark (J_Gun_l) B2 - Don’t Touch Him” (Ducky) N2 - Fireworks (honestmischief) Rating: Mature Major Tags: Child Abuse, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, child neglect, verbal abuse Summary: Rhodey knew that not all was good and dandy in the Stark household. Hell Rhodey saw the evident in the fall of Tony’s face after a call one too many times, in the way Tony sometimes wouldn’t sleep until something for SI was finished. But what happened on Tony’s sixteenth birthday took the icing of the cake. Word Count: 1963

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Title: Wonders of Wakanda Collaborator: Honestmischief Ducky Link: AO3 Square Filled: B5 - Sharing Body Heat (Ducky) B5 - M'Baku (Honestmischief) Rating: Gen Major Tags: Established Relationship, Huddling for Warmth Summary: Rhodey and Tony explore the mountains of Wakanda. They get lost. Good thing a certain tribal leader happens to find them. Word Count: 1207

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#ironhusbandsbingo #ironhusbandsbingo2020 #roundup

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raindrop-on-a-spiderweb · 4 years

Text

Mommy Dearest, Part 2

Patience pressed the gun against Salvatore's head, the metal grinding solid against his skull. "Borghese's a monster;" she said through gritted teeth. "And we can take him down together."

He stared ahead, jaw tight and dark-penciled eyebrows furrowed, before grinding out, "Fine."

She grabbed a rubber-banded stack of cash.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Consider this a sign-on bonus," she yelled back as she took off down the street, her heels clattering on the cobblestones. Her whole face was flushed and smiling as she pulled the door to her sedan open.

There was already someone in the driver's seat.

Liquid blue eyes met hers'. "Hello, dolcezza."

***

Johnny had been crying all month. Chris wanted deeply to comfort his brother, but he knew Johnny would just push him away. He sat by the oak in the front yard, letting the shade envelop him, his back pressed against the rough bark.

He didn't like thinking about Mama. Whenever he did, he saw her smile, and felt her warm arms, and tasted her cooking, and knew he would never see her again. There was a hole in his life that would never be filled, a hole with dark hair and dark eyes and the intrinsic feeling of a child's love.

All he could think was that Dad was lying. Dad was lying and Mama was coming back. She would come around the corner in a moment, carrying her basket full of vegetables from the market, and he would run into her arms like he always did and feel her warmth and love.

Dad's voice echoed around the front yard. "Giuseppe. Christoforo. Come inside. Your father has something very important to tell you."

***

Johnny's legs felt like they were tied to weights as he trudged across the yard. Why did Mama have to leave? Why? He felt like punching something. He didn't want to talk to anyone, Chris, Uncle Charlie, and especially Dad. He had a feeling dad didn't care at all about Mom dying, and some distant part of him noticed it, and it disturbed him deeply in his child's brain.

Dad was sitting in the living room, and there was a woman sitting opposite him, on mom's armchair.

She looked up at them, and her eyes were big and wide and stained glass-green.

"Children. This woman is going to be your new mother." Dad's voice was sweet and smooth. "You don't have to worry about not having a mama anymore. She's going to love you and you're going to love her."

The woman did not look loving at all. She looked scared. She was holding Fiorella on her lap, and Fiorella was sucking her thumb and pawing at her shirt.

Johnny felt fury rise up in him.

"NO!" he screamed, just as she opened her mouth to speak. "You're not my mama! I HATE you!"

Dad's eyes sharpened, in that way that he knew something was coming, and Johnny knew he was about to regret it, but he ran out anyway. His heart was pulsing with rage and fear. He did not want this woman.

He wanted his mama.

***

The first few weeks took adjusting to.

Patience stung with hate every second of the day, when she wasn't devolving into conniptions with the baby girl crying, spitting up her food, or clinging to her chest. Borghese had pawned her off on her and she was solely responsible for Fiorella throughout the day, being jerked awake by her crying, trying to bounce her on her lap to stop her crying, and trying to stop her from burrowing into her shirt to breastfeed.

Borghese's two sons did not like her. Chris was cold, and Johnny was angry. Leonardo loved his sons, in a deep and yet distant way, leaving them alone the whole day. Patience limped from her ankle. Fiorella screamed. She wondered with a sudden, embracing horror if this was what her life would be like from now on.

Patience hated the way she felt relief when the door slammed open. She limped over to press Fiorella into his arms, and he responded by pressing a kiss into her lips. "Did you make dinner, my darling?"

"Fiorella was crying. I didn't have time," she gritted out.

He caught her chin with his hand; his soft, manicured nails digging into her flesh. "Dolcezza," be said in his dulcet tones. "You'll need to learn to handle children and make dinner at the same time. It's part and parcel of being a mother."

Patience did not want to be a mother. She especially did not want to be a mother the way he pronounced it, with a disturbingly lustful gleam in his eye.

"Come now. I'll make some cacio e pepe and we can all enjoy it. Like a big family."

***

Patience sat, stone-faced and wearing a stiff homemakers' dress. She stared silently at her congealing noodles as Johnny and Chris sullenly ate and Fiorella made a mess of her meal.

Leonardo twirled the pasta around his fork, face placid and set. He seemed pleased as punch, the way he smiled at her as Fiorella started wailing. "Dolcezza, the little one is upset. Take her into your arms."

She sullenly hefted the heavy toddler onto her lap, and Fiorella sought her breast again, to her agony and to the unpleasant notice of Leonardo.

He watched her very carefully as Fiorella whined and desperately sought her hidden breast, and she noticed it as she desperately bounced her on her lap.

"You need to be a better mother, mia magnotta. Not a young loose woman. Hold her better. See--"

"She's never gonna be," muttered Johnny sullenly.

Leonardo's sharp blue eyes, and his attention, were diverted. "Giuseppe? Did you say something?"

He was slumped, staring angrily at his noodles. "I said she's never gonna be my mother!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Patience hugged the little girl tightly, and even she had quieted, her dark eyes wide.

Leonardo put down his cutlery and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Johnny, that's no way to talk to your new mother."

Johnny's lower lip was pooched out. "She isn't my mother."

Patience hated the quiet. It rung in her ears.

"Giuseppe, your mama is not coming back. She is gone. Do you know why she left?" His voice was soft and paternal.

Johnny's wet, dark eyes looked up.

"It's because she didn't want to be your mother anymore. That's the truth. She hated how you acted, Giuseppe. She left because of you."

Johnny watched his plate, eyes brimming and overflowing and his whole body trembling.

Chris's throat bobbed, and his mouth quivered. His blue eyes were tracking tears down his cheeks.

"She left because you were a bad boy, Giuseppe. She left because you made her leave. And if you aren't grateful, your new mama will leave just like your old one did."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

***

"Go read your children a bedtime story," Leonardo told her softly.

Patience stood in front of Chris and Johnny's room, sweaty hands balled into fists. The dim light underneath the door shone dully.

She stepped in.

Chris turned away from her in his bed. Their Mickey Mouse nightlight shone a soft orange light as she sat down beside them.

Johnny's eyes were still caked with tears as she leaned over him, her hair tickling his cheeks.

"Once upon a time there was a king. The king was very happy, with his wife and his children. He loved them very much and they loved him."

Outside the window, a moth pressed its legs to the surface, and its wings fanned out as it sought the light.

"They all lived in a grand palace, and his wife cooked him scrumptious meals. Wonderful meals. What did his wife cook him?"

The question lingered, and then Chris murmured, "Spaghetti."

"His wife cooked him spaghetti and their sons ate it all up, every drop. They loved each other and they were so, so happy. And do you know what happened?"

Johnny was listening too, his dark head turned towards her slightly.

The moth batted at the window.

"The king was out in the village and he saw a girl. He didn't know why, but he wanted this girl, and he would do anything to make this girl his own. He went home to his palace and he… and he… he went into a small room and called his wife, his queen, into there. And as soon as she walked in he wrapped his hands around her neck and strangled her to death. He strangled the life out of her and left her in that little room."

The moth lifted its wings and flew away, as if it had never been there at all.

"And he went out and he took that girl, he took that girl from the village and put the queen's crown on her. And he called his children to him. And he told them… he told them…"

Johnny's hand was warm in hers, his skin smooth as she rubbed her thumb across it.

"He told them he had a new queen, and they were to treat her as their new queen, and forget their old queen, and how she loved them, and how it was if the old queen never existed at all."

Johnny's eyes were drifting shut. She held their hands in hers, comforting and warm, and slowly let them slip from hers.

