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immabethehero · 4 years

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Schneeplestein Apparently Has a Heart

The good doctor’s birthday is here and of course I wrote a story! Just warning, this story is quite dark. Read the trigger warnings below.

TW: Suicide attempt by gunshot (not seen, just implied), suicidal thoughts and words, extreme distress, minor violence, blood mentioned.

For the short amount of time that Jackieboy Man and Marvin the Magnificent have lived with Dr. Henrik Nicholas von Schneeplestein, MD, PhD, MVP, FFS, they have learned a few important lessons, or rules:

NEVER, under any circumstances, touch the top left cupboard on the outside of the kitchen opening. That’s where Schneep’s coffee supply is, and if you touch it, even ONCE, Schneep will be out for your blood.

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you mention Schneep’s wife, Lisette Schneeplestein. Apparently, the French brunette whom Schneep has been married to for the past 7 years has fucked off (Schneep’s words) back to France with her tennis instructor, Rick, short for Ricardo (Italian, apparently) and taken their two daughters with her. (Schneep has cleaned out Lisette and the girls’ rooms, and all the belongings they have left behind, in their efforts to leave so quickly, are packed away in storage containers in the garage. Schneep has yet to mail them to Lisette’s new address.)

DO NOT wake Schneep earlier than 10 AM in the morning if it’s his one day off. Despite having an early bird’s job, Schneep is not a morning person. Another reason why Schneep is dependent on coffee.

UNLESS it is an emergency, no one but Schneep is allowed in his office. As there are so many things to keep track of, and so many papers that could easily be misplaced, it is best not to touch, or even go inside the office, lest you want to throw the doctor off his game or have the doctor throw you off a cliff.

Despite these four unspoken yet very specific rules, Marvin and Jackie have learned one more this past month: despite the doctor’s arrogant, haughty, snappy, disgusting, even FERAL demeanour, he truly is a good person.

It just took a new ego to show them that.

March 30th, 2017. Schneep’s mail has been unceremoniously thrown onto the dining room table. Schneep’s hands, long and graceful, slide through the envelopes and fliers, organizing them into piles, from taxes and business inquiries to subscriptions and sales.

Jackie lazily eats his cereal, watching Schneep sort through the mail like a madman. Geez, just how popular is this guy?! It’s almost as wild as Jack’s mail. At least there’s more interesting stuff for Jack... drawings, letters of encouragement and thanks, even the rare crocheted or sculpted gift.

Schneep freezes when he comes across a particular letter, one with a cutesy pin cupcake logo. His eyes grow solemn as he picks it up and shakily opens it. Jackie cocks his head.

“Something wrong, doctor?” he asks lightly.

Schneep looks up. “Hm? Oh!” He sighs. “It’s from a baking class Sophia and I used to take together. Lisette had insisted I learn how to cook as well, so it wouldn’t always be her making the meals, and she figured it would be good bonding for me and Sophia. Soph loved those classes. We’d learn all sorts of fascinating recipes and bring the results home. They were fun, and very sweet.”

Jackie nods seriously. He knows he should leave it there, but something’s confusing him. “It’s been quite a few months since you stopped going. Why are they sending you stuff now?”

Schneep unfolds the letter. As he reads it, his eyes widen and a smile begins curling at his lips.

Somehow, that only makes more questions. “What…?”

“It’s not the company themself, it’s Chase! He was a friend from the classes! I haven’t spoken to him in forever! He’s such a lovely person, it’d be nice to see him again!” Schneep grabs his phone and hastily types in the number at the bottom of the letter. He squeals and runs off, like a teenager who just got a text from their crush.

The letter lies on the table, open for all to read. Jackie knows better than to pry into other people’s lives, but this letter is wide open, and it’s not like Schneep needs to know, so the superhero leans over and reads.

Hey Henrik,

This is probably weird to get, but I lost your phone number and I don’t know what your address is, so I asked the dudes at the baking class if I could send a letter to you via their services.

It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and I thought I’d better check in and see how you’re doing, see how bachelor life is treating you. Stacy and the kids miss seeing you as well. I wanna talk to you again.

My cell is #1273-545-8903.

Hope to see you soon!

Chase Brody

Chase Brody. That sounds like an American to Jackie’s ears. He does seem like a good person, if Schneep’s reaction wasn’t enough. He must have been a friend for Schneep when the doctor went through his divorce.

The name itself sounds familiar, like a local celebrity or something. Jackie makes a mental note to look it up later. He leans back and finishes his cereal just as Schneep comes back, holding his phone out. Marvin finally emerges, his green hair resembling a rat’s nest, and no mask. Jackie takes pride in the fact that Marvin now feels comfortable enough to show his face in front of Schneep and Jackie.

“Well, change of plans, I won’t be able to come home in time for dinner with you guys,” Schneep announces. Jackie nods.

“Wait what? Why?” Marvin slurs, slumping down at the dining room table.

“I’m going to see Chase after my shift today. We agreed to meet in the park,” Schneep explains curtly, and leaves.

“Did I miss something?” Marvin asks, turning to Jackie. Jackie nods down to the letter. Marvin leans over to read, only for the letter to be snatched up by the doctor.

“Who said you could go through my stuff?!” Schneep snapped. He stormed off, letter clutched firmly in his hand. Marvin sneers at Jackie, who only shrugs and winks. The magician rolls his eyes, but he understands. A shrug and a wink means I’ll tell you later.

Schneep throws on his brown coat and grabs his bag. “Have a nice day, boys. If I don’t see you later tonight, sweet dreams and I’ll see you in the morning.” He flies out, coat flapping behind him.

“He’s gotta show me how he rocks an overcoat so well. I’m jealous of the way he holds himself. So professional,” Marvin remarks. He quickly turns to Jackie. “Spill the tea.”

“Schneep’s meeting an old friend from a baking class he used to take with his daughter,” Jackie says. “His name is Chase Brody. The name sounds so familiar to me, and I don’t know why.”

“Look it up on your phone,” Marvin suggests. Jackie does just that.

Immediately, Wikipedia comes to the egos’ rescue. Chase Brody, (born April 11th, 1988) is an American-Irish Youtuber who is best known for his Youtube channel, Bro Average. As of February 2017, his channel has over 20 million views and over 10 million subscribers.

“Oh yeah, the trickshot vlogger!” Jackie says. “I like watching his stuff, he’s a funny dude.”

Marvin nods. “He must have kids as well. He wouldn’t be taking classes if he didn’t.”

Jackie scrolls down to Personal Life. “‘Chase is married to Stacy Matthews, and they have three children as of 2017, two biological twins, and one recently adopted daughter.’” The selfie provided shows a man with fair skin and bright blue eyes standing next to a red-headed lady doing a duckface.

“Hm. Sounds like he’s living the good life,” Marvin says. “A well-paid job, a nice family, a happy life.”

Boy, is he wrong.

At 5 PM exactly, Schneep sits at the bench by the great oak tree, waiting for Chase. He wraps his blue and navy scarf tighter around his neck as a cool breeze whisks by. Despite what the weather people promised, Athlone is nowhere near warm, despite it being spring. He examines the park-goers who walk by, picking up on every accident that could occur.

Parents swinging their child up and down: a broken arm, arms could pull out of their sockets, or the child could fall on their head and get a concussion. Or worse, permanent brain injuries.

Kids climbing trees: Another chance to fall and hit their tiny heads and sustain brain damage, if not that, broken limbs and splinters.

Teenagers skateboarding: more broken bones and limbs, but at least SOME are smart enough to put pads and helmets on. Others have no chance of recovering fully from brain damage or concussions should they fall on their heads-

“Henrik!” Henrik snaps to life and looks around. A man wearing a puffy black jacket, torn jeans and a snapback with a pink skull on it runs over to him. Schneep stands up.

“Chase Brody! Wie geht es dir mein freund?” Schneep cries out in delight, holding his arms out. Chase happily throws himself into them.

“I’m doing as well as I can, at least. It’s so good to see your face,” Chase sighs. He nuzzles Henrik’s hair, taking in the sanitizer and mint smell he’s gotten used to. “I’ve missed you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Schneep says. “Come, sit down next to me! Tell me how things have been. How are Stacy and your kids? Has Chloe adjusted to the new timezone yet?” Chloe is Chase’s recently adopted daughter from China. Schneep’s last visit with the Brody’s involved meeting her.

Chase’s smile fades and he sits down next to Schneep. “Um…”

Schneep’s stomach sinks. “That’s never good. What happened? Who died?!”

“Calm down, Henrik!” Chase exclaims. “No one died! Everyone’s fine. Chloe’s adjusted quite nicely.”

“Then why do you look so sad?!” Schneep cries.

Chase fidgets with his jacket zipper, mumbling incomprehensibly. Henrik leans closer. “Didn’t catch that.”

“StacyandIaregettingadivorce,” Chase whispers. Schneep’s stomach flips and sinks.

“What?”

“Stacy and I are getting divorced,” Chase repeats, louder now. “She said she still loves me, but not quite in a… romantic way, I guess. She wants us to just be friends.”

“Well, at least she still wants to be on friendly terms, I guess!” Schneep says. “Still, I can’t believe it… you two were such a sweet couple… so in love…”

“There’s another reason why she wants a divorce,” Chase admits. Schneep’s eyes turn wide as saucers.

“She’s seeing someone. An old friend from high school. I’ve seen her texts,” Chase says. He scrunches up the end of his shirt, nose wrinkling. Schneep hears him sniff.

“I don’t know how long it’s gone on… and I know she didn’t mean to… but still…” Chase finally looks up, eyes tearing. “How could she do that? I would have been okay with it! Maybe. I don’t know!” Chase buries his face in his hands.

Schneep pats Chase’s shoulder gently. He can’t believe Stacy cheated! She and Chase were such a romantic couple! They seemed so happy! Why would Stacy throw that all away for some whore? “What a bitch…”

Chase suddenly whacks Schneep’s hand off, eyes fierce. “Don’t call her that! It’s not like that! At least she still wants me in her life! She’s not like Lisette!” An awkward silence fills the air.

Chase gasps. “Henrik, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it that way-”

“Oh!” Schneep cries. “It’s fine! It’s no big deal!” Yeah, that was a low blow, but he would rather Chase doesn’t end up like him: cranky, alienating, friendless, alone. He needs a friend more than ever.

“No it’s not, I just sunk really low! You must be furious-”

“I’m not, I promise!” He’s not, surprisingly. Is this growth?! What the fuck?!

“I need to control myself better. I’m a grownup, for fuck’s sake, I should know better…” Chase moans, burrowing his head in his hands again.

“Chase!” Schneep exclaims. “You mustn’t beat yourself up like that! You’re one of my very best friends, which isn’t saying much because I don’t have any, but still! You have to be one of the nicest people I know! You’re anything but a dick!”

“I feel like you’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Chase mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m not, I swear !” Schneep says.

“I’m sorry, Henrik, I really am,” Chase says.

“I forgive you,” Schneep says, and means it. “I’m serious.”

“I should go,” Chase decides, standing. Schneep gets up as well.

“What? No! I’m not mad!” he protests.

“It’s my turn to pick the kids up,” Chase snaps. “I’ll see you around, Henrik. Sorry I can’t stay long.” He briskly runs off.

Schneeplestein yells and kicks the bench. “FUCK! FUCK! AAAHHH!!!”

Other park visitors turn in confusion, watching the strange man kick the bench and scream.

Schneep freezes when he notices everyone staring at him. He storms back to his car, slams the door shut and continues his screaming.

Once Schneep has finished “releasing his anger” (Jackie’s words, not his) he “reflects on the situation” (also Jackie’s words). What could he do to make Chase feel better?

He stays in the car for an hour, letting the world pass by as he thinks. By the time the sun has set, he has an idea.