Patience padded down the carpeted highway to the bedroom of her nightly torture. The light of the lamp flickered over her shoulders, her nightgown, her chestnut hair, and her pale, downturned eyes.

***

She tapped the numbers in frantically, the black shiny letters depressing underneath her fingers. She waited as the dial tone rang endlessly in her ears, almost crying at the length of time.

The door creaked, and she whipped around, receiver pressed to her ear. Chris was standing there, and she felt a wave of relief. "Honey, go play somewhere else."

Chris did so, but his mind was churning. The slow affection he had been nurturing to his new mother--Patience, and then the opaque eyes of Dad, and his comforting arms.

Dad was reading the newspaper in the greenhouse. His hair was unruly and curly, the same blond as his. He smelled the same, fresh pressed laundry and perfume.

"Dad?" Ventured Chris.

Dad looked over and smiled, and set down his newspaper to open his arms. Chris ran into them, his eyes shutting tight. The comfort of his father's arms lulled him into ease. "What's the matter, darling?"

Chris swallowed hard. "She… she did something."

Dad was silent as he rocked him, cradling his head in the hook of his arm

"What did she do?"

"She called someone."

***

Patience laid Fiorella slowly down into the bed, praying she wouldn't wake. Her eyes were shut tight, tiny warm body swaddled.

Taking care of a child was hard, constant, dirty work, and she was exhausted. Even more so when his vibrato spoke behind her, "Pazienza."

She stood stock still as he approached her, his arms enveloping hers.

"You haven't been a good girl, have you?" His voice made weevils crawl down her back.

"Fuck you," she spat.

"I know what you've done," he whispered in impeccable English. "And for the last time, cease your swearing. It's unladylike."

She stared deep into his eyes, those mirrors that reflected her pale face and pale eyes and--

His hands palmed her breasts through her silk nightgown.

"Trying to call someone… tsk, tsk. A little bird flew off to tell me. Who, pray, were you trying to talk to, dolcezza? Surely not anyone who has an interest in your situation…"

His voice trailed off to a murmur as he slowly thumbed her nipple through the silk. She cast a terrified look at the bed, where Fiorella was sleeping peacefully. "Fior--"

"Don't be loud and wake her up, then." He slowly pressed his finger to her trembling lips. "She's such a lovely baby, isn't she? And you're doing so well taking care of her." His hand slid between her legs. "How about we make her a big sister?"

Patience's mind jolted into horror as she pushed him away. "You killed her," she spat, her voice cracking. "You killed her mother. You're a monster, Leonardo Borghese. A fucking monst--"

She was cut off by his soft red lips pressing against hers. His arms wrapped tight around her caging her in, and she felt the hardness of his cock against her thigh. Her spine went stone stiff.

He pulled her towards the wall, hand spidering over her scalp as he rested it against the wall. She lifted a leg to kick him, and his grip turned harsh, yanking her hair. "Don't fight. You don't want to wake up the baby, would you?"

Her gown was already hiked up to her waist, the folds slipping down to pool around her navel as he angled his waist between her arched legs.

The coldness of his zipper startled her, before the heat of his cock made her erupt with agony. He stopped halfway in, shoulders quivering and a sweat-soaked lock of golden hair plastered to his forehead. His length was pulsating between her lower lips, hot and heavy and lustful, and in that split second where she was praying he would pull out he thrust himself fully.

All she could think of was Francesca's face. Every gasp, every thrust made her stricken expression linger in her mind. "Fucking murderer," she managed as he lifted her so high she had to wrap her legs around his waist for balance.

A taut shoulder muscle pressed against her frail chest as he slowly lifted her, then agonizingly let her slide down the wall onto his cock. Every swollen inch of him disappearing into her made her chest soar and her legs numb. She hated how she wanted to curl her body around him and match him thrust for thrust

His breath fanned over her pale, trembling shoulder, and he pressed a wet kiss underneath her ear as his strong arms held her up.

He was in and out, leaving her empty and then filling her. Her toes pointed pin-straight in the air as he ground her against the wall, his heavy and wet cock digging deep inside of her to nuzzle against her cervix. She knew he was about to spend when his hips tensed.

"Please don't," she sobbed pathetically, trapped between his hard body and the wall, completely immobilized as he prepared to fertilize her. "Don't--don't come inside me--please--please--"

But he was not stopping, and as he held her head, his thrusts became more measured, carefully dragging his flesh against pink ripe insides, and the heaviness of his body, the pressure between her spread pussy lips against the small red nub in her folds as he slipped a soft fingerpad in--

Her back was shivering, she hated it, but a buzz was building up slowly inside her--

He let loose with a short intake of breath, cutting her words off as his seed soaked into her womb. Her thighs relaxed under his strong thrust, every single molecule of his cum pouring into her fertile body.

She let herself slump, arm loosely and unwillingly slung around his neck. The smell of his perfume was sickly sweet, like decaying flowers, and it made her gorge rise even more than the lukewarm seed dripping out of her.

He slowly let her down, her nightdress falling to cover her stained thighs. He let out a deep sigh, and laughed breathily.

"Brush those tears out of your eyes, dolcezza. Once you've borne our first child you'll be thanking me."

***

Patience felt a sharp distrust of Chris after that, although a part of her--the adult part--knew how frighteningly petty that was. He was a kid and he trusted his father, that was all.

Johnny and Chris curled up on the sofa while Patience tried to rock Fiorella in her arms. The baby was used to her presence and never cried when she picked her up anymore--and Patience felt a jolt of disgust when she thought of how easily she was slipping into maternality. Maybe Leonardo was right--she was becoming his perfect brood mare and wife, dressed in her frilled, flowered dress, hair combed and lipstick red and rocking his child in an armchair.

Just watching him on the television made hate cloud her eyes. He was speaking with councilors in the city hall, all older balding men in suits, and he stood out like a jewel. He was putting on a play for the cameras with every word and gesture, pretending to be so concerned with vity issues.

The camera faded away, and then he was talking to a reported outside city hall. "My wife," he said, "left me to go back to Sicily. She found someone else. I loved her, my Francesca, but she was wicked at heart, and it is better she is not raising our children. How many times had I come home to another man's coat on the rack?"

"That's not true," murmured Johnny.

Patience looked over. "Hmm?"

"She wasn't… my mama wasn't bad like that. She was a good mama. She didn't do any of that stuff…"

Chris didn't say anything, but his mouth trembled. She could see gooseflesh on his bare arms underneath his t-shirt.

"I know," she said quietly, putting Fiorella down to toddle. Her hair was growing thick and dark, just like her mothers'.

"What?"

"I know your mom was a good woman. And I know your dad is lying." She went over to kneel by Johnny and Chris. "Listen. What happened to your mom…" her voice died out and she swallowed.

She took their hands in hers and squeezed them. "I'm gonna make things right, for your mom. I promise. I'll fix all this."

Chris's hand was slack in hers, then it tightened to squeeze her back.

From then on, something changed between them. They stopped seeing her as an interloper. They stopped ignoring her sullenly, and refusing to talk to her.

Slowly but surely, Johnny and Chris had begun to accept her into their life.

#bonus chapter

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synchronmurmurs · 4 years

Note

11, 12, 16, and 28 for Evette, please 💌

Uwohhh thank you Summer!!!! 😭😭😭🙏💖

11. What is your OC’s relationship with his/her mother?

12. What is your OC’s relationship with his/her father?

Answering both of those at once: good! 🤣 They... are no longer around, but they treated her well, even if she did (more than) occasionally give them grief by being her adventurous self. Complete dreamer, this one. Head in the clouds 24/7.

She was absolutely closer to her father though; he 10000% supported every single flight of fancy Evette ever had. Telling her wild and completely improvised bedtime stories, regaling her with his own stupid tales from youth, covering for her whenever she got into trouble... I’m smdh...

16. What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Why and how as that impacted him/her?

So Evette’s parents were killed during the whole Temen-Ni-Gru incident in Red Grave. Because it happened in one singular contained area and was also dealt with in a single day (or close to it, I don’t think DMC3 lasted for more than 2-3 days MAXIMUM), it got swept under the rug by the government and brushed off as “BIG explosion caused by catastrophic gas leak, hallucinations abound!!!!!!”. Evette still has the newspaper clippings (ALL of them, literally every known article about it) from that day stashed in storage back in Red Grave.

But her strongest memory isn’t their deaths. It’s getting in touch with a DMC version of Frank West (don’t look at me like that this is MY universe and I get to choose the cameos. Since Capcom won’t treat him right I’mma do it my damn self) who covered the real reason behind her parent’s deaths. Frank shot to fame within the occult community over this, and that moment, that validation that she wasn’t nutso and was right ended up putting her on the same path as Frank - freelance photojournalism.