Jackie and Marvin glare at each other from across the hall. Sirius the cat has hidden, choosing not to get involved. The little pegs in the cribbage board are neck-in-neck, both pegs exactly 4 steps away from the end hole. The egos stare at their cards.

“Four,” Jackie announces, putting the card down.

“Fourteen,” Marvin says.

The door flies open and Schneep rushes in, hair windswept and out of breath. “Where’s Jack?!” he demands.

“Out in his universe,” Jackie responds. “Fifteen for two!” He puts down an ace.

“Sixteen for two!” Marvin slams the ace down, looking triumphant. Jackie flips him off.

“When will he visit?!” Schneep questions.

“When he wishes,” Jackie responds. “Twenty-five!”

“How can I contact him?!”

“Why are you so interested?!” Marvin asks. “Thirty-one, bitch!” He flips Jackie off.

“I have a request for him!” Schneep responds curtly.

“What kind?” Jackie asks.

“It’s for a friend,” Schneep brushes him off, heading to his lab.

“Chase Brody?” Marvin guesses. Jackie kicks him.

Schneep turns around. “What did you say?”

Marvin gulps. “You left your letter on the table for me to read. I was fast enough to catch the gist before you snatched it up. So how is Chase Brody?”

Schneep growls softly and walks back to the table. Marvin sits up with his head held high, bracing himself for the punishment. No matter what Schneep does, slugging, kicking, ruining his hair, the magician can take it. He’s been through worse.

To Marvin and Jackie’s surprise, Schneep pulls up a chair and sits down. The doctor takes a deep breath. “Chase Brody is divorcing his wife. That’s all I’m going to say.”

Jackie and Marvin nod in understanding. “That’s sad to hear,” Jackie remarks, solemnly.

“But how’s talking to Jack going to help?” Marvin queries.

“I want him to make a video for Chase,” Schneep says. “If this so-called community exists, I want to see them show their love for Chase! It’s the least he deserves!”

Marvin and Jackie catch each other’s gaze. Schneep glares at Jackie expectantly.

“Well? You’ve lived with Jack the longest. How do you contact him?!” Schneep demands.

“I have his number in case of emergencies, but I’ve never had a reason to call him! I don’t even know if he’s available,” Jackie explains.

“He has to be. What else does a man who plays video games for a living do?!” Schneep snaps, incredulous. “It’s not like he has to be places or anything!” He looms over Jackie, a desperate, pleading look in his eyes. Jackie nearly topples out of his chair.

“I guess I could give it a shot,” the superhero mumbles.

Schneep squeals in delight and wraps his arms tightly around Jackie in what Jackie assumes to be a hug. The superhero pats the doctor’s arms, taken aback by his strength.

After a few sickeningly sweet seconds, Marvin pipes up, “Uh, doc? I think Jackie needs to be able to breathe in order to call Jack.”

Sheepishly, Schneeplestein lets Jackie go. The superhero gulps in big gasps of air, before grabbing his phone and dialing Jack’s number.

A day later, Jack McLoughlin sits at the egos’ dining room table, chomping away on mashed potatoes and a juicy steak.

“My goodness, you never told me what a good chef you were, Schneep!” he sighs in ecstasy.

Schneep bows his head, face glowing red. Jackie raises an eyebrow. Schneep almost NEVER blushes when given a compliment. It’s strange to see the doctor act so shy and humble around someone, especially Jack. It feels like only yesterday Schneep was bombarding Jack with questions about where he came from and how the alternate universe worked. Since that day, Jack has quickly risen to become one of Schneep’s favourite people on the planet. Not that Jackie is jealous or anything…

“Just a little recipe I learned for my wife…” Schneep mutters, playing with the end of his lab coat. Across the table, Marvin snickers lightly, watching the doctor fumble for words. Finally, some entertainment!

“So, what was the call for?” Jack asks. “Just wanted to say hi?” His expression darkens. “Is it Anti? What did he do?!”

“It’s not Anti. We haven’t heard from him for a while!” Jackie says. Jack sighs in relief.

“I mean, I know I made that video for PAX and all but I just wanted to make sure,” Jack says.

“You made an Anti video for PAX?!” Marvin cries. “Why?”

“Because the fans would enjoy it! Also because I was running out of ideas for what to do for an opening,” Jack admits. “It just seemed like the right amount of fun and originality without being too over the top!”

“When is Anti not over the top?” Jackie scoffs. That earns a laugh from the others.

“Actually, it’s Schneep who has a question for you,” Marvin says.

Jack turns to Schneeplestein. Schneep’s smile disappears. He looks around the table, watching everyone’s gaze. He grins nervously at Jack.

“Could I ask you in private? This stuff… it is… personal.”

“Sure. Let’s go,” Jack says, standing up. Schneep follows after him.

In the upstairs hallway, Schneep spills everything. He explains who Chase is, what’s going on in his life, and how he believes making Chase an ego could help his situation.

“Make another ego? Oh god, I’m having enough trouble managing you all right now,” Jack admits.

“All you have to do is make one video. The fans can do the rest,” Schneep presses.

“How?”

“By showing their love for Chase! He’s a funny and sweet guy! Your fans would love him!”

“How will the community’s love help a man struggling with a divorce?” Jack questions.

“Their love will lift his spirits and he will feel more confident and happy! You said you noticed a difference in us after the community made content of us! If that is really true, then I want to see them show their love for Chase. It’s the least he deserves!”

Jack is silent, contemplating the pros and cons. Finally, he sighs and says, “Can you show me what he usually does?”

Schneep types something into his phone. He logs onto Youtube and types a channel name into the search bar. Bro Average.

“Bro Average? Is that a parody of Dude Perfect?” Jack asks, chuckling.

“Well, it’s because there’s only one person performing every stunt, and because it’s less... professional than the other channel,” Schneep explains. “For example-”

The video shows Chase at a park, holding a Nerf gun and wearing a goofy grin. “Sup, guys! I’m Chase, and welcome to Bro Average!” He shoots a nerf dart off-screen, only for it to crash into something, invoking a cat screech. Chase pretends to be startled.

It flashes forward to Chase in a tree. “This one’s called, ‘Multitasking’!” He hangs off a branch while trying to knock over six cups stacked up on each other with darts. Jack can’t stop snickering at Chase’s antics, as he wobbles and threatens to lose his balance. Chase yelps and squeals, and a few times, swearing can be heard, though it’s censored by loud beeps. Finally, Chase hits his target, just as the branch snaps. Chase whoops with glee as he crashes onto the ground, the branch smacking into his head. His cameraman runs over to him, worried, but Chase is rolling on the ground in laughter as tears run down his face.

“He is not nearly as good as the professionals, but his humour and authenticness bring in the fans,” Schneep says, smiling.

“He sounds like a blast!” Jack takes the phone and begins to skim through Chase’s videos. “I bet I could make something work! I’ll borrow an office space, bring a couple friends and film a few shots! Can’t be that hard!”

“So you will do it?!” Schneep cries.

“Absolutely! Give me a couple days and it will be ready!”

Schneep cheers and engulfs Jack in a bear hug. Jack laughs and pats his friend’s back. It’s nice to see the doctor open up at last to his new roommates and creator, and so quickly, as well. Jack decides Schneep can be rewarded for his good nature by granting his wish and helping out a new friend.

A few weeks pass. Schneeplestein schedules more visits with Chase. The two fathers laugh and chat, learning more about each other and discussing whatever they please without the worry of kids hearing. Schneep feels his spirits lift whenever he sees Chase’s snapback and hears his cheerful voice.

In the night, a familiar sensation returns to the egos’ dreams. Sounds of a Nerf gun, kids laughing and on the rare occasion, a man crying fills the egos’ heads as they sleep. Schneep feels his heart break when he hears Chase’s cries. He hopes this video will help Chase. It has to.

April 11th, 2017. The egos are gathered around the dining room table, Jack’s Youtube account open on his laptop.

Jack idly sits at the centre, waiting for Schneep to arrive with Chase. Marvin and Jackie play another round of cribbage, and this time Jackie seems to be way ahead on the board, much to the magician’s dismay.

“I’m going to be skunked! I hate this game so fucking much!” Marvin gripes, as he receives two points for his math efforts.

Jackie snickers as he counts his cards. “This takes both luck and skill. You’re a fast learner, Marv. I’m sure you’ll pull through soon.”

“Not soon enough,” grumbles Marvin as Jackie moves his peg 16 points.

The door opens and Schneep walks in with Chase Brody right behind him. Compared to the laughing man with the warm aura in Google Images, this Chase looks cold and kind of grumpy.

“Chase, this is Jack McLoughlin, our ‘creator’ and a wonderful man,” Schneep introduces. Jack awkwardly holds his hand out for a shake. Even though he’s seen versions of himself several times this past year, it’s still rather unnerving to be given death stares by himself but with yellow hair, snapback and a fair share of freckles.

“Jack, this is Chase Brody, your newest ego and the face of Bro Average!” Schneep continues. Chase raises an eyebrow.

“Ego? Like alter ego?” Chase turns to the others, and realizes that they share the same hair and face. “Oh... my... dog. Am I a fictional character?! Is this a character intervention with the narrator?! Whatever happened, I promise, I didn’t do it! Sally encouraged me to eat the worm!” Chase kneels before Jack, cowering and whimpering.

Jack chuckles nervously. “Relax, Chase! Technically, you are a fictional character-” Chase shrieks in alarm.

“But only in another universe. You’re very much a real person in this one,” Schneep concludes, helping Chase up by the arm. Chase shakes the doctor off and Schneep tries his best to hide his hurt.

“To put it simply, some of the videos on my channel don’t exist in this universe. This is because they’re about you… egos,” Jack recites. “You’re the most recent ego, however, your video and beginnings are a bit different because I already had some course material to go off of.”

Jack clicks play on the video. Chase sits down and gasps as Jack-as-Chase flies around the office, performing trickshots and screaming like a toddler who drank too much apple juice. Is… is this him?! The accuracy! Holy shit! They even got his bloopers right! Creepy!!! Is he being stalked?!

Schneep watches from afar, fidgeting with his lab coat. Chase hasn’t moved once since the video started. He doesn’t look angry… but at the same time, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying his Power Hour. Truth be told, it’s not like the Doctor particularly likes his Power Hour either. Jack didn’t have to go and mention his cheating wife… or the fact that Peter did die at one point… Nonetheless, Chase is just sitting there, with wide eyes.

Jack, on the other hand, is already regretting what he did. Perhaps he emphasized too much on the “Not-As-Professional-Or-Successful” part. Maybe he made Chase too goofy or not as three-dimensional as he could have. The Youtuber catches a glimpse of the screen. Oh no. It’s the part with-

“Stacy, please, I know, I’m trying to get all the shots, look, just please don’t take the kids!” Jack-as-Chase pleads. Schneep and Jack-in-the-flesh turn white as a ghost. Chase frowns.

“This one’s called, ‘I’m Staying At My Sister’s This Weekend’!” Jack-as-Chase announces. It flashes back to him on the phone. “Well, I don’t care what your sister says! Just please! At least let me see them on the weekend still!”

Jack scratched his neck nervously and teethed on his knuckles, face beet red. Chase looks horrified. Schneep looks just as worried. Marvin and Jackie awkwardly stand up to leave.

Chase pauses the video just as Jack-as-Chase sobs. He takes a deep breath and turns to face his “creator”. “So… are you the reason my wife and I are getting a divorce?”

Jack gapes, taken aback by Chase’s accusation. He doesn’t want to throw Schneep under the bus, but at the same time, Chase wasn’t exactly “created” like the others-

“Not exactly!” Schneep interferes. “It… it was my idea. I thought if I got Jack to make a tribute video in honour of you, it would help you!”

“Help me?!” Chase laughs, a harsh and cold sound compared to his whoops and chuckles in his videos. “How?! By running my wife’s name through the dirt?!” Jack flinches.

“Fair enough,” Schneep says with a groan. “I should have been more specific when I said divorce and kids.”

“You told-?!”

“I thought if you knew you had a big name on your side you’d feel better! It was supposed to be a little treat!” Schneep counters.

“Oh, what am I, a little pity party to you?” Chase snaps. “My divorce was private information, Schneep. Why else did you think I wanted to talk to you alone?! Now the whole world knows and Stacy’s going to be treated horribly because of you shits-”

“Not the whole world!” Schneep exclaims. “Just… all… of Jack’s world.”

“Shut up,” Chase hisses. “I don’t care that there’s more than one universe. So be it. What I care about is the fact that you betrayed my trust and now people are going to treat Stacy like she was a freaking bitch. This may come as a surprise to both you and Jack, but not all women are cheating whores like Lisette, asshole!”

SMACK. Chase cries out. The egos and Jack huddle together. Schneep’s breathing slows as he registers the sting in his hand and Chase rubbing his red cheek.

Schneep takes a deep breath, and in chilling, low, icy words, he snarls, “Don’t ever say her name again.”

Chase recovers from the slap and storms over to the door. “Whatever. You know what?! Stay away from me and whatever’s left of my family. I don’t care if I’m a part of your ‘creator’s’ story or whatever, I JUST WANT YOU OUT OF MY LIFE.” Chase grabs his coat and slams the door shut with a loud BANG. Schneep remains at the dining room, breathing unsteadily, vision somewhat blurry.

“Doctor? Are you alright?” Jackie whispers, reaching a hand out.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Schneep runs upstairs to his room and slams the door. Muffled sobs soon echo down the hallway.

Jack’s heart breaks in two. He really thought this video was a good idea. Somehow, all it brought was pain. He sighs defeatedly and slumps down at the table. Marvin closes the laptop.

“Shit… that was awful…”

“And it was supposed to be Chase’s birthday present!” Jack moans. “Ahhhhh, I feel like an asshole… I shouldn’t have been so mean…”

“It’s not your fault…” Jackie soothes. “You made an assumption and played it with satire. Schneep shares some of the blame as well. He should have kept that part quiet.”

“And I should have kept that out of the video…” Jack sighs. “Now Chase feels even worse about the divorce and he wants nothing to do with us…”

Jackie and Marvin sit down beside Jack and rub his back. Jack sighs again and rests his head on the table.

Upstairs, Schneep screams into his pillow, tears finally flowing. He hates himself and Chase and everything that’s happened. That’s what he gets for helping a friend. Ungrateful bastard-

No. Schneep should have known better! That was private information, he had no right poking his nose in and telling everyone. Well, it was just one person, but still! Now Chase never wants to speak to him again and he’s lost the only friend he’s had in a while and everything sucks and he just wants to curl up and die. Schneep pulls his hair and screams again. He can’t sleep, but at the same time, he can’t do anything else. So he remains in bed, crying and thinking. Eventually, long into the night, he falls asleep, cheeks wet and eyes sore.

Schneep wakes up feeling like absolute shit. His cheeks are somewhat sticky and damp. He must have been crying in his sleep. His stomach feels awful. But it’s a work day, so he gets out of bed.

Schneep stumbles into his ensuite bathroom and splashes cold water on his face. He shudders when he sees his reflection. Grey skin, messy hair, red eyes. He doesn’t smell so good either. Sighing sadly, Schneep throws off his clothes and turns on the shower faucet.

When he hops out of the shower, he puts on his scrubs and grabs his spare labcoat. He trudges downstairs, where Marvin is waiting with fluffy chocolate-chip pancakes on the table.

“Morning, doc,” Marvin greets cheerfully. His smile fades when he sees Schneep’s ashen face. “Everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Schneep replies hoarsely.

“I made you some coffee,” Marvin continues. “I know you like it.”

Schneep grunts softly and pours himself a large cup. As he drinks he heads to the hook of keys by the front door, only to find-

“Where are my keys?” Schneep asks, staring at the space where his car keys used to hang.

“I saw Sirius knock them off earlier,” Marvin replies, flipping through the nearest magazine. “I tried to catch her, but she’s so fast.”

“Where is she right now?” Schneep inquires, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“Beats me. I can’t control her,” Marvin says calmly.

Schneep growls and pounds on the table. Marvin jumps slightly, but quickly recovers and goes back to his reading.

“This isn’t funny, Marvin. I need to get to work!” Schneep snaps. “I’m already falling behind schedule.”

Marvin snorts, looking up from the magazine. “You think you’re fit to go to work? Your face is bright pink, you’ve got large shadows under your eyes and I heard you crying for who knows how many hours last night.”

“I have allergies! They were just acting up!” Schneep snaps.

“Oh, really? Allergies? That’s rich coming from the man who claims to have ‘the strongest immune system in the world’!” Marvin scoffs.

“Even the strongest immune systems have off days, okay?!”

“That doesn’t even make any sense! Henrik, are you even hearing yourself?!”

Schneep fights back more tears. “Marvin, please, tell me where the keys are! I can’t be late for work!”

“And you won’t be! I called the hospital and asked them to give you a day off!” Marvin says.

Schneep almost drops his mug. “You… you did what?!”

“I told them it was a family emergency,” Marvin admits. “And that we didn’t know how long it would be. They understood, told me to tell you to take as many days off as you need.”

“Which is none,” Schneep scowls. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am!”

“Henrik, you said you didn’t want Chase to go through his divorce alone and friendless, like you. You’re going through a tough time right now. The last thing you need is to be alone.”

Schneep gapes at the magician, tears threatening to fall. Marvin stares back, heart thumping loudly. He prays he didn’t say the wrong thing. He hopes this works.

Maybe it’s because he didn't get enough sleep, or maybe it’s because he’s never had anyone be so concerned for his well-being that they screwed up his schedule, but Henrik finally lets his anguish go, and collapses, bawling like a little baby. Marvin gets down from his seat and wraps his arms around the doctor, soothing him and singing softly.

Jackie finally emerges from the bathroom, and joins the cuddle pile in the kitchen. As Henrik finally slumps completely into Marvin’s arms, he and the superhero high-five and move the sleeping doctor into the living room for a day of Netflix and cuddles.

Five days pass. Henrik sits at his desk, tapping his pen. In front of him is the start of a letter, with only the words “Dear Chase,” written on it. He needs to apologize to Chase, but just doing it by text seems insensitive. So written letter it is! Now… where to start…

Dear Chase,

I’m sorry. What I did was wrong and there’s no way to excuse my behaviour. I really believed I was doing the right thing by telling Jack, but I should have known better than to air dirty laundry.

The doctor shakes his head and crumples up the page. He can do better than that. Now to start over-

His phone begins playing the familiar sound of a monitor beeping. He really needs to change his ringtone. It’s too painful to hear after all the dead patients that came with it.

Henrik freezes when he notices the name. Chase. Why is he calling? Heart thumping and hands shaking, Henrik picks up the phone.

“Hello? Chase?”

“H-hi, d-doc…” Chase answers in a raspy whisper. The sound of sniffling is not lost on Henrik.

“Chase? Are you okay?”

“Not really…” Another sniffle. “But I will be… soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry for all the shit I said… It was wrong of me to bring up your own divorce… I-I shouldn’t have been so harsh…”

“No, Chase, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have brought up your divorce in the first place! I thought I was doing good by telling Jack, but he clearly misinterpreted it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it…”

“It’s alright… you were just trying to make me feel bet-better… I just overreacted… I overreact to eve-everything… I’m such a bay-baby.” Chase sounds like he’s holding back tears.

“No you’re not. You had every right to be mad… I’m sorry for slapping you. How’s your cheek?”

Schneep hears Chase chuckle softly. “It’s fine… It doesn’t hurt as much as other injuries…” The laugh turns into a sob.

“Other injuries?! What do you mean?!” Henrik demands. “Chase, you’re worrying me!”

“I’m sorry… I can’t seem to do anything right… All I do is upset people…” Chase is outright crying now.

“Chase, please tell me where you are,” Henrik pleads, getting up. “I need to make sure you’re okay!”

“No… I don’t think you’ll want to see this…” Chase mumbles. He takes a deep but shuddery breath. “I have to go. Goodbye, Henrik.”

“Chase?! CHASE?!” Henrik screams. The phone line goes dead. Henrik yelps and quickly rushes into his contacts. He finds Stacy’s name and calls her.

She answers on the first ring. “Henrik? It’s been so long! How are you?”

“Where is Chase right now?”

“What?”

“Where is he living?”

“What’s going on? What did he say to you? Is he okay?”

“Call 999. I don’t believe so.”

Henrik hangs up and dashes out of his office, up the stairs and to the front door, where he grabs his keys and coat. Marvin and Jackie sit at the kitchen island, both on their phones.

“Henrik? What’s going on?”

“I have to go to the hospital. I’ll be back,” Henrik answers curtly. He throws on his coat and leaves.

Henrik runs into the hospital and quickly signs himself in. A nurse comes by and squeaks in surprise when she sees him.

“Dr. Schneeplestein? What are you doing here? Isn’t today your day off?”

“Time is broken, Cass,” Dr. Schneeplestein replies. He dashes off to the emergency room. Cass quickens her pace, trying her best to catch up to him.

“Have there been any emergencies yet?” Schneep demands.

“I think an ambulance is arriving soon-” Cass begins.

“Who’s the patient?” Schneep asks.

“A man attempted suicide-” Cass starts.

“I’ll treat him,” Schneep announces.

The doors open and medics rush in, driving a man on a gurney. Schneep pales when he sees red. The good doctor swallows his fear and tears. Now is not the time to be a baby. He’s not called the good doctor for nothing. Time to save Chase’s life.

Hours later, five nurses come in to find Dr. Schneeplestein exhaustedly sobbing against the wall, shoulders convulsing as he cries into his hands. On the gurney lies a man with yellow hair poking out of a large bandage wrapped around his head. The monitor beeps rhythmically, and the man’s chest rises and falls slowly. So why is the doctor crying?

Three nurses wheel Chase out while the other two bend down next to Schneep. One nurse, Kate, tentatively places a hand on his shoulder. He jumps in shock.

“Schneeplestein? Are you alright?” Kate asks.

Schneep smiles shakily. “He’ll live…” He shivers and whimpers. “Oh god… so much could have happened… So much could have gone wrong… I thought I lost him a few times...” the doctor breaks off with another sob.

“Why don’t you head home? Today is your day off,” Kate suggests.

“In a little while… I need to speak to the patient first…” Schneep replies in a raspy voice. Kate nods. She and the other nurse, Matt, help the doctor up. His legs wobble and almost give out. Schneep takes a deep breath and slowly makes his way out of the operating room and into his office.

An hour later, Henrik reappears, wearing his comfy labcoat and drinking some tea, a rarity considering how much the doctor prefers coffee. But he needs to relax, and so Matt whipped up a nice cup of tea.

Henrik pulls up a chair and sets his cup down. He looks down at the sleeping man, face as white as the bandage wrapped around his head. Chase has never looked more fragile and vulnerable. His cheeks are sunken and there are large bags under his eyes.

Henrik rubs his face. Truthfully, he’s just as tired. He looks up at the clock. 1:11 am. God, he was in the operating room for quite a while. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be as stressed as he was today. He leans back and closes his eyes. Maybe he can get a quick nap before-

“Dr. Schneeplestein?” He opens his eyes and looks up. His stomach flips when he notices a woman with red hair that falls in waves down her shoulders. Her soft brown eyes are full of compassion and worry. Stacy Brody. Or Stacy Matthews, to be more precise.

“Stacy…” Henrik mumbles. “What… I mean, I’m sorry. I understand this must be a lot for you.”