28. How did your OC and his/her soulmate meet?

Well technically, she had two different meetings with her soulmate. 🤣 When Evette met Credo as his human self, it was when he was investigating the abandoned cottage she was holing up in, and she pressed the muzzle of a pistol to the underside of his chin, thinking he was a demon. 😶 That’s what Vultures sorta detailed.

The first time she meets Credo Angelo, like actually meets Credo Angelo, it’s after she painstakingly chased him through half of Mitis Forest while he was chasing down a troupe of Assaults. She interferes with an ambush on him and guns down two stray demons who were flanking him, and as a psuedo thanks, he lets her approach him for the very first time. This is when her for realsie fascination with Credo Angelo begins. 🤣

#answer: possumon #ask meme #Evette

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Next Caller Pt 14

Lunch found you and with partially furrowed brows you sat with a napkin on your lap flashing a grin to the wait staff in the employee lunch room more like a smaller copy of the dining halls used to break in new chefs and cooks to learn the menu for their chosen eatery. Steady slices of the chicken were used to claim a bite, with potatoes pushed on the fork as well. Little by little you worked through the meal scrolling through the email you had gotten from Feanor. Ecthellion could aid you in matters of business but for this case Feanor was consulted and being an old friend and relative of your mother’s he leapt at the chance to help all of you. He was already heading the liquidation, ensuring that companies taken over by your kin were offered first to the former owners at reasonable prices as you said money wasn’t your intention in all this.

Belated justice, a necessary one and a greatly praised one as families left to the brink were now being raised up again to the path to their former glory with employees beyond thrilled they would be better treated. The whole line was eradicated and heads sent along with their former bodies to be burned and sent to their family tomb. The name once worth billions now all shifting to you and well beyond trillions, the staggering amount almost had you dry heaving and one thing was clear, trusts were set up in accounts your relatives would be sent paperwork for to support their families. Not a sort of amends but a stepping stone to freedom from worry, for those freshly released and those like you who you and friends had managed to sneak out to their own seclusion, though few came close to drawing such ire as you had managed.

The math was staggering, even with the split each of them would have 2 million due to the cap that you could transfer to others, while you kept a few painful trillions. Clearly charities that had aided you were to receive checks and also the University that had given you two of your honorary degrees based off the diagrams and such you had drawn between bouts of writing to keep your mind busy they had asked to see through a friend who had seen them answered with an upgrade on your simple degree to a higher standard. The school had hit hard times and through the anonymous donation they could greatly improve things for their future students. Trusts for your mother and sister were allowed to be larger giving them hefty millions dropping you down to still impossible to ever spend billions. On the verge of tears you told Feanor you were at the end of your list of what to do with the funds for now, a slightly amusing fact for him but highly understandable for who you had gotten the funds from. It would have to sit for now and just grow in interest while you pondered on it and you got back to work.

Still oddly calm you walked again out the usual path only to be turned away from the end of a hall by a pair of men claiming maintenance. Flashing a quick nod you turned to follow what you hoped to be the right path. Small detours had you oddly alone on the floor and about ready to call and wake up Thorin or Frerin to see if they knew where you were or if they could help you navigate your way outside. And chatter through the last door in the hall had you assuming it was a lobby or at least there would be someone who could help you. A quick turn of the handle and you opened the door only to shriek and collapse backwards seeing what appeared to be a room full of upright lions.

Instantly heads were removed and to their knees the kitchen workers and few male managers including Vili approached you with hands offered showing they weren’t going to hurt you. Through your tears and moments of trembling apologies were given and Vili said, “We’re so sorry Jaqi, we were waiting on my cousin Denn, his Stag Do.”

You nodded and inhaled sharply and deeply trying to blink through your tears only to have three snake down your cheeks. In a squeak you replied, “No, no, I’m good, just,” sharply you exhaled a puff of air and managed to fumble your hands over your cheeks, “Very convincing costumes.”

A hopeful grin eased across his lips in the smoothing of his furry paw smoothing over your arm in the curling of your legs closer to your body readying to stand. Sweetly he said, “Did you get lost?”

“They’re, the orange hall, said they’re fixing something.”

One of the other men said, “Oh that’d be the guys, we told them to turn Denn this way, not the Lasses.”

You nodded again and in your try to stand Vili sling your arm around his neck and eased an arm around your back to help you up to your feet again, “Up you get, dear.” Giving you a soft grin when you stood again and he said, “I’ll walk you back make sure you don’t get turned away again.”

“Thank you,” you said lowering your arm and flashing a quick wave to the guys who waved back apologizing again watching you walking next to Vili as he held his lion head on his hip.

Subtly again wiping your cheeks again making him ask, “You don’t like lions?”

Forcing out a chuckle you grinned up at him saying, “Never met any. Think I’ve only seen them on screen past a trip to the zoo when my sisters insisted on going, but they preferred visiting the giraffes so I only caught a foot and a tail in passing.”

“If you like we can go some time, Frodo loves the zoo as do Balin and Bombur’s bairns.”

“You-,”

“Don’t have to, we know.” His eyes looked you over, “Long day?”

With a sigh you said, “Just news on my father earlier, and his family.”

That had him stop and he asked, “Something serious?”

Again you inhaled and said with eyes drifting to the wall, “Story broke on what they had done, their crimes and such, Frerin probably told you guys what I told him, about him keeping my Naneth captive,” his lips parted not having heard this as Frerin had only told Thorin, “Threatening to kill her family and all that. Well he wasn’t the only one snatching up women for harems or fake wives and such, anyways, the police finally had proof from their letters published in a newspaper and the whole clan,”

“They’ve been arrested?”

“And beheaded,” his brow inched up again, “Which, is odd to say, because, I feel fine, calm, like, it’s just been building, and it’s just, over. I mean they probably still have friends out there, but, they can’t really do anything now that it’s out there. Everyone knows, well, Elves do.”

Reaching out his hand settled on your shoulder, “I want you to take the week off,”

“My shifts-,” you said snapping your eyes to his seeing his concerned gaze on you.

“We have ample staff to cover it. You need time off. You need to decompress. I’m not taking no for an answer. Any arguments and it’s three weeks not just the two,”

“But you just said-,”

“Three it is,” he said turning you kindly with a faint smirk guiding you on again.

To yourself you muttered, “What am I going to do with three weeks off?”

Vili chuckled saying, “Tons of time to go to the zoo.” Making you look up at him again, “If you like, whenever you like.”

“Thank you, first Frerin is helping to unstick my chimneys and now you’re offering to take me to the zoo. So comfy you all are.”

His grin spread wider assuming your words were jumbled in translation, unable to see how you had honestly seen them like a big comfy sweater, warm and welcoming on a chilly evening. “You had problems with your chimneys?”

“I asked if he knew how to check the flues. Sort of have a phobia about lighting a fire and suffocating.”

His lips parted, “Reasonably so, after your apartment before Beryl.”

You glanced up at him, “No, it was before that. Read this one crime novel when I was little, pink body found in a boat in the middle of the lake. Long story short, he suffocated due to a faulty flue when his landlord had the chimney redone. Landlord was found dragging in the water from the chain he brought to weigh his body down, stuck, stumbled out of the boat and drowned.”

His brows arched up and he asked, “Why would you read that as a child?”

“No, see, we’re toddlers till we’re a century, then we’re kids, then we’re little, sort of our early teens? I think that’s the closest term. It was on one of my course lists in the home schooling unit.”

“Still graphic for teens, but I suppose we have our own graphic tales. Grew up to bedtime stories on how my Great Gramps beheaded this Goblin and displayed it out front of his post until it was just a skull then he hurled it out of his bomber when the war was nearly over. Sort of anti climactic, now that I think of it. Didn’t really do anything, I mean a skull from a few thousands of feet up. Shatter most likely without consequence.” Turning his head he caught your grin inching out and he chuckled shaking his head, “We’ll call it a draw, we both had vivid tales to adjust to. Why would you be afraid though?”

“You don’t go in chimneys. We had huge ones in father’s house, had to be seven feet tall, nearly fifteen across, the fires were huge. Only sweeps in films and maids could touch fireplaces, at least that was my reasoning. Plumbers touched pipes, electricians the wiring and so on. I never looked into fireplaces as far as construction wise, in my mind it’s a box for fire and the venting tunnel, but there’s some device somewhere in the tunnel. I like to be prepared when I look into something, see in service you had to get it right especially as an engineer, because the carriers look to you, hard to shake really. I’ll study about flue mechanics to relax on it.”

“Good, it’ll help you keep busy, and once you get back we can schedule your yearly review,” you glanced up at him again seeing his smirk, “And the annual raise involved.”

“It better be the usual .5 % raise.”

Chuckling to himself he asked, “Or you’ll thwack Thorin’s nose? Tili told me.” Grinning as he guided you past the confused brothers he berated a few moments informing them they’d turned the wring person away and had you nearly scared to death making them turn to apologize to you.

“I suppose I’ll see you when I see you.”

He pointed at you with his fuzzy paw, “Three weeks, I mean it.” You nodded and thanked him again turning away to continue the usual path while he smirked and turned. Popping the head back on to hurry down the hall next to the cracking door earning a scream from the relative intended upon. A loud roar from the costumed Dwarf who then grabbed the ankle of the panting wide eyed Dwarf now being drug one handed to the room of other waiting lions with curved tail bouncing behind him in each eager step.

Just in time you made it to the station and hopped on the train thanks to a usual fellow traveler who used his trumpet case to jam the door you hopped over thanking him on your way to one of the empty seats while he grabbed his case and did the same in the sealing of the door. Again you checked your phone answering your mother’s call grinning to yourself telling tears looming hearing the ease in her voice melting from the shock as to what you had decided to do with the funds you were left. Cirdan wasn’t hurting for funds and she was an artist with a growing name in Elven territories paid well for her pieces but all the same you had to ensure her family and your sisters wouldn’t want for anything and now the girls could go to any schools they wished to when they were old enough to do so.

All the way home you walked after pocketing your phone at her having to check on your sisters, noticing you still hadn’t gotten any emails from your probably still reeling cousins, all of whom could possibly be working as well. The warm darkness was more of a comfort to you and jogging steps neared signaling the usual watch in your mini town rounding the corner in time to wave to you and fake a few minutes of stretching to watch you ensuring you made it to your street before continuing on. Certain you were safe here but still chose to wait until the next set on watch would have sight of you until you were home.

A trio of bags sat outside your door and with a smirk you unlocked your door again being watched a few houses down by Thorin pleased that you didn’t seem upset in looks alone. Opening your door you moved the bags inside closing and locking the door behind you to start looking at your gifts. First moving the adorable plant in the cracked pot to your sink wrapping the pot in cling wrap and giving it a bit of water to help perk it up.

Unable to help it you eyed the pillows similar to the ones you had seen in the magazines, surely more affordable you set on the couch after hugging your new throw with a tearful sniffle. By the fireplace you set the fire log box on the risen brick platform opening the box to bring out one, the matches and the silver vase, to your bedroom you went turning on your tv. Into the rack you set the log and with a tear streaming down your cheek you pulled out a match and struck it eyeing the sudden flame you lowered to light the bag around the log. Shaking the match you blew out you eyed the vase that you put on the mantle after throwing the match in the fire.

Soaps would have to wait for now as you removed your shoes and went to make yourself some of the cocoa Thorin had picked for you and written the process out on the note attached to it. Mug in hand you went back to bed nestling in against your pile of pillows to sip on the warm drink through the sporadic sob-less tears flowing down your cheeks. Smoothing the bead necklace with pendants of the Valar on them gifted to you you’re your mother trying to bolster your hope in your mind reeling as to the safety of your scattered family due to your actions. Slowly you were lulled to sleep and with the mug on the trunk by your bed emptied you curled up under your covers clinging to your pillow for the few hours you had until your next shift.

Mid breakfast shift from the pan to the bowl you turned to glance at your butterfly bush still sitting in the sink with the cracked pot wrapped in cling wrap allowing the water you had given it once you had found it upon bringing it out of the bag. Small but feisty the crack no doubt was behind the drab color to the petals now perked up a bit that it could soak up the moisture. By noon your birds would have found them and among themselves chosen where you would plant them to add to your garden that you supposed now with this break on work you could focus on your greenhouse. Weeding and trimming back among the pathways and scrubbing the fountain you had found under what you assumed was a giant blackberry bush while inspecting the massive thing was on your to do list.

Full post face scrubbing you were comfy in your favorite maroon sweater over your best jeans trying to refocus on your show and what you had planned for it.

Locking up behind you the path you took seemed to breeze by and before you knew it you were at the tea shop again. Wide eyed a moment Balin caught you outside the door and called to Thorin, who nearly dropped the chair on his hands he set down carefully and hurried over to let you in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” You said with a poke to his arm making him smirk, “Thank you, for the gifts. Dwalin isn’t here?”

Balin, “Young Master Frodo has an appointment.”

“Ah, no fun.”

The pair chuckled and Thorin accepted the usual mug in your hand moving to the counter with you beside him, “Sleep alright?”

You nodded asking Balin, “I don’t look too puffy, do I?”

He shook his head, “No, tad bit worn thin but I wouldn’t say puffy, no. Rough night?”

With a sigh you crossed your arms on the counter saying, “I know by now Frerin has shared what I said about my father and no doubt you found out about who he is as well as his family.”

Thorin, “You are not that clan. You have a family, your Amad and sisters and their Adad. Who that clan was doesn’t matter.”

Steadily you looked the pair over and Balin asked approaching the counter, “Did you have a rough night?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not sad. I feel fine, it’s more, my grandfather called me demanding his usual 75% of my earnings, said he’d tell the world who I was.”

Thorin looked at you while the mixture was heating up, “So he sent out the story?”

“No, I did. I called his bluff. I knew father was almost out the prosecutors had to call me and warn me since my testimony was part of how he got locked up. An old friend of mine in Valinor has been sitting on copies of those letters and a story in case something happened to me or my family. We all checked in, any of us missed a set day he would send out that story.”

Balin reached out to pat your hand, “You are in shock then it seems.”

“It’s like the emotional tether was cut centuries ago. It was just a name, but he called me Glawar and I’m not his Glawar, I’m not their Moe. I don’t feel guilty it’s more concern for how his friends would react to the clan being gone, if he told them where any of us were. If anyone would still come hunting.”

Thorin, “No one-,”

“Hurting me, I know, but I have 43 cousins, a good number of them have babies. I doubt any would have reason to come looking,” you shook your head, “I’m fine, or I will be. Gonna have to be even through the next few weeks.”

Thorin approached with the mug in hand adding the lid, “Few weeks?”

“Vili insisted on three weeks off, then he mentioned my yearly evaluation and a raise, thank you very much.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smirk, “You need a break.”

“I’ve gone fifteen years without a vacation what am I going to do with myself for three weeks between my radio shifts.”

Balin, “You’re not breaking there as well?”

“Not if you don’t want me to tear my hair out. I need something to do.” After a quick furrow of your brows you said, “Oh, do you guys want some black berry snippets? Or just the berries?”

Balin, “I do like blackberries, however I do not believe I could handle a whole bush.”

“Well you can’t ‘handle’ blackberry bushes, part of why it’s so big I found a fountain in my greenhouse underneath the bush. Gonna tear it out.

Thorin, “If you need some help in the tearing just let us know.”

“Should be fine. I have dabbled with this fiend before.” Making the pair chuckle in your glance and turn for the door with a finger wave, “Have a lovey start to your day, Balin, my Mug Dealer.”

To which Thorin replied after a roll of his eyes, “Take it easy.”

“Make me,” You teased in the closing of the door making him chuckle to himself then sigh turning back to work.

Balin, “I think she’ll settle again after a few days battling for that fountain.”

Thorin, “At least Vili gave her time off.”

Balin chuckled and said, “Yes, now she’ll most likely be home when you want to pay respects to your Mafioso.”

Thorin, “Not mine.”

Balin turned humming to himself, “You’re still her Mug Dealer either way.” Making Thorin then resting his hand on the counter turning to see his cousin returning to checking on his own little herb planters humming the melody to a popular tune used in films when a character is swooning.

Shaking his head again Thorin walked around the counter to head back to fixing tables only to watch you back stepping with your hands up only to see the Dam in the shop next door holding a stack of fabric rolls you were helping to hold steady. A few more feet and you had helped her into the shop drawing her keys from her jacket pocket to unlock the door and barely a minute later he chuckled and waved in response to yours in your trot down the street to get to the station on time with your hair bouncing and swaying behind you. Though he rolled his eyes at Balin’s humming growing louder.