“I can’t believe it… I mean, I knew about his depression, I just didn’t think it would get this bad,” Stacy says, voice soft and sad.

Henrik nods. “Yes. One can’t help but wonder what the breaking point was.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Stacy whispers hoarsely, staring down at her ex-husband’s skinny frame. “I did cheat on him. I told him I wanted a divorce after he found out… I wonder what would have happened if I told him straight up about Delilah… I wonder how he would have reacted…”

Henrik is speechless. He can’t really say it isn’t her fault, but at the same time, it wasn’t as if she could straight up tell him. There really was no way of telling how he would have reacted. Henrik groans and rubs his eyes again. He can’t think straight.

His mind flickers back to the video, and his stomach sinks. Did that video… influence his decision? Should he tell her about it? Would she be mad? He takes a deep breath.

“I mentioned your divorce to another friend,” he finally says. “Said friend made a video that I think mocked Chase more than flattered him. I thought it would help… but it didn’t. Only made him even more upset.”

“A video? Was this the video that ‘Jack’ made?” Stacy asks. Henrik opens his eyes, horrified. How long has she known?! Oh god, she must despise him! Henrik whirls around to face her, face riddled with guilt.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d take it in that direction- It was a shitty idea, I was so invasive and it was absolutely despicable of me and-”

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay! It was an honest mistake!” Stacy responds calmly. “Chase told me about it. He felt awful and he was so pissed with you guys. I will admit I was a bit peeved at first, but Chase said he yelled at you and broke off his friendship with you, so I figured it was punishment enough.”

“He also brought up my wife,” Henrik says. “So I punched him.”

Stacy nods. “Ah, that’s where the bruise came from.”

Henrik cringes. Damn, did he actually hit Chase that hard? He really is a dick. He sighs and stands up. “You are more than welcome to punch me. I deserve it. I never should have brought up the divorce. It was hateful of me, really.”

Stacy shakes her head. “Oh no, I couldn’t! You saved Chase from the brink of death. It’d be so insensitive of me!”

“I insist.” Henrik holds his head up. Stacy reluctantly stands up, and raises an open palm.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks.

“It’s fine, I can handle it,” Henrik says.

Stacy takes a deep breath… and punches him. Henrik falls back into the chair from the force. Stacy cringes.

“You… have a very strong punch,” Henrik remarks, holding his throbbing cheek. He holds a finger up when he sees her mouth move. “Don’t apologize. You were right to do so.”

“I took karate as a kid,” Stacy boasts. “I won a black belt at age five.”

“Good for you! To be honest, it wasn’t nearly as hard as my wife’s,” Henrik admits.

“Well, at least I got my ‘revenge’- wait, what?!” Stacy does a double take. “Lisette used to punch you?!”

“She only did it once,” Henrik quickly adds. “After I called her a whore.”

“Oh. That explains a lot,” Stacy deadpans.

“I deserved that as well,” Henrik says. “I just wish she hadn’t moved so far away… I wonder how the girls are doing...”

“Have your children contacted you?” Stacy lightly presses.

“I’ve tried to contact them,” Henrik says. “I don’t think Lisette lets them write or call me.”

“Then Lisette really is an ass,” Stacy explodes. “What if they do want to talk to you? She can’t hide them from you just because she doesn’t like you.”

“That doesn’t seem to stop her. I keep my phone nearby in case Sophia calls when her mother isn’t around.” Henrik pats his pocket. “Or maybe Rick will let her. He’s quite nice and he’s good with kids, which is why I was quite surprised when he turned out to be-”

“A homewrecker?” Stacy suggests. Henrik glares at her, scandalized, but she can tell he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, snickering.

“I was gonna say an ass, but that’s better,” he says. Stacy bursts out laughing, but it quickly fades when she notices Chase. She clears her throat.

“I’m going to take the kids away for a while,” she reveals. “At least until he’s emotionally stable to look after the kids.”

“You know Chase would never let his depression get in the way of being a good father,” Henrik protests.

“I know. I just feel he needs a break from it all,” Stacy says. “Mostly family life, me and Delilah in particular. Maybe she and I could go to my cottage in Scotland. We can stay there until he feels ready to share custody once more. He can’t be alone, though. We know what will happen if he does. He can’t go back home either. We still need to wash out the blood and dispose of any guns he might have. Of course I mean the real guns, but he might not want his Nerf toys either. He needs to be with someone , and that can’t be me. I just don’t know anyone he could stay with who lives in Athlone. We only just moved here.”

Henrik lights up. Holy shit. It’s like destiny! This is the perfect opportunity! “He can move in with us. He’s already an ego. He’d love it there. Sure it’s a bit chaotic, but I think he’d love it!”

Stacy raises an eyebrow. “What sort of chaotic?” she questions.

“The local superhero likes to crash there, we have a magician who INSISTS on using us for test subjects for his latest tricks, and me, the ‘feral doctor’,” Henrik lists off. “Come to think of it, I’m actually the voice of reason.”

Stacy tries her best to hide a shudder. “I feel a little worried about his safety. And no offense, but it’s a bit concerning that you’re the voice of reason in that house.”

Henrik scoffs in mock insult and shoves her gently. “Oh screw you! To be honest, Jackie is actually the smart one. I’m the one who pays the taxes and keeps a roof over their head. They’re the ones who overstayed their visit.”

Stacy rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She looks more relaxed than when she walked in. She stands up.

“I think it’s time I left. Good luck, Chase. I wish you all the best with your recovery.” Stacy leans over and gently kisses Chase’s cheek before turning to Henrik and holding her hand out. Henrik returns it and gives it a small squeeze, only to be pulled in for a hug. He gasps in surprise.

“Thank you Henrik,” she whispers. Henrik nods and returns the hug, holding her tightly until she signals to let go. Stacy picks up her bag and leaves.

Henrik sits back down and takes out his cellphone to call the egos. Jackie picks up after the first ring.

“Henrik? Are you okay?”

“I want you to clean the house and make some hot chocolate. We’ve got a new roommate coming to stay with us!” Henrik announces.

“Is it Chase? Is that who we’re taking in?” Jackie asks.

“Yes. I want everything to be perfect, so go! Get cleaning!” the doctor commands.

“Need us to pick you up?” Marvin suggests.

“I can drive just fine! See you soon!” Henrik hangs up just as Chase begins to stir. The doctor watches him apprehensively. He hasn’t seen Chase since the argument. How will he react?

Chase groggily opens his eyes. He can see a bright light shining down on him and closes his eyes. “Where… where am I?”

He slowly attempts to sit up. A soft pair of hands gently help him sit up and rub his back.

Chase blinks, trying to clear his vision. The blurry blue shape slowly comes into view… Henrik! The good doctor sits beside him with an anxious expression on his face.

Chase wracks his memory to try to remember what had happened. He can feel a heavy fabric wrapped around his head. He lifts a hand to better investigate… oh.

Henrik’s heart breaks when he sees Chase drop his hand, expression forlorn. Here we go, he thinks.

��Chase?” Chase looks up. “Before you say anything, know that you have every right to be mad at me and Jack. What we did was despicable and absolutely awful. You don’t have to forgive us, and I completely understand if you never do. But you can’t be alone right now. You’re going through a really tough time, and the last thing you need to be is alone. I don’t know if you’ll accept it, but we have an extra room at home that would be a perfect spot for you to stay while you recover. I know you might not want to talk to me, but Jackie and Marvin are living with me, and they will ensure your time there will be as comfortable as possible. It’s fine if you don’t want to go, but just know that we will always be there when you need a place to stay.”

Chase is silent, simply gazing at Henrik with unshed tears. Finally, he throws his arms around Henrik’s neck. Henrik startles, but returns the hug.

“Is that a yes?” Henrik mumbles. Chase nods. Henrik sighs in relief and squeezes Chase tighter. Now all he has to do is hope Jackie and Marvin have the house ready by the time he returns.

Henrik parks the car in the driveway and turns to Chase. The vlogger fidgets with his t-shirt. Henrik puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Just warning you now, while Jackie and Marvin have good hearts and intentions, they can be little shits and there’s a good chance the house will still be a mess when we get back in. Good luck.”

Chase whimpers in fear. Henrik nods solemnly. “My thoughts exactly.”

The fathers unload the car and walk up to the front steps. Henrik takes a deep breath and opens the door.

“FIFTEEN FUCKING POINTS! I WIN AGAIN MOTHERFUCKER!” Jackie screeches. Marvin roars in anger and tosses a pillow at Jackie, who backhands it. The pillow soars across the house and slams into Henrik, who grunts in alarm and falls backward. Chase shrieks in alarm, gaping at his fallen friend.

Marvin and Jackie turn around, bright blue eyes glaring into Chase. Marvin’s eye twitches sporadically and Jackie smiles like a madman. Chase nervously waves. Marvin clears his throat and forces a sleep-deprived smile.

“Howdy, Chase!”

#attempted suicide tw #suicidal ideation tw #blood mention tw #extreme distress tw #apparently i can write #jacksepticeye #dr. schneeplestein #chase brody #jackieboy man #marvin the magnificent #writersofjack #writers of jack

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joleness · 4 years

Text

hello everyone! i’m glad I actually have some free time this sunday to come on & introduce myself + jolene to all you wonderful muns!! I am very excited about this group !! just a quick little introduction my name is gabbi (she/her pronouns), i am 21 years old & my timezone is cst!!

[ cis female, she/her, danielle rose russell , twenty-one ] i can’t be sure, but i think i just saw JOLENE STEVENS drive onto the parkway. don’t they know we’re not supposed to be driving on that haunted road right now? maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re so RESPONSIBLE and STUBBORN that makes them feel CONFLICTED about everything going on. i guess we could also chalk it up to the fact that they’re always reminding me of READING IN A QUIET LIBRARY, CROSSWORD PUZZLES & A RAINY SUNDAY AFTERNOON. either way, i hope they get back safely.

FULL NAME: JOLENE MARIE STEVENS

NICKNAME: JO

AGE: TWENTY ONE

GENDER/PRONOUNS: CIS-FEMALE, SHE/HER

JOB: BARISTA AT LIFE CAFE / FREELANCE WRITER

HOMETOWN: REED, VA.

ZODIAC SIGN: CAPRICORN

when reading there is a warning for mention of death & murders

jolene stevens was born to walter & annabelle stevens on a cold winter night on january 15, 1999. the two were young, but thrilled to have a child of their own. things were going very well for the family until one night her mother picked up left the small town to expand her horizons. turns out the thrill of being a new mother only lasted her so long. that left walter and jolene on their own figuring the world out together.

the difficult part of living with a walter is that he isn’t your average father figure. he is passionate about his work and tends to throw himself into whatever he does. he’s an inventor by nature, always coming up with new gadgets and gizmos to make the world better— but from jolene’s point of view none of his inventions ever seem to be that ground breaking. with her father being the ‘town kook’ it became jolene’s responsibility at a young age to be her own parent. she would cook dinner for them, remind walter when bills were due and keep track of his well being as though he was her child. she loved her father, but he was not the easiest to live with. she always pictured herself as belle. a wonderful but quirky father who the town seemed to sweep them both under the rug as being too different.

as she grew older though people in the town started to take notice of jolene for her talents. she was a wonderful writer and a very smart girl. they would always compare her to the mother she never knew. too big for the small town she felt stuck in. even teachers of her high school would pity such a bright girl with being left taking care of her father.

oftentimes you will see her at the town library reading a book or writing a novel no one was ever allowed to read. her dream was to become a professional writer. whether that be on her own accord or for a large newspaper. —right now her dreams seem unattainable as she works at the local coffee shop trying to save up enough money to attend university. it was no hard task getting accepted, she had wonderful grades and plenty of recommendations. the difficulty came with the financial restraints and the guilt that came from not wanting to leave her father. although, she would never share that with anyone.

when the deaths started occurring on the parkway jolene was as concerned as any rational townsperson would be, but where her conflict of the situation started was with her father. instead of throwing himself into his quirky inventions his interest then moved to solving the mystery of who done it. walter turned their basement into a detectives dream with pin boards and biographies of the victims as he tried to piece together the puzzle. jolene was worried about her father being so invested in the crimes as she didn’t want him to get into trouble.

lately as the deaths rise her father has become particularly chaotic. accusing and questioning everyone— at one point even accusing her of being the killer. she has become concerned that her father’s behavior has turned from silly inventions to something much more serious and she’s not entirely sure what to do about it. now her dream of leaving the town and moving on with her life is moving further and further away, but her mother’s actions of picking up in the middle of the night is becoming more and more appealing.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

best friends — these are jolene’s closest friends who have stood by her through thick and thin. they are not exactly who you would expect her to be friends with, but they are a tight knight group who would do anything for each other.

new friend with a secret agenda — jolene is not one for putting herself out there, but when this friend came into her life she was pleased to find that they were a joy to be around. they were always spending time together and had no problem being at the house with her dad who seemed to oftentimes scaring people off. —but lately this friend has been more interested in her father’s theories about the case and it seems to jolene that they might have befriended her for the wrong reasons. whether this is actually the case is up to the mun!

an ex — dating in high school is always hard, but as a girl with a lot on her plate jolene found it difficult to keep it going. she had too many things to do and it was too difficult to make time for a significant other. this person might still hold feeling for her or maybe they’ve moved on to someone new but there will always be that awkward “what could have been” feeling whenever jolene sees them around the town.

coworkers — pretty self explanatory !! jolene works at the modern new coffee shop in town and works quite often. they can be work friends or maybe they dislike each other because of different work ethics! up to the mun!

romantic interest — this is someone who jolene sees around town and has her eye on. their might be a few flirtations, but no matter how hard this person tries jolene will never accept their invitation for a date.

also any other plots I am totally down for these are just the first that came to mind!! like this or dm me to plot something out with your character!!

#parkway.intro #( ooc. )

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tinyhwng · 4 years

Text

Stray Kids Reaction to you accidentally calling them “baby”

—genre; fluff x100

—msg; idk i just thought of this. also i got really invested and made hyunjin and everyone after just a bit more longer than the rest.(you can tell lmao) anyways, enjoy!

______

Chan

it was late and you asked your bf to toss a hair tie to you

“baby can you toss me that”

you didn’t realize what you said until you saw the giggling mess your boyfriend was in

“baby huh?”

you immediately retract your statement and ask for him to forget that you had said anything

still teases you

you sigh and turn your back on him

he comes and turns the chair back towards him

“i’m sorry, are you mad?— i mean i’ve been meaning to call you that too”

now you’re the giggling mess

he smiles and admires the image of you laughing

“baby it is then”

“it’s time for bed, babygirl”

read the rest of the members under

Woojin

your relationship was still fresh and new

only calling each other by a syllable of each other’s name

you just happened to slip up this one time you asked for a drink

he was getting up to get snacks from the kitchen during your movie night

“woo, baby can you get me something cold from the fridge?”

he left without a problem, only realizing it as he grabbed the drink from the fridge

he makes his way back, going back to cuddling session yall had

“i liked the sound of that”

“sound of what?”

“baby.”

your face in shock, realizing you had slipped up

“ahaha... forget that.”

“what no, y/n- i mean, baby it was cute.”

you hide your face, blushing uncontrollably as he gives you a big squeeze

“please, keep calling me that.”

Minho

you were whipped for him 24/7 but that was nothing new

however, sometimes, you were just a little too whipped

you were watching him play with his cats and words just naturally came out of you

“omg, baby you look cute”

he turns to you, his eyes widening in shock

“y/n that’s disgusting” he teased

your own words flustered you, pressing your hand over your lips to keep it sealed

“i literally didn’t mean to say that-”

he jumps on you, cradling you

“no i was kidding.”

his face also red from blushing

“i was thinking of names i could call you but baby sounds perfect.” he gives you multiple smooches, reassuring you that he liked it.

“you’re my baby and these are our babies” he laughs, pointing at his cats.

Changbin

he thinks you’re the most hilarious person in the world

after him of course

he just laughs or smiles at anything you say

but of course, you also found some of his jokes extremely hilarious

he makes a joke and it got your WHOLE ass quaking

bitch u couldn’t breathe

“shit, baby that was priceless-”

“fuck”

you turn to him, his face red visibly heating up

“let’s forget i just said that”

“eeeeee”

inhuman noises idk

“what? no, say it again”

he pleads, his face scrunching up in anticipation

“b-baby”

“oh em gee. call me that from now on. “

“bin-”

“it’s BABY!”

Hyunjin

babying your boyfriend was your favourite job

you were tiny compared to him

still, he was your BIG baby

but one time, you were in the mood to be babied instead

you wanted for his attention, his mind attentive to his phone as he watched his live performance

having one earphone on, he was too distracted to attend to you

you were gonna call him how you always did when u babied him but your tongue wanted otherwise

“baby~”

he takes a look at you, removing his earphone right away

“I didn’t catch that, y/n. what did you say?” he said, a big smirk painted across his face

you shake your head, pretending what happened never occurred

“i don’t know what you’re talking about-”

as you tried to leave to fix yourself, he tugs you back

you fell into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist

“i’ve always wanted to hear that from you.”

your flustered ass tried to avoid his gaze, feeling humiliated

“i tried to say jinnie, i swear-”

“no, no more jinnie. baby is my name now.”

he pulls your face to look at his

“you have my attention now, baby.”

Jisung

you were watching him perform once

it wasn’t your first time but you were too invested to control yourself

the whole crowd was screaming so you were screaming along

not that you planned to do so

but he was asked to do some cute things and immediately after the crowd went wild

your voice was too distinctive for him to not notice though

“LET’S GO! THAT’S MY BABY!” you screamed, practically at the top of your lungs

jisung stopped midway his speech, laughing to himself hearing your voice loud and clear

after the show ended you met him backstage

he zoomed into your embrace telling him how proud u were

“can you say that thing again?” his eyes pleaded

“what thing?”

“the thing- what you were screaming earlier”

“let’s go, that’s my-” your face shift in realization

“ahhh, y/n, continue it” he whined

you hide your face, too embarrassed to say it

“ok i’ll do it then, baby. baby y/n, let’s go see the boys now”

you nod, sticking beside him he guided you to the room

“my baby is so cute.”

Felix

constantly talking to you or talking about you theres no in between

whipped™

he was overseas for a tour so you guys resorted to facetiming every night

it’s been almost a whole week without him and you were m i s s i n g him

two different timezones, he called you while it was night where he was

you could tell he was exhausted but he called you anyways

“lix, you should go and rest”

he murmurs a no, his voice getting deeper as time passed

you were running out of options to get him to rest and you didnt wanna just end the call cause it would upset both you and him

as you were calling him by his nicknames, your brain couldn’t keep up with what you were saying

lets just say mistakes were made

he jolts up immediately, screaming for your attention

“baby? is that what you call me now?”

“wait felix, no, i didn’t mean to.”

he mocks you, repeating what you said multiple times

“lix, i just wanted you to go to sleep” “my day just got a whole to better because of that”

you sigh, watching him from your phone failing to hold your smile

“i’ll go rest now if that’s what you want,” he pauses, giggling. “baby.”

“ahhh go to sleep~” you whined

“goodnight, baby”

Seungmin

seungmin wasn’t the type of person who was interested in pet names

well actually he just never mentioned it

to you, he was more of a skinship guy

holding hands, cuddling, soft kisses, etc

there was some nights you both just expressed your current concerns with one another

such a great relationship tbh

he was talking about his concern about the new comeback, afraid he might disappoint people

he was just hard on himself like that

you reassured him though. telling him anything he does would never disappoint you or others

he got all blushy and giggly at your comment

your gaze fixed onto his smile, his face just a few inches from yours

“you’re so cute, baby”

his eyes expanded, turning to you

“oh crap. sorry, i didn’t mean to say that. you were just really cute” you explained

“well- i actually like it though”

“what? i thought you didn’t like pet names”

he gave you a confused look, “i never said i didn’t like them and now that i heard it from you, how could i ever hate them?”

you blushed at his comment, not knowing how to answer

“please call me that, i like it”

Jeongin

jeongin, the nation’s baby

you always wonder to yourself how lucky you were to be a part of his life

so every second of the day you tell him how much you love him

you only called each other by your first names, never really going past that

you were going home from the dorms one night before your tongue decided to go against you

“bye, baby- i mean, jeongin” you hugged him goodbye hoping he didn’t notice your slip up

welp, good news buddy, he did

he gave you a light squeeze, refusing to let you go “wait y/n, don’t go yet” he whined

your face flushed red from embarrassment knowing it was too late to take it back now

“jeongin, i gotta go home. you have an early schedule tomorrow too”

“do you expect me to let you go after calling me that?” you can feel him giggling in your embrace

“say it again, please, then i’ll let go”

you were defeated by his gentle yet desperate voice

“okay,” you exhaled, “baby- i gotta go now”

he squeezed you one last time before letting you go with a satisfied smile on his face

“aha! i made you say it. please say it more to me now”

you wave him goodbye as you made your way out

“bye, baby! text me when you get home”

320 notes · View notes

theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF MAMMON.

Admin Rosey: There is something about Mammon that draws people in - but I know that they can be a very fickle character down simply because they are so utterly unique unto themselves. I really enjoyed the application because of the way they were outlined so meticulously, providing the exact understanding of Mammon that I very much longed to see. There was a certain disdain that was interwoven into everything, from the plots to the prose to the dialogue. The apathy that seemed to be teeming on the surface of things was absolutely delicious to eat up.This application was a fun read and I simply cannot wait to see how you develop Mammon along the way! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma

Age | 23

Personal Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | Decently active, at least once a week if I can get my shit together!!! Always making the effort to stick and get replies whenever available! ( At the moment I’m pretty available but things might change in a couple of months depending on work and etc )

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | Rosey is a Queen and was like hey look I did something sexy and I clicked and I gasped and I agreed, she did do something sexy. And then I said wow and the rest of the team also did like magic and I was shook. And here I am now applying for the sexy.

IN CHARACTER

Character | MAMMON

What drew you to this character? |

There is something so raw about a demon birthed from nothing - they are the epitome of emptiness, their existence almost synonymous to a black hole which I find extremely fascinating. They are greed, they are consumption, they devour all, eating away at others in physical tangible methods. Perhaps it is their cruelty that is ultimately a big part of what fascinates me - untangling the web of what makes them tick is yet another facet. I’d love to explore their mind and uncover the inner workings of their feral being. Their gluttonous ways and conquest to swallow those around them whole is chaos at it’s finest. The danger that glints in their eyes and the attitude that exudes from them is everything I could ever desire in a character. They’re also really hot. I mean Noma Han though.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

& I EAT UNTIL ALL IS CONSUMED | Mammon is a fickle creature who thrives in pandemonium. They tread a questionable line of self indulgent anarchy. Their arms are extended like the angels in mockery, writing their own fanatical laws that no one else could truly understand. Their madness thrives in their mind - their motivation always geared toward their own personal satisfaction. But what if the scale was to tip? Perhaps someone or something will catch the gleam in their darkened eyes. What if they too could live for more than the tool that was once wielded by others. Long accustomed to opulent luxury and gluttonous sin, never had they batted an eye at the politics swirling within courts. Yet for someone as hungry as they, was such mundaneness enough? What if they were to crawl past the line of humdrum satisfaction. What if they dove deeper into their instability - their appetite always growling for more. In a dog eat dog world, they had always been the one to voraciously guzzle first. Enjoying what existed was mediocrity and they were far more than that. With sharpened razor teeth, they know they can bite off more. Nothing would be too much to chew, for eating and taking was what they did best. Take and take until there was nothing left, ambition spirals to the damned heavens itself.