Exhaling sharply you entered the elevator and hit the button for the short ride up. Out you strolled and around the first turn you caught Glorfindel’s eye in his exiting the office across from your booth, “Jackrabbit. Did you sleep?”

“Some. Kept trying to sit up waiting for emails.”

Glorfindel nodded and pulled a page of paper with snippets of paper taped across it, “Got these TypeTalks last night, 43, everyone checked in. Apparently they are trying to sit silent a bit but made sure to say they were safe so you could sleep. I didn’t want to wake you if you had slept.”

“Thanks, hope they didn’t keep you up.”

He shook his head, “Not at all. We all wanted to keep count of who touched base. We can’t seem to find any sign of others inching close to digging for you. Doubt they would after such straightforward trials and executions.”

“Well we can certainly see how things are going to go. Especially since I have money now, is this how it feels to have more than you could ever spend?”

Glorfindel chuckled out, “Afraid so,”

“Ugh,” you replied and blew a raspberry making him chuckle again then turn your head spotting Mal coming around the corner.

Halfway shirtless to your view with one arm out of her lace button down vest to go over her creme camisole a bit too unforgiving up top needing some extra coverage for work at least. Giggling softly you took hold of BamBam’s bag and bottle he was eating from so she could fix her vest. “Sorry, got in late then my generator went out killing my alarm clock, he woke me up for his bottle and then there was this rude delivery man who demanded I cross the street while he had the back open, ya, arms full Mister, what am I gonna do balance the futon on my head and make a run for it?”

Glorfindel shook his head as she buttoned the final button and shifted to take hold of the bag and bottle again. “You made it in time.”

She nodded then looked to you again, “You’re an Elf too, my Amad texted me last night, did you hear about that whole clan that got executed yesterday?!”

“Ya, my father’s clan.” Her jaw dropped and you shook your head, “We weren’t close. They hated me, in fact.”

Mal stepped closer bumping her arm to yours unable to rub it with her hands full, “Well shows their shitty taste.”

Weakly you giggled and said, “Don’t worry about it. We have to get back into the drama with Tibelt and then I am off home to replant a bush and make some soaps.”

That had her giggling and saying, “Ooh life on the edge.” Making you chuckle and roll your eyes.

Even through your lightening stress that your family was safe you managed to flawlessly give a rendition of a thrilling battle wrapped around the heart of a cannon top proposal to the sound of the future groom’s daughter giving off her first cry in the decks below with the woman who he had assumed was dead from a boat wreck two years prior, the renewal of their vows came to refocus the aim of the formerly lost Captain now renewed to return home with the returned navigator to his heart. The halls were empty and the streets oddly were too, but each store and shop along the way was packed with wide eyed Dwarves still stuck in that moment the show had ended. Even outside the shop you were on your toes curious at the silent crowd of people and managed to wiggle your way between people until you got to the end of the counter and slid your way into the less crowded sprout shop.

Up behind Balin you eased and whispered, “Queen have a baby or something?”

Flinching around at your voice breaking the silence he flashed you a grin replying, “Nah, just,” he blew out a breath then said, “Latest Bunny show,”

Softly you giggled and teased, “Just wait till Holm comes back into the picture,” that snapped his eyes wider at the name of the presumed dead Dwarf Lord, and in seeing your head swiveling to see the still crowded shop.

Behind you Balin pointed you to the office smirking fully knowing what was waiting there on top of Thorin’s desk. A gift from Frerin, a framed picture of the moment your hummingbird had landed on your cheek, the image of you curled up and nodded off had you wondering why it had been printed and put here. Clearly you knew which brother had taken the picture, your mind just couldn’t place why it would be here unless Frerin had joined in on teasing the big grump. Shifting your gaze past that photo you picked up the one with his nephews, just as broad but definitely younger Thorin was seated with a brush in hand easing it through Fili’s hair while he tried to join Kili on his shoulders pushing his own hair into his face.

Putting that down where it just was you eyed the next picture with him as a swamp monster and his siblings collapsed over his shoulders, all in costume while he was play kidnapping them from their village as a group theme. Around the room you looked seeing more pictures on the wall with Balin and Dwalin’s own mini families mingled with relatives. One picture had you confused though, draped across an armchair in the background of a picture a clearly younger Thorin at a family gathering had a blotted out figure snuggled out across his chest and side. By the size of her clearly a dam far rounder and taller than you with legs longer than his.

But a sudden opening of the door had your head turn to spot Thorin wide eyed and rumbling, “Shop’s cleared.” His eyes scanned over the pictures and his desk before stepping back at your approach, “Sorry bout that. Usually it’s not that crowded.”

You shook your head, “Good to know the show went over well.”

Throatily he chuckled replying, “More than well, don’t know how they came up with that idea.” Lowly he hummed by your ear, “And according to Balin Holm is alive?”

Smirking at him you teased, “He is?”

Rolling his eyes he joined you out the office into the shop floor again saying, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not a problem, you do make an adorable swamp monster.” Making him scoff and then instantly slush realizing you had seen the picture of yourself on his desk he had printed from the message Frerin had sent him. He found the frame earlier on his break in a shop down the street and was going to take it home before you could see it, unable to leave that and the other picture floating in his phone. A poke to his side and you were off to your usual table leaving his heart racing wondering what you were thinking as he got to brewing today’s surprise for you.

His gaze kept shifting your way until he came over with a pair of mugs. “How did your shift go?”

“You heard how it went.” Snapping a picture of the drink.

Smirking at you he asked, “So how do know the story? Are you one of the voice actors?”

Lifting the mug you said, “Look at you, digging for mysteries again.”

In your sip he rumbled back, “You and your mysteries.”

Nearly an hour he danced around the subject of the photo then asked, “Need a lift home?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll get my coat.” He said turning with mugs in hand making you huff and dropping your gaze to your wrist Oin had pressed on you wondered just what he had seen. Or more importantly who he had seen. All the same Thorin came back and you hopped off the stool eyeing the outline of the objects he was trying to hide under the jacket tucked in the crook of his arm. Back through the shop you walked and joined Thorin to his car where he put his coat in the pocket on the back of the driver’s seat then closed that door to hurry in and take his seat. “Big plans for today?”

“Just making some soap, gonna see where the birds want me to settle the bush you guys picked for me.”

Thorin, “Dwalin picked it, actually, thought Bilbo would do the same, it needed some affection.”

“And a new pot, the one it was in has a crack in it, no doubt why it was so down.”

He let out a low hum, “Surprised we didn’t notice that.”

“Big plans for you?”

“Laundry mostly, then my Amad wanted to have me over for our usual dinner.”

“Sounds like fun times.” Making him chuckle again.

“Ya well, she tries to have each of us on our own from time to time. Your family ok?”

“Ya, my cousins got in touch through a friend. All 43 of them.”

“All from his side?”

“Yup, it’s 63 if you add my Naneth’s, her sisters have ten between them with 12 grandkids so far. All part Hobbit, and all, productive.”

Lowly he chuckled as you giggled to yourself nipping at your lip in a glance out the window.

Pt 15

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shesakillerkween

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

#Thorin x Reader OC

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halcyonmusings · 4 years

Note

Background + Mara; Relationships Arden + Sawyer

Where were they born? What was their childhood like?

Mara was born in Seattle, Washington, but moved to Julian’s hometown Wayhaven when she was five. She considers Wayhaven her birthplace more than Seattle. She had a decent childhood, no complaints. She knew Rebecca would be gone most of the time but she didn’t take it personally. She’d still greet her mom with excitement every time. When Julian died, her absence didn’t help things and Mara dealt with depression when she was ten, so things were a little rough during that time for her.

What’s their family like?

Her dad liked to laugh a lot and remembers that he always made Rebecca laugh. He gave really nice hugs, and would read bedtime stories to her every single night. she can’t recall the stories though.

What factions or organizations are they a part of? What ranks and titles do they hold?

She’s the detective at the Wayhaven police department and human liaison with the Agency.

How do they fit into their “story”?

She’s the MC, so,.. yeah

Where do they currently live? What’s their place like?

She still lives in Wayhaven. Her apartment is cozy, modernized. She has a lot of trinkets on display, things she thought were interesting when she was younger. She has family pictures in her living room, art decorations.

How do they eventually die?

we just don’t know!! we’ll see how it goes i guess

RELATIONSHIPS

Do they have any friends? Would they consider anyone to be their best friend?

Arden: she’s naturally a friendly person, she makes friends with almost everyone she meets in Redgrave. Dante is her best friend though.

Sawyer: yes!! he’s friendly when he wants to be. he’s got a lot of bffs :)

What’s their friend group like? What role do they play in it?