HOPE? WHAT A PECULIAR CURIOSITY | Accustomed to eons past of old tales whispered in their name, there is something tedious of Mammon’s life. While they have long been accompanied by their gourmandizing, they too seek out a spark of new excitement. Their bones creak, their jaw snaps at the thought of a new conquest - a new game. Perhaps a pursuit that is unexpected by all others - especially of demon kind. They have seen much and heard much and curiosity is like temptation itself. They too wonder of things like hope - entertaining the concept. They do not understand it as they have long been an inhabitant of the same old Hell. Yet even they tilt their head in interest. What is this so-called thing of wonder that has kept civilizations afloat? And it is this same twisted intrigue that has left their lips parted in bemusement. Will they succumb to it’s enigmatic mystery? What shall become of the creature who begins to understand?

MONARCH OF PILFERED GOLD | A thief with a stolen crown, it is hardly an understatement to say that Mammon’s a selfish bastard. Anything that caught their eye was plucked by their greedy fingers by the right of their own claim. The excitement that coursed through their being elicits an ecstasy like no other. They will never forget the seal of death against Morningstar himself, oh how delightful it had all been. The sweet taste of bloodied victory is ever so ripe and thus this addiction to capture the same sensation thrusts them forward to chase it all over again. It was never enough for a being like Mammon who was carved from hunger itself. The pupils of their eyes dilate, looking toward shinier prizes - bigger ones that would make tidal wave changes. In their proud arrogant veneer, they mark their target in the back of their mind. Names and faces never forgotten as they seek to take one treasure after another. And perhaps the thrill of the game is only ever more exciting when the opponent viewed them as an enemy. It fuels the maniacal cackles that rip through their throat because what is theirs will be theirs. It would only take a matter of time before they conquered again and again. After all they took down the King of Hell, at this point - what else couldn’t they take? More is more.

CHARACTER CONNECTIONS & PLOTTING EXPLORATIONS

GABRIEL ; HOW SWEET IT TASTES TO INCITE YOUR WRATH | I really love the potential between Gabriel and Mammon as there’s undeniable heated tension. With him, Mammon feels the very sensation they have long been addicted to. The palpable hatred that lurks beneath Gabriel’s eyes lures Mammon closer - curious to see what would happen if they pushed further and incited an infernal fire. Undoubtedly I can see this dynamic burgeon into something both intimate and unspoken. For Mammon it is their newest game, their newest thrill ride to feel something and be seen. They will not deny themselves of the attention and want to bear witness to Gabriel’s promise of their destruction. ( I’m also here to see the angst )

“Destroy me if you can, desire me if you can’t” - Mammon

ROMILDA ; FOR THIS ONE’S DEMISE SHALL BE DELICIOUS | Mammon and Romilda appear to be playing some game of cat and mouse which offers for some spicy ideas. For Mammon, they remain closeby like a voyeur peering into the windows of another’s life - perhaps others would perceive it as a God complex. But it is not stemmed out of arrogance or superiority, rather just another form of amusement for a creature as bored as them. They follow at her feet to watch what will happen because she is interesting and they’re nosy and want to know more. Perhaps Romilda will get sick of it? Who knows! ( I could see them being lowkey kind of obnoxious to Romilda. )

“Tell me a story and I’ll give you a show.” - Mammon

REVNA ; COME CLOSER INTO THE DARKNESS O FRAGILE ONE | To Mammon, Revna is like the perfect three course meal - so deliciously melancholic and on the verge of hopelessness. They keep her around close to keep her entrenched in her misery. It is also like the finale of a play, they await to see what will snap and send her spiraling - an event that will certainly incite their wicked glee. But Mammon believes themself to be merciful, kind even - giving her a choice to do as she pleases. They just merely amplify what she already believes. And I can’t wait to play that out - this is pretty much a parasitic relationship except Revna gets nothing out of it really. ( They’re the world's shittiest therapist tbh )

“The closer to the edge you are, the grander and greater the fall.” - Mammon

GADRIEL ; KNEEL BEFORE MY FEET AND BEG FOR MERCY | Mammon has never forgotten the events that had unfolded, a sickly sensation that sticks to the guts of their stomach. It is both a disgrace and a dishonor to have ever allowed such a thing to have occurred. They are not one to bury the hatchet - rather they hold onto it with a grip. I would like to see Mammon and Gadriel perhaps duel once again, mayhaps to the death? If anything this too can make for some good drama. Maybe Mammon will make a friend - or just die, anythings possible! ( They’re in denial that they’re kinda pressed and acting like it’s no big deal but you know deep down it's a big deal )

“An outcome must be decided; to the victor go the spoils.” - Mammon

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! But I would also think it’s funny if people keep trying to kill them and they just come back like, bitch you thought. Just imagine the meme potential.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

AND IT BEGINS ( THE ORIGINS OF IDENTITY )

Largely much of Mammon’s natural instincts seems to center around the concept of “hollowness” or “emptiness” and in turn, it would be likely that they would like to share this void sensation of others, a cruel goal but for them - it is merely how they live. Perhaps another reason to pull others into their sphere of vacancy is the twisted amusement of watching others suffer. They are wicked and have never denied it so, and to share in such pain only feeds into their own warped sense of pleasure and indulgence. However even so, their identity remains a translucent nonlinear jumble of messes, one that they do not wholly understand and seek to untangle. Simply put, they are beyond unusual, strange even and given their long years of existence, have become bored of routine.

THE CHANGE ( A NEW GAME )

And upon a frivolous whim, maybe they shall change it - or not, for they are as volatile as a child. But should change come, perhaps this will force them to act differently from the habits they have long been accustomed to. However, perhaps there is potential within their sinful avaricious vice to fall even deeper into the pitfall of hell. They have always been greedy in their collection of treasures. And surely objects have immense value but what if Mammon were to take it a step further? Breaking past the limits of inanimate items, their eyes may be set on an ever steeper goal. Their nurtured sadism bears fruit to cruel intentions; maybe it's time to take from the essence of humanity itself. It is people they wish to take from now; their hearts, their minds and even their souls.

DANCING TO THE FINALE ( BOPPING TO NIGHTMARES )

They want to carve out the creature that breathes their sweet drink of life. Through veiled grins and snide chuckles, they seek to pull the strings of those they deem of inconsequential value. Upon invisible puppet strings, Mammon will play until they tire once more. For it is all just a game to someone who’s never truly ever had a reason to care. ( Born in the void, they become just as senseless the place they call home - it is a cold cavity that is all they have known. ) They live in their own world of selfishness and conceit, the world just a playground for devils to play. So they shall dance in the dark, picking one human target to another, rejoicing in the cries of anguish. And when the song shall end and the old rickety monster becomes exhausted, they will crack their wrists. It is then they will break the fools until there is nothing left. Again and again the routine shall be repeated. Because Mammon hardly understood life in itself; only ever the depths of shadows and death.

Every word of hope and moral goodness consumed until by the black tar tongued of hell’s devil; and that is when the being is slaughtered, becoming just a husk of what they once were.

ABRIDGED : Ok so like to sum up, Mammon’s just a big asshole and just wants to screw up other people because they’re mainly 1. Bored and 2. Why the hell not it’ll be funny. 3. Collecting trash is their hobby. They’re so self absorbed in themselves that I feel like in order for Mammon to be pushed toward some outside motivation would require them to either 1. Get friends or 2. To give a fuck about someone else ( to care - WOW ) But as of the moment any sort of motivation or goal just stems from their own wants or needs which rules above all else. They don’t want much in life at the moment besides hoarding, stealing, taking new shit and playing fake God if they can. Or just be that third person ominous narrator that’s super unhelpful but is there to give unnecessary input. Demons gotta do something to pass the time, right?

Character Traits |

Positive Traits

Observant ; They have long had sharp pointed eyes - ones that watched the slightest ticks upon a visage, the subtlest movements of one’s gestures, the rhythm of footsteps of others. Mammon is a particular being who has long been watchful with a gaze that is both frightening as it is dangerous. But it is through their observations that fan the flames of mania. They play their games regardless of their opponent, their whims self serving first.

Strategic ; A good player must learn the ins and outs of any game and it is one of the first things that Mammon has long gravitated towards. They pick their wars keenly, sometimes even merely satisfied with the knowledge that things shall work as they had planned. Execution is what they have done best and it takes more than sheer luck and power to finesses such precision.

Clever ; Far from a moron, Mammon has always prided themselves in their intellect. However, exercising such wit often was a choice rather than a given. For the gluttonous demon celebrated their flaws far more than any of their redemptions. Only in dire circumstances would they ever apply themselves with the extra effort of thinking. Perhaps when a worthy enough challenge came along its merry way, they would finally exert their mind once more.

Negative Traits

Rapacity ; Mammon has always had a large appetite for intemperance. Both physical and metaphorical, they celebrate in the excess. The more they devour, the more satisfied they become. To them, boundaries are just suggestions. Their overwhelming need to take everything from everyone fuels them to function. Nothing could ever be enough. More was always better, and they live by these words on a daily basis.

Sadistic ; They enjoy the thrill of crawling under the skin of both friends and foes. It is amusing to watch souls tortured and in pain, the sound of shrieks and cries are like trumpets to their ears. They rejoice in the reactions, cackle in the face of desperate pleas - they have long been accustomed to cruelty. Perhaps it is the infliction of pain that they themselves can understand human emotions; something so strange and foreign. For they themselves have long lived null and empty.

Manipulative ; Silver tongued and clawed finger tips, Mammon is shrewd in their approach and sly in their tactics. They enjoy digging beneath the surface of what is seen and plucking out the weakest part of a flawed creation. Behind a face that may mask friendliness lies a sinister creature full of mischief and mayhem. They speak with lies, wearing deceit as their second nature. The craze they exude glints beneath the murky tar colored eyes.

In-Character Para Sample |

EXCERPT 01: LUCIFERS FINALE.

WHEN SINNERS FALL, DEMONS SHALL RISE

T R I G G E R - W A R N I N G : Implications of Violence, Death / Murder

Morningstar, the king of Hell, how arrogantly he sits upon the throne of bones and emptied carcasses. His face is marred with arrogance; of kingly conceit that is forged from his own inflamed hubris. How pompous Lucifer appears - but perhaps it is the lens that Mammon perceives that weaves the tale which whispers of their questionable truth.

But rewind -- it begins from the beginning. The one object that sat like an artificial halo atop Lucifer’s head; oh glory to the shiniest trophy of them all. It was all they ever wanted, clenched fists with fingers dug deep into their palms. Such a beautiful crown wasted on the being they thought most undeserving.

Mammon had arrived late, birthed in the pits only then. They were nothing but a speck in the universe. Thus they knew, to be worthy of such a precious coronet, they needed to become something. Someone. Their worth must be equal to the item they wished to pursue - or so they once believed.

And so the fateful day came and Mammon strolled within the gates. Head held high, arms swung side to side as their eyes followed the audience. From one head to another - oh the looks of dissatisfaction restrained at the edges of the crowd’s ugly visages. Mammon sensed it, felt the dissent looming through the room - like fog itself, murmurs could be heard throughout. But all of them were cowards, their heads still bowed lowly before the demon king himself.

They greet the false King, a cockiness in their stride as they stand with informality, a grin crawling up their knife like features. There is a nonchalance in their posture, an indifference that seemed to agitate his royal hellness.

“I have returned,” the voice thickened and dark.

Mammon sees the rage, understands the ticking bomb that lies behind the devil’s veneer. But they did what they did best - they poked and prodded.

“The world is a pleasurable place beyond the frigid walls of this palace. It seems that you have been forgotten, your name abandoned, forsaken,” Mammon sighs - their pupils never moving an inch away from the Morningstar’s head.

“I suppose your ‘greatness’ is nothing compared to the man residing upstairs,” they mocked.

Lucifer is silent but his cool rage could be felt. The stillness that fell could stop time itself. It was then he stood, fingers gripped at the arms of his wretched throne. His voice is a hiss, fueled with laughable jealousy. Words that only Satan himself could ever conjure slithered between the flaps of whatever made his mouth.

But Mammon remained themself. Unflinching as they awaited - beckoned the fury to light brighter and brighter. They took a step, accepting a dare with the fates. And it was then that they had crossed the line, the servants of Morningstar thrusting them upon their knees.

They had trekked into uncharted territory - detonating the wrath of the top Devil. A small smile appeared on their face. It was all a joke. But the glee that curdled through their rickety bones brought forth the satisfaction they had gambled for. How sweet was the taste of Lucifer’s anger and jealousy - they could eat up more -for it was aromatically delicious.

The pits of Tartarus were nothing for a creature like them. They would claw their way out as they had done once before. How amusing it all was, they had stepped on the toes of a ‘supposed king’ who’s envy entrapped him. It was confirmed in that moment that Mammon who had wandered the planes with a trail ablazing, they had become something more. They left once but they’d swore they’d come back for more.

A KING NO MORE

And so they returned. Indifference worn upon the husk humans called a face. Their decision never came from a place of justice or hatred. No, it was the one fixation that they had long desired. And the only way for them to ever get such a prized possession was to chop it from the head of the wearer.

It was a merry day for a remorseless killer.

They spun to the tune that played in their head - the haunting whistle that made their feet tap to a jig. It was the mighty king of hell’s turn to have a taste of damnation. Perhaps somewhere the Angels would have sung for Mammon's praise. But whether the pasty holier than thou freaks did or didn’t, they didn’t give a fuck.

Mammon wanted what they wanted. Blade in the grasp tightly, exposing the whites of their knuckles. Today was the day to claim their very first love. ( Love? Obsesion? No, it was just another whim, another aimless desire. )

Swiftly they cut, quickly they shredded. It wasn’t long before the Morningstar was beheaded.

In the bloody mess of whatever made the black hearted creature, Mamon ripped the crown from his head. Their fingertips stained with the colors of death, they place the object upon their own head. In the reflection of the glassy floor - they bear a smile, teeth exposed to show their mephistophelian smile.

And yet the feeling is fleeting - as it always was. They had come and conquered but it was never really enough. The agenda was completed and their excitement gone. They looked at themselves once more, the grin fading. Their fingers gripped the item and threw it on the dirtied ground.

A sigh of exasperation exited their lips, their back turned as they walked away. Onlookers bowed before them but they did not care. They had their fun and as routine, it was time for Mammon to find a new toy to play with. But before they vanished from sight as they were long accustomed to, they glanced back once more. An itch to feel the euphoric sensations that rattled their ribcage and howled beneath their flesh.

Alas.

It was just another fucking crown.

____________________________________________________________________________________

EXCERPT 02: THE UNKNOWN.

IN MY PRESENCE, ANGELS SCREAM

It was him that they found a fascination like no other, an unsettling sensation that felt akin to perhaps what the humans may call alive. Mammon lurks within the shadows - not to close, just enough to see them. Enough to feel something within that jostled, reminiscent of a beastly heart.

“I know you’re there.” He blinds like the sun.

Mammon says nothing.

It is then that Gabriel makes his approach. Oh glory to a walking God. Each step ringing like the bells of divine retribution. But Mammon does not waver, nor do they run. They welcome it, their lips curling at the corners.

“I am here oh sweet fair haired angel,” their words spiteful. “Vanquish me if you truly dare.” It is then that they too walk into the light. They should have burned. But darkness consumes all, absorbs all and takes all.

Gabriel does not speak. But his gaze does not fall.

LOVE AND HATRED ARE SAME SIDES OF PASSION

It is Mammon's turn to take the stage and so they do. They walk closer, enough to taunt the other. They delighted in the seething temper that boiled beneath. His hatred was like no other; he bears witness to Mammon’s full depravity. It is Gabriel who seems to understand the monstrosity of what they are. And it is in this fragile perverted supposed understanding that pulls Mammon closer.

“You have cultivated your sainthood, your goodness,” Mammon remarks. “But isn’t that your purpose? The will of accursed God all too shitty. But you see Gabriel - I am like you too. It is just merely a difference in … design,” words hissed with pitch black mirth.

Their finger is pointed at them.

“For you, they strove for righteousness.”

“They gave you light. Nurtured you with warmth.”

“Your existence was a predestined fortune.”

There is ridicule dripping from their words. No bitterness, no care - just vacant rambles and little thought - a pretend of emotion conducted for theatrics. They raise their arms to the sky, their middle fingers pointed.

“But I was made as an omen, an example of all things terrible.”

Their arms dropped as their focus returned to one of God’s original favorites.

“They made me hungry.”

“They made me wretched.”

“For all the love and praise you fucking angels sing, how imperious for your kind to judge.”

Mammon closes the distance, their mouth upturned like a risen half moon.

“Doesn’t it pain you to know that our fallen creator had us all cut from the same cloth? Despise me should you wish but do not deny that even you, pure and good, harbor something as foul as hatred.” They laugh - cacophonic delirious cackles of a madman facing death.

Mammon stops - in the quietness their head tilts, a sneer pulling at their lip.

“Kill me if you choose but it’ll make you no better than the Devil.”

____________________________________________________________________________________

Extras |

HEAD CANNONS

WINGS : I’ve always imagined that Mammon would have wiry or metal looking wings? Like it would be sharp and mimic spare parts or just trash, almost as if they had made their wings by hand. I’m specifically picturing the creepy hand from the “Other Mother” in Coraline but imagine the material as wings ( reference here )

FOODIE : I think it would be funny that they’re somewhat of a fancy connoisseur of food. Well food and perhaps anything else that they can put in their mouth. I feel like their standards of what can be eaten really is at a low bar. They would be down to just chew on some dirt and be like “wow the flavor in this silt soil can not be compared to clay.” Seems like the type of thing Mammon would be into. Probably would overshare and even attempt to encourage others to try whatever the hell they’ve decided to swallow that day.

TRENDSETTER : Given that Mammon likes to take a lot of shit and probably has the attention span of a child, I don’t think they’d be wearing the same outfit on repeat ever. I also feel like they’d be the type to put on a plastic bag and then call it high fashion and maybe people would believe them? Or not - I mean the choice is simple, nod or choose death I suppose. I also see them being a big fan of sunglasses just to be dramatic when they toss it off to really emphasize how crazy and fucking wild they truly are. Also I could see them just being dramatic for no good reason with a little bit of a flair for theatrics.

WEAPON: Perhaps Mammon’s weapon of choice would be akin to something that looks like a Scythe? Or maybe they’re the type that would keep a handful of sharp blades on them, I could definitely imagine them playing with a butterfly knife and doing tricks with it since they’ve had hours upon hours to learn and fuck around. I could also see them picking up other people’s weapons and going like “well that's nice, going to add it to my collection. This one would be great for some good old stabbing.”

MUSIC : Despite being kind of a silent type, Mammon secretly is the type to be into a lot of music??? Especially when they’re doing some dirty business or like kicking someone for being a buckethead, I could imagine them jamming to some sweet tunes while doing the ass kicking. Maybe they’ll whistle too. Here’s a scene from American Psycho whis is the inspiration I got behind this ( reference here // trigger warning: murder + violence + blood )

OTHERS

PINTEREST | MOCKBLOG

ENDNOTE: Thank you for reading through my application! Just wanted to say that you guys did such a great job with the roleplay. Whether I’m accepted or not, I had a lot of fun writing this & exploring the character so thank you! ♥

#accepted #accepted: mammon

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priorireverte · 3 years

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Congratulations Lizzie!

Your application for Ginny Weasley has been accepted. She certainly has a lot to grapple with, both old and new. On top of the general ‘becoming an adult in the world’ things of one’s twenties! I do not envy her, though I do look forward to seeing her struggles and triumphs.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Lizzie, she/her

TIMEZONE: GMT

ACTIVITY LEVEL: The UK is currently in lockdown so I have a lot of free time. I am a part-time student but that is flexible so I know I have the time to dedicate to an rp. I do have health problems which sometimes take me out of commission but I normally can give advance warning for when this might happen and these episodes don’t last long.

ANYTHING ELSE: Suicide is a big trigger for me, as well as suffocation in any form. I’ve been in RPs since I was about 14 so I feel comfortable with the etiquette and what’s expected and I’m excited to find a new place to write and love.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Ginevra “Ginny” Weasley.

BIRTHDATE: 11 August 1981

DEATHDATE: N/A

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Ginny identifies as a cis woman and is very comfortable in that identity and the associated she/her pronouns. Her sexuality is slightly more complicated; she identifies as bisexual, having come to the realisation through her teenage years. She’s never come out to anyone, but it’s not something she hides either. Her reasoning has always been that if people spend enough time with her then they’ll pick it up eventually. She’s always maintained that she would have realised her queerness earlier if it hadn’t been for her all encompassing crush on Harry which took up her first few years at Hogwarts.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

OCCUPATION: Reserve Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Not exactly where she wants to be, but she knows she needs to pay her dues and work her way up through the roster to make a name for herself as a Quidditch player.

FACECLAIM: Luca Hollestelle I think is probably the best fit

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

POSTBELLUM:

Somewhat naively, which could be forgiven considering her age, Ginny had thought that once Voldemort was gone everything would be okay again. Of course, war is not so simple. Sometimes Ginny still feels like the war hasn’t ended because everything isn’t okay again. They lost Fred and the grief from that loss felt all-consuming for so long. They had struggled and fought and it still felt like they’d lost. People celebrated but Ginny just felt adrift. She hadn’t wanted to go back to Hogwarts, but she knew that it was important and so she returned. It felt like a living nightmare. No matter the work put into restoring the castle, Ginny saw bodies in every corner and when she came down for breakfast in the Great Hall she could still see the casualties laid out in rows.

Quidditch became the best form of escape she had and she threw herself into it with a renewed passion, pushing herself as hard as she could. Quidditch has remained a form of therapy for her and it was a foregone conclusion that she followed it as a career after she finished Hogwarts. Years might have passed since the end of the war, but Ginny still relies on her job to get her out of bed each day and keep her a functioning member of society.

She makes time each week to stop in on each of her family members, almost as if more time spent with them will fill the gap of never seeing Fred again. Of course she misses him still, and she thinks of her missing brother every day, but her life has found some sort of normality and wounds are beginning to heal. At least, they were until news of the Returned reached her. It feels like the unfairness of Fred’s death occurs again every time someone else comes back and it’s not him. Ginny can’t help but be angry; what cruel hand of fate would bring back Bellatrix Lestrange, who orchestrated so much misery, instead of reuniting a broken family?

PERSONALITY:

Ginny is very good at hiding her sadness. Other emotions, not so much. Her mum has always told her that every anger and frustration is clear as day in her expression, even if Ginny manages to hold her tongue. Sadness, however, is easy to shut away to only be taken out in private. She knows she’s a strong person, she’s been through too much to not be, and that is the side of her she wants the world to see. She’d prefer to cover sadness with anger and quick wit, never letting anyone see into her heart unless she gives them permission. Of course, that means that she’s not the most emotionally intelligent and she struggles with the times when it’s important that she does share feelings that run deeper than sass and anger. Ginny is overly-combative and age hasn’t tempered that. She can still throw a mean bat-bogey hex but she can now follow it up with a mean right hook, and she’s more than likely to. She’s fiercely protective of her friends and family, and there’s a softness that she can express for certain people. At heart, she is a kind person, but she’s scared of letting too many people see that.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The Weasley family is a family full of love. Of course there are flaws and arguments, just like any family, but there was no point in her childhood where Ginny ever doubted how much her family loved her and how much she loved them in return. They didn’t have a lot of money and there were many points during her childhood and particularly her teenagerdom where Ginny resented that, but she didn’t blame her parents. She was only thirteen when Voldemort returned, and that changed so many things so very quickly. Money and normal family squabbles just didn’t seem important any more, and the strongest value that Ginny picked up from her family was that it was important to fight for what she believed in. No matter what happened in the rest of the war, Ginny clung onto that ideal and it is the core of her personality.