Arden: Her friends consist of Dante (obviously), Lady, Trish, and Lucia. She’s the mother hen lmao. She checks up on everyone when she can, buys Dante food when he whines, makes sure Lady and Trish settle their arguments.

Sawyer: his bffs are @queennymeria‘s oc Ginger, @jennystahl‘s oc Florence, and @jmcolt‘s oc Lola! i’d say he’s the joker of the group, he likes to make the girls laugh, make them feel at ease, also will step up to anyone who’s bothering them or making them uncomfortable.

What’s their love life like? (See also: ship question meme.) Do they have any kids?

Arden: She had a thing with Vergil :/ he ended up leaving her to go summon the temen-ni-gru while she was pregnant with nero (unbeknownst to him) and that was the last time she sees him until the events of 5 happen and he reunites with her and they officially get together and eventually marry :) they do eventually have another child, freya

Sawyer: he had an ex gf who he moved to LA with. they broke up not long after. he meets roy and starts a complicated thing with him. it’s tumultuous, but sawyer can’t help himself. they do stop seeing each other when roy gets more corrupted in vice and being involved in shady business.

Who do they look up to? Who do they trust?

Arden: dante. she admires his strength and how he fully embraces his human side. she trusts dante, vergil (i have to laugh), nero, lady, trish, lucia

Sawyer: cole. he likes how good natured he is, even among the dirty cops he doesn’t let it deter him from doing his job. he trusts cole, the rat pack, stefan, herschel

Who do they hate? Do they have any enemies?

Arden: her mother, just for the whole keeping her locked up and torturing her. as for enemies, just the demons she hunts with dante and the others.

Sawyer: i can’t think of anyone who he really hates... but uhh he’s got a lot enemies because of the stories he publishes on the newspapers

Do they have any pets?

Arden: do v’s familiars count.. other than that.. no :(

Sawyer: no

Are they good with kids? Animals?

Arden: she loves kids and animals! she waves to any child she sees when she’s walking the streets, or gives them candy. v’s familiars love her and treat her very kindly :)

Sawyer: he likes kids and will play with them if given the chance. he’ll even pretend to cover a story with kids and make up stories for them. he’s not a fan of animals but he’ll pet them if they’re friendly

#thank u heaux!#c: mara #c: arden #c: sawyer #queennymeria #asks

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homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years

Photo

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Amos!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character MAURICE CREEVEY with the faceclaim of Tom Sturridge! We really enjoyed reading through your application! The idea of a Muggleborn character who is actually not all that excited about going to Hogwarts is awesome! He’s resentful that he was taken away without a choice - resentful that he can’t go back and be the same person. We’re so thrilled to have him as an addition to the cast!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Amos

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE: GMT

ACTIVITY LEVEL: You already have a pretty good idea of my activity. There is also plenty of time when I’m around and could be writing but I am either caught up on Fab or don’t have quite the right muse for him, so hopefully this new charrie can fill those gaps!

ANYTHING ELSE: nope

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Maurice Creevey

AGE: 24

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Male, He/Him, Homosexual. Gender isn’t something he’s really ever thought about. He’s pretty content in that respect. He is quite unapologetically gay though.

BLOOD STATUS: Muggleborn

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: This is where you can request a FC change or a change from something in the skeleton bio.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

To sum Maurice up very concisely, he’s angry. He hasn’t always been. He was a relatively happy go lucky child, full of endless energy and enthusiasm. Then he was plucked from his life and sent away to a school to learn magic. At first that was pretty cool, after all, every 11 year old wishes they had magical abilities, the difference being they get to grow up and forget those wishes and live normal lives. He has to live with his childish fantasies for the rest of his life. And apart from that, he appears to be in a world where muggleborns are being hunted and killed by an evil wizard and his crazy cult. To make things worse, they can’t escape back to their muggle lives because of all the damn secrecy laws. So yes, he’s angry, and a lot of his actions are fueled by that. Make no mistake though, Maurice is no Gryffindor, he doesn’t use his anger in brash reckless ways, he is more calculated. You may catch it crackling under the surface occasionally, but it would take a lot to make him properly explode. Even slurs like ‘mudblood’ would only make him roll his eyes and perhaps give a snarky retort.

Maurice is a Ravenclaw. He is a big believer that knowledge is power. He did fairly well at his subjects in Hogwarts considering he didn’t try all that hard. He did not choose this path and as a consequence, resented it. He would often get his brother who was a few years older, to send him muggle textbooks when he’d finished with them. He was fascinated by science and maths and history. Of course he had some curiosity for his lessons at Hogwarts, and the things he and his magic was capable of, but the element of choice was important for him. It felt like by attending Hogwarts, a whole area of understanding was suddenly off limits. As anyone knows, forbidden knowledge is the most desirable.

He likes to ask questions about as much as any other Ravenclaw, but he is also a big observer. He likes to take time to gather information before jumping into a lot of things, especially interactions with other people. He by no means stalks people, but a few minutes, to watch, take someone in, before starting a conversation is quite usual for him. It’s all about making informed choices. As a consequence, unexpected interactions can throw him, making him more awkward than he’d like.

He can be arrogant, he has a conviction in his beliefs that can come across as condescension if viewed the wrong way. He can get frustrated when someone is not following his thinking quite as quickly as he’d like, which is why he’d make a terrible teacher. However, this works equally in the opposite direction. His frustration can be palpable when he doesn’t understand something, and these moments are when he is least in control. A lot of his acts of protest come from anger, sure, but also the frustration of not being able to fathom how things got so bad, why they can’t just make them better now, why people can’t see it for themselves. But usually he is quiet. Unless he is invited to speak, or is so damn angry the words won’t stop, he can keep his thoughts to himself until someone is listening and his words can have an impact.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Until the age of 11 Maurice grew up in a very normal, working class family in the midlands. His mother was a typical housewife, loving but somewhat distracted, staring out of windows whilst doing the washing up, leaving the dinner in slightly too long when listening to the radio. Maurice didn’t mind, he barely noticed, and she was excellent at bedtime stories, so what was there to complain about? His father was a miner, a tough, but humorous man. He worked hard, and he always came home dirty, but played football with them in the garden the weekends.

He has one older brother. Not the brightest bulb, but the kindest person Maurice knows. Maurice always thought him brave, in a quiet way. There is no one Maurice has ever looked up to quite like his big brother, even if they squabbled and scrapped as much as any other loving siblings.

Perhaps this happy set up, along with glowing school reports and a nice bunch of friends, was why he has always resented being ripped from that life and that path.

When he was a child, he dreamed of being an astronaut, an archaeologist, a doctor, a lawyer, and what’s more, none of these were stretches for him, with his brain and desire for learning, he could have done it, he could have gotten out of the rows and rows of back to back terraced houses that he and his family were confined to. He could have taken them with him. But he was torn away and sent to Hogwarts, and his parents only vaguely understood, were proud, but in a distant way. His brother became a milkman, a job he enjoyed, but not one that paid well. He married young, his school sweetheart, and they are expecting their first child. They all seem happy enough, they have the things that matter, enough food to eat, a roof over their head, love, but Maurice can’t help but feel he could have saved them. The terror of living paycheck to paycheck, the mundanity of their terraced hells, or just never being able to treat yourself to that little bit extra. He remembered as a child, when his father would be on strike, the unspoken fear that filled up their home. He had wanted to save them from that.

When he would return home for the summer, he would act like nothing had changed, he wouldn’t speak of Hogwarts, or of his magic. He would pretend like he was no different from them, but something had changed and something had broken, and eventually he realised that something couldn’t be fixed. Getting his Hogwarts letter had been the beginning of the end for Maurice. He hated it when summer would end and he’d have to go back, but he also hated going home in the first place.

OCCUPATION:

Maurice works as a sound engineer at the Wizarding Wireless Network. It was not something he expected of himself, more something he fell into. A job at the Ministry would have gone against all his principals. A deep hatred for ‘the man’ but also the wizarding world in general, he wasn’t about to go work in a place trying to keep it all ticking over, and bore himself to death in the process.

He considered more academic positions, but he’d had a hard enough time concentrating at Hogwarts. Trawling magical forests for new flora and fauna, or raiding tombs and breaking their curses had no appeal to him. Which largely left working class positions or the arts. It was not a tricky decision.

The newspaper was an option, but the fact that the Daily Prophet seemed to have a monopoly on journalism in wizarding Britain didn’t sit well with Maurice. Without another widely available newspaper to oppose their horribly biased reporting, what was the point? He would not be a puppet for their propaganda. For a while, he tried to write his own pieces, publish them independently, but that wasn’t entirely successful. The pieces were convoluted, preachy, and he had no audience, no one to either agree nor criticise him.

Eventually he wound up at the Wizarding Wireless Network. Again, it irked him that there was only one major company broadcasting, but at least they had a bit more variation, and whilst they did broadcast the news, the purpose leaned towards entertainment. It’s not a cause Maurice is particularly passionate for, but it’s not one he opposes.

As a sound engineer, he’s around for recordings and broadcasts, cleans up pre recorded audio, fixes equipment, just whatever needs doing that seems like it fit within his job title. Most of it he learned on the job, but it was fascinating enough to capture his attention, and similar enough to muggle radio not to infuriate him. It also introduced him to the world of pirate radio.

About 2 years after he started at WWN, his friend and mentor quit, and in his last few days, confided in Maurice that he was leaving to start his own show. Technically WWN was the only official broadcaster on wizarding radios, but if you knew how to get a frequency, you could broadcast whatever you liked. He and some friends were setting up a station out of someone’s garage, mostly to play the music the WWN spurned.

The idea lit a flame in Maurice. Of course, the fact that it was ever so slightly against the rules, and possibly the law, made it exciting. But the idea of broadcasting whatever he liked, even if there was no one listening, putting something out there, finite and unique.

So that’s what he does with his evenings at the weekends, he broadcasts late into the night and the early mornings. The Order gives him a focus, not just long rambling opinion pieces that sounds like the inner thoughts of a paranoid conspiracy theorist. He has found a purpose now. His show, it helps spread news, it helps spread information, it helps spread hope. Of course there is the tricky business of making sure the wrong ears don’t hear it, but he’s a smart guy, there’s a way around everything.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Maurice joined the Order with best friend, Daisy Hookum. He was at the same Squib’s Rights March, right in the middle of the rioting, and landed square in the Order’s gaze because of it.

Maurice has always been an activist, even before graduating Hogwarts, he would hold small demonstrations, conquering whatever stage fright he might have for the greater good. Standing up on tables at breakfast to make impassioned speeches, chaining himself to statues and refusing to go to class, he even came very close to slashing a painting once before the painting’s occupant managed to talk him out of it.

Maurice has taken a lot of inspiration from muggle strikes and demonstration techniques. He remembers picket lines from his childhood, and grew up with the punk movement. He even had a bright red mohawk once before Daisy told him it really didn’t suit him.

These energies are what he hoped to bring to the Order. He recognises that Voldemort and the Death Eaters are the main enemy, but in his eyes, the Ministry are accomplices, and he feels just as violently about them. The Death Eaters may be the ones directly killing people, but the Ministry are letting them do it, even helping them to a certain degree. The fact that so many squeaky clean Ministry employees come to the Order to ‘do their part’ indicates to him, that there are just as many who are going over to Voldemort for the same reason. He wishes more of their actions were against the Ministry directly, but he can also do that in his own time.

Day to day, Maurice is generally a pretty good foot soldier, he isn’t crazy about the actual violence part, but he’ll do it if he has to. He’d like a louder voice at the table, but he knows how these things work, and he knows too many cooks spoil the broth. The fact that they are organised is enough for him. There is a system, and if he ever feels he needs to take something to the top, then he knows how to do that.

He has also brought his pirate radio platform to the Order. It’s a good way to spread news to people such as those being helped by the dissendium task force, and a good way to organise large groups of people. And also quite simply, it can raise spirits. Assuming that people tune in to listen. Maurice doesn’t think it’s quite being used to its full potential, but it’s getting there. The Order function on secrecy, whereas Maurice wants to inform the masses. There is clearly a conflict of interest.

(I see this radio show as being very similar to the Potterwatch of the second wizarding war, and if it isn’t quite at that structure yet, then building it up to that during the game.)

I think although he is happy to fight with the Order, and be on the front line of the fight against You-Know-Who, his main motives are doing something about the International Statute of Secrecy, even if he is a little distracted by other things and other causes, it all really comes back to him having the choice to fight, to flee, to live his life where he pleases, taking the elements of both cultures and combining them. And he wants that choice for others as well. A lot of his anger and frustration is on a very personal selfish level, but he does recognise that he’s fighting this cause for people other than himself.

SURVIVAL:

Being both muggleborn and publicly vocal in his opinions, does put a bit of a target on Maurice’s back. He’s had a few close scrapes in the past, but luckily that’s as much as they were. Making enemies with a lot of purebloods perhaps isn’t the most efficient way to survive this war. He doesn’t move around a lot, thankfully he’s never been traced to his home address and he wants to keep it that way. He rents a little place in Muggle London, clean and comfortable enough, but out of the way and non-descript. He wards it heavily, and takes great lengths to make sure he isn’t followed home.

He isn’t too bad at dueling, but it isn’t his greatest strength. Mostly he relies on quick thinking rather than brute strength. And paranoia. He’s seen what the other side is capable of, and he’s heard enough of Moody’s lecture like speeches to know how to watch his back.

Still, he can lay awake many nights, realising there that if he continues to fight like this, there is a large chance he won’t survive the war. Is it worth it? He usually falls asleep before reaching a conclusive answer. Needless to say, as a 24 year old, he is terrified of dying. He is just also too angry to let that stop him.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Daisy Hookum: Friends since first year, he and Daisy have a special bond. There are very few people who know him as closely as Daisy knows him. Even his family, who he loves dearly, can’t understand him the way Daisy does. They may have been brought together by class timetables and group projects, but what bonded them was their shared views of the world. Particularly as they got older, they could talk for hours and hours about their politics. They didn’t always agree on every point, but respected each other enough to hear the other out. Of course this wasn’t the only thing that kept them friends. They could have fun together, let loose, forget for a little while that things were so bad, forget how angry they were.

They joined the Order together, as they did so much together. But then Daisy left for her year in the muggle world. Since then the relationship has been strained. He understood better than most what she was trying to do, but the reality is still that he felt abandoned, and jealous, that she could go off and live her ‘muggle’ life. It’s become obvious since her return that Maurice’s idea of activism is now split from hers. She wants to take a more passive role, and Maurice couldn’t bear that.

Caradoc Dearborn: Caradoc is someone Maurice begrudgingly looks up to. On the one hand he is everything he despises, wealthy and pure blooded. But the way he conducts himself is something that Maurice admires. He can’t help but want to be in Caradoc’s good books. If he had an issue within the Order, he would most likely take it to Caradoc.

Mary MacDonald: Mary is a more recent friend. They were a few years apart at Hogwarts and so only got to know each other after they both joined the Order. A lot of Mary’s politics match up with Maurice’s, and apart from that they are very compatible on a personal level. She is one of the lucky few Maurice has let in. Of course it helps that she is muggle-born as well, he feels that with so few of them inside the Order, they really have to stick together.

He has never been the most social of people. It is not that he doesn’t enjoy company, more that he doesn’t settle. If he is going to spend time with someone, properly invest in them, he wants to be sure they are the right person. He does not do this consciously you understand, but he is constantly assessing and reassessing the people in his life. First impressions, as he’s found, are often misleading, but that doesn’t mean doesn’t heed them. He’s more inclined to search out the red flags than give someone the benefit of the doubt. The people who slip through the cracks however, get the best of him. The warmth, the wit, everything he’s been desperately been bottling up waiting for the right vessel to pour it into.

Generally, Maurice is going to feel some animosity for the richer, pure blooded members of the order, but he’ll tolerate them. He’s also going to be fairly uninterested in those who aren’t as active in the cause, or any cause for that matter. So maybe he’s made a few enemies within the Order, or at least brushed some people the wrong way. Or perhaps he’s been pleasantly surprised by others.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: No ships or antiships, I’m really open to anything. I do see Maurice as gay, so I think relationships with women would be unlikely, but I’m a sucker for some unrequited love plots, or maybe some confused one night stands. Basically anything is on the table.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Well Maurice is a white male, so let’s start with that. I don’t think feminism is high up on his rank of causes, or racism, simply because I don’t think it’s played a huge role within his personal life experience. He probably doesn’t even realise a lot of the privileges he has as a white man.

He’s also gay, and whilst he is quite unapologetic about that, his sexuality seemed to be more of an issue in his muggle life than in the wizarding world, so it isn’t something he feels the need to fight about all the time. Again there are more important causes right now.

As a person who grew up in a working class family, he generally just resents the wealthy, and he won’t give them much chance to prove themselves to him either. This definitely stems from growing up poor, but perhaps if he’d been able to make his own fortune and save his family from their poverty, then he wouldn’t feel as strongly. In that sense it’s quite hypocritical. Now it’s also tied to the fact that the wealthy are the ones in control, both in the Death Eaters and their reign of terror, and at the Ministry, making and enforcing the laws that keep them all trapped and helpless. It hasn’t missed his attention that most of the wealthier wizards are pureblooded, so he’ll often lump them in with his disdain.

This works the other way as well. He’s willing to overlook a lot of shit that his working class/muggle born acquaintances get up to, forgive a lot of their sins. I don’t think he realises he does this, but it certainly happens.

He doesn’t necessarily hate the people who work for the Ministry, even if he has a dislike for the establishment and the way it’s run. He understands everyone has to work, and most don’t get the privilege of doing something they like or agree with entirely. There is a bit of time though where he’ll figure out their motives before he really trusts or likes them.

Law enforcement isn’t particularly in his good books either, but that is perhaps more linked to his view of how muggle police act towards protests and demonstrations.

When it comes to the issues of half-breeds, he’ll go along to the marches, he’ll sign the petitions, he’s probably up to date on all the latest views and opinions, but again, it’s not at the top of his priorities.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? You already know I love this roleplay. I’m looking forward to being more active hopefully, interacting with a wider range of characters, playing someone who is quite different to Fab as well and stretching those writing muscles.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I would love to see his pirate radio show have an effect somehow, either positive or negative (but maybe more positive at least at first, I’ve already done a lot of disappointing the Order with Fab).

I would love to see how his bloodstatus affects him. If he is genuinely more in danger for being a loud annoying muggleborn, it might be nice to work that into the larger plot somehow.

ANYTHING ELSE? I haven’t put whether he’s low level or mid level in the Order, I’m happy for either, wherever you think he’d fit best.

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

Maurice Creevey grew up in the midlands, part of a typical working class family. His mother was a housewife, and his father a Miner. The strikes and picket lines his father was a part of were some of his first experiences with activism, and the spark didn’t stop there. Maurice was rudely torn from his happy muggle life by the revelation he was a Wizard and the letter ‘inviting’ him to study at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. With no choice but to follow this path, Maurice has resented it ever since. He didn’t waste his time there by any means though. This was when he got his first taste for activism, protesting in the great hall and demonstrating in classes. These habits followed him faithfully into adulthood, developing until he found real urgent causes. At the top of his list, was tearing down the Statue of Secrecy that traps all muggle-borns in the wizarding world whilst an evil wizard and his cronies are attempting to pick them off one by one, and also prevents the muggles from fighting back on their own terms.

PRESENT:

It’s his activism that brought him to the attention of the Order. He is a good soldier for the Order, willing to do what has to be done and follow orders dutifully. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his own intentions. Maurice works for the Wizarding Wireless Network, and a few nights a week he hosts his own pirate radio station. Sometimes his broadcasts can get hundreds or thousands of listeners, all scared but hopeful, wanting to hear what no-one else is telling them, the news the papers won’t print, the the stories the WWN won’t air. The Order value their secrecy, but Maurice knows information is power, and knowledge gives you a choice. He knows he can use his show to the Order’s advantage if only it’s given a chance.

FC CHOICES: top choice is Tom Sturridge, I’m not very good at fcs so if you don’t think he fits I’m happy to go with recommendations!

#homenumaccepted

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assless-chapstick · 5 years

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I live and breathe for your Baby John content, mister. So I was just wondering, does Arthur help him with his reading lessons? And also, yes, how does one teach a kid how to read when Baby John isn't talking (yet)? And is it all Hosea's job, or does Dutch help too? (Does Baby John get along with Hosea?) Or is it mostly Arthur? Does anyone read him bedtime stories to encourage an interest in reading? Does Arthur celebrate with him when he's mastered a new letter? Please, mister, I need to know ;;

Feller, these are all such good questions… I’m… love baby John…..

I think Hosea, Dutch, and Arthur all helped John learn to read, but they all went about it in very different ways! I think Hosea was very much matter-of-fact, ‘this is how it is’ sort of teacher (“What kind of outlaw can’t read? The kind what robs a barbershop thinking it’s a bank, that’s what!”), where Dutch was a little more indulgent but less patient, and Arthur was the creative one that made it like, interesting for John. They all helped on their own way!!

Like, Hosea would sit down with John, very like, 'ok time to Learn', and be like “Alright, John. This is an A, it makes an Ah sound, like in apple.”

John, just sitting there, kicking his feet like he’s waiting for it to be over, fiddling with a neat stick he found…

“Or like almond. Or Amen. Or ankle. What else starts with A, John?” and John just shrugs, don’t look Hosea in the eye or even at the page Hosea is pointing to… it’s a little sad, actually, how disengaged John seems, kinda like he’s so used to getting scolded he doesn’t really know how else to interact with adults…. But Hosea’s real patient, just keeps reminding him of the question, waits…. Like, “C’mon John, A, ah sounds. What starts with A? Arm, ass…” and that makes John smile a little….

Eventually he points at Arthur and Hosea laughs like “No, Imbecile starts with I. So does idiot. Moron starts with M. But I guess you’re right, Arthur starts with A. Now, Bastard starts with B….”

And so it goes; Arthur, Bastard, Can, Dollar…..

(also, when John is learning to write, Hosea is patient but kinda firm; John holds the pencil in his left hand, and Hosea will just kinda pluck it out of his left and put it in his right, not even thinking about it…)

Dutch is very much the bribery sort, I think, and indulgent of both John and himself. He’s the one who reads to John the most, maybe not from Evelyn Miller or anything, but Brother’s Grimm… Reads him the stories of Cinderella and the cutting-off toes and John finds that fascinating… looks at Dutch with these big wide eyes like he didn’t know such neat things could be in books…

I think it gets to a point that whenever John sees Dutch reading, be it a newspaper or some philosophical thing or a periodical, John will trot over and fold himself up real small, knees tucked under his chin and pressed right to Dutch’s side (especially if it’s cold… John is Always Cold). And Dutch always just starts reading out loud to him, whatever it is, will point to words and as he says them, makes sure to mention the important ones (“See this one, Johnny? Liberty, the founding principal of this great land of ours. The dream. The ideal. Liberty. Freedom.” Etc. )

When John starts to talk, he doesn’t do a lot of reading-aloud with Dutch, if only cuz Dutch gets frustrated easily and starts reading to John instead…

Arthur is the clever one… the one that will sit down where John is playing with a stick in the dirt and start writing cuss words, making John sound them out…

Or Arthur will be drinking something, some liquor, and John'll be like “Can I have some?”

And Arthurs all “Do you even know what it is?”

“Whiskey!!”

“Nope.”

“Beer?”

“Nope.”

And he shows the bottle to John and spends like a half hour helping him sound out the label, the brand, the year, everything … they get to the end and John is like “Hey!!!” cuz it was whiskey the whole time…

Arthur also makes a special card deck for them to play Go Fish with… just old bits of paper with like, the number and words on them… Like “2, Two of Hearts” written on them so John has to read every card and learn his numbers…

Arthur also collects scraps of paper, draws flowers and birds and animals on them and writes the names for the things right there so John can see and learn… maybe that’s how he gets into the habit of drawing and labelling all those plants n shit…. Keeps doing it long after John’s grown…

Also, for like a year after John learns how to write his name, he constantly either forgets the H or puts it in the wrong spot…. So it’s always “Jon” or “Jonh” …h and n look real similar too so that’s difficult…. Jon Marstin … Jonh Marstoh…

As for bedtime stories, I don’t really think John had a bedtime… no one really put him to bed, I don’t think. I like to imagine he got to run a little wild, being raised by the gang – so long as he did his chores and stayed out of the way, no one minded much what he did. Concessions were made cuz he was a kid, but he was still treated a lot like one of the adults… so no bed time, really!

But when he was sick – I imagine he got sick a couple times, too, real bad, being small and undernourished – Susan was the one what took care of him… pressed a cool cloth to his forehead when he had a fever, rubbed his back as he had a frustrated, private cry into his pillow… and read to him was he was sick in bed. She’d read from that big book of fairy tales, and John would say “no no not that one! The one about the knight that defeats the evil dragon that wants him to pay taxes and be civilized!!” … cuz Dutch has been making up fairytales for John so he doesn’t get bored with the ones in the book….

Anyway, thanks for loving baby John with me, mister!

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