HISTORY:

Ginny has very few memories of a life not touched by Voldemort. Of course her early childhood was free of that fear, and she remembers playing Quidditch in the garden with her brothers and begging to go to Hogwarts with them every year. Those memories are not nearly as clear and sharp as her years at Hogwarts, and none are as clear as her second year. Her first year, despite being traumatic, is almost entirely lost to her having spent so much of it under the Diary’s spell. Her second year is unfailingly vivid, no matter how much she wishes it wasn’t. There were the nightmares, the creeping feeling like a cold hand on her spine that she would hear his voice in her head again. Then there were the looks of the other students. Ginny might not have been in control of herself when those terrible things happened, but she felt responsible and she felt the judgement in the stares of her peers. Ginny felt very lonely that whole year, but it was because of this feeling of ostracisation that she developed such a sense of confidence.

She did her best to grow above the judgement of others and not to care what people thought or said and as a result her confidence blossomed. It was her confidence and her strong sense of justice which made her fast friends with those willing to give her a chance and by the end of her third year she felt as though the horrors of her experience with Voldemort could finally be put behind her and she would be able to have a normal teenagerhood.

His return certainly put a halt to those ideas, but she still managed to be a normal teenage girl in between the difficulties of living in a world at war. Ginny’s skill as a witch and as a Quidditch player were only encouraged by the certainty of the times they were living in, and her ferocious commitment to justice went hand in hand with the desire to fight in the war rushing towards them all. She still hasn’t talked much with her family about what happened in the year that Snape and the Carrows took over Hogwarts, the only people she’s comfortable discussing it with being Neville and Luna because they were there for it. Part of her feels like she didn’t do enough to help Harry, and a large part of her feels guilty for having to leave Neville on his own after Easter. Regardless, everything that happened that year feels very much overshadowed by the terrible tragedy of the Battle itself, and her experiences really don’t seem that important.

OOC EXPLORATION:

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? One of my friends linked me to this rp and I was instantly fascinated. I feel like there have been so many HP rps that there are very few fresh ideas left and this plot just hooked me immediately. I love all the new dynamics that it opens up and honestly it just seems like an exciting place to write.

ANYTHING ELSE? So I have a pinterest board for Ginny here. Then I had ideas and feelings about the whole Harry/Ginny thing but I didn’t know where it best fit into the app so it’s here, sorry!

The Harry problem. When he left to do the good, right, and noble thing, Ginny expected that when he came back they would pick up where they left off, maybe he even expected the same thing. War changes people though, and she knew that the person he came back to was not the same person she had been when he had left. The Battle only further compounded that issue. He was her first love, and she knows that he will always mean a lot to her but it felt as though the world collapsed when the war ended and romance just wasn’t her priority. Of course she adores Harry, and his friendship means the world to her, but that spark she used to feel just never came back.

#prioriacceptance #ginny weasley

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diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of OLIVIA. Admin Julie: It’s always a delight to see you in our inbox, Lia -- imagine our joy when we saw you’d returned to us in the shape of our favorite sparrow, Omi! It’s been some time since we had her in play, which is a shame, because she’s one of our personal favorites. But you’ve pinned everything about Omi down to a T, from their characteristic skill and allure in trapping others with a few words and sharp gaze, to the way they’re wound around Verona’s fingers and don’t seem to realize... or choose not to. You’ve enthralled us once again, and we cannot wait to have you back on the dashboard and knee-deep in the chaos with Omi in your hands. Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Lia.

Age | 22

Pronouns | She/Her/Hers

Activity Level | I’m about to start my summer program, but since I’m only in class three days during next semester on online, I imagine I’ll have plenty of freetime. But knowing me, I’ll most likely log on every few days to knock out a few replies.

Timezone | EST (PST in two months (~:)

How did you find the rp? | The tag a few centuries ago.

Current/Past RP Accounts | honestly, all of my best characters were in DV :/ All 17 of them

IN CHARACTER

Character | Olivia AKA Yamamoto Omi

What drew you to this character? |

Omi is a character I’ve eyeballed during my time at DV, but someone I’ve never quite had the nerve to apply for. But it is the qualities that I initially shied away from that have inspired me to apply for them this time around. Even upon searching the origin of Omi’s name, I was fascinated by the worldliness and elusiveness it implied about their character. I came across two definitions, both of which I believe represented her character accurately:

1. OMI— magnificent; the sound of the universe

She is a walking contradiction— the product of love and violence— never truly lacking in either aspect within her lifetime. Maybe that is why she finally found community and comfort within Verona after venturing all over the world. As much as she might hate to admit, this very love and violence is what she’s comfortable with— it’s how she’s learned to thrive and survive. Though they never truly felt like themselves as they ventured around the world, they kept small pieces of each place they visited, all of which have made them into the Sparrow, the performer, that they are today. This is why I began viewing Omi as the sound of the universe. Vast and immeasurable, and not quite able to pinpoint to a single source. She is representative of an assembly of realities. She is never quite the same with each person she encounters, with them only receiving a snapshot or illustration of who she is, with the people she’s closest to receiving the most authentic parts of herself. To be a Sparrow is to participate— in Omi’s opinion— in one of the most precise crafts— an art form that only a select number can master. It is a performance, one in which they give their entirety to, oftentimes to the point that they sense themself slipping away, forgoing what they thought to be their true self and instead opting for the persona they have created. Somehow, being Omi the Sparrow is a far less difficult reality for her to face. What is expected of her is straightforward, her desires and fulfillment never changing very much. Omi the Sparrow always gets what she wants. Their heart is unbreakable, yet shared with everyone they encounter. The power and agency can be detected in her words, her mannerisms— she is completely sure of herself, and what she represents. But Omi— just plain Omi, questions herself constantly. She desires to be seen more than anything but is hesitant to show herself to another person. The weight of the secrets of others sometimes threatens to topple her over. What would their patrons think of their constant doubt? This was something they would never discover because she values her position more than she doubts herself. She loves luxury and security more than she questions who she is and who she’s become. She thrives in this simplistic power far more than she finds herself succumbing to it. And this leads me to what I love most about Omi. Her position allows her to wield a form of power that isn’t flashy or overt, or as obvious and clear cut as many people within the mob. It is subtle and it is dangerous. It is a power you least expect, which will certainly make her someone to look out for within the Verona. It is a power that she does not quite comprehend the magnitude and weight of as of now, but something I hope to develop over time.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

MONA— Their saving grace. There are seldom things Mona could do that would lessen the admiration that Omi holds for her, as this is the woman who they believed to have saved them, to introduce them to the boundless and limitless potential that they had. She did not introduce anything that was not there but instead nurtured the qualities that Omi already possessed for her to become one of the best, if not the best Sparrow that has glided through the various rooms and crannies of The Dark Lady thus far. Omi looks upon Mona as a big sister and is always aiming to please her, whether she recognizes that she’s actively doing so or not. But she is bound to cross her eventually— whether it is slight or monumental, and I believe Omi temporarily or permanently (dear lord idk if I could handle Mona not loving them pls sotkgoerkgose) falling from their grace would be an interesting concept to explore. So much of her existence is tied to Mona’s, and I think that it would take something like that occurring for her to recognize this. Who exactly would she be without Mona rescuing her? Would she have survived a day in the city without her? Having Omi deal with being without Mona would introduce some harsh truths. Could they truly rely on themself? Though she adamantly expresses her desire not to be possessed, is it that she truly enjoys being subjected to the whims of another person, so as long she is given the autonomy, luxury, and ability to wield some form of power? Would she simply be transferred from the hands of one power player to another, seeking out one of the mobs knowing they were the only other people who could give her what she truly desired?

FRIENDS ON THE OTHER SIDE— In the short time that Omi has spent in Verona, she’s acquired quite a few patrons from various walks of Veronesi royalty, but as much as she’s done her best to keep people at a distance, she’s also made a few friends. Chiko— whose hopes and dreams she’s carried with her since childhood— with them being one of the sole people to know Omi to near entirety. Felipe— the man who made her realize that even ghosts were capable of creating trouble for themselves, who she’d dared to offer real information about herself for whatever reason, finding something odd and compelling about the handsome enigma before her. Calina— their true match of wits, words, and worldliness— the person in which she’s entrusted with not just her fears and shortcomings, but her hopes and dreams, as well as them being that very person to set her heart aflutter. All of these people have something in common. In some shape or form, they are familiar with more than just Omi the Sparrow. I wonder what danger this could pose for her in the future. Would it be the person they are in essence that would land her in trouble? Chiko, the ruthless social climber, Felipe, who they knew trouble was always a short distance behind, and Calina, whose ties with the mob could only naturally come with trouble… couldn’t they? I want Omi to eventually land in some more trouble (maybe this could be something intertwined with my first plot, or potentially something entirely unrelated), and truly test how far she’s willing to go for the friendships she hopes to keep. Maybe it has to do with some information told to her in confidence; information she almost feels obligated to share with Mona. Will she refuse to do so, at the risk of the life and livelihood that she’s created for herself?

LOOSE ENDS— The past will always be the past for Omi— unless that past happened to make an appearance in the city of Verona. This isn’t something they would expect to occur, given that they have two dead parents, no siblings, or any known extended family. Maybe this would come in the form of Chiko— maybe some other unknown source would manage to dig up some sort of information to potentially be used against them. Regardless, I want Omi to be confronted with her past life, and for her to realize that the horror will always be apart of her, no matter how long that she’s attempted to evade it.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes, but I think I would miss her more than any of my other characters ngl :(

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

tw: mentions of death and violence

In The Dark Lady, Omi transformed into a blossom tinted mirror in which men and women alike looked upon in order to divest the realities they so desired. This functioned the similarity to a rose-tinted glass, their very persona the result of a thousand borrowed realities. In Omi, they sought the best version of themselves. They had the ability to morph into everything their patrons wanted, yet could not own, making them all the more desirable. There was something especially tantalizing about what appeared to be accessible, but ever so slightly out of a person’s reach. Even if the reality of things were that there was no chance in hell. Even if there had been a burgeoning disgust for each and every one of the wealthy, and corrupt person they encountered. Even if she’d been unable to scour away their caress no matter how many showers she subjected herself to in the early hours of the morning. How effortlessly she’d sold them a dream. How effortlessly they’d become enamored with The Dark Lady’s very own Japanese Cherry Blossom, a hand-picked artifact from Sakura to enjoy in their very own Verona. She bartered away a fantasy, and in exchange they fed her in secrets, each whisper only intensifying her power and allure. No amount of repulsion would change that they were damn good at their job. No amount of repulsion would change that she’d finally found where they’d belong.

They were notorious for their collection of extremely high heels, and rumor had it that not even a misstep had occurred in a single pair of them. Eyes danced over her as she glided into the casino, garnering an especially large crowd probably because of the fresh pixie cut she’d been sporting. Some days, Omi would linger, never quite sure whose attention she’d capture that day, but on other days, her presence had been requested by a specific patron. Today’s patron had been of particular importance. A well known Italian bureaucrat she’d actually managed to find rather endearing at times, despite her suspicion that he’d been spending more time with her than his own family. Nevermind that though. They had a sneaking suspicion that they were only moments away from stumbling upon a goldmine of information. They reckoned that this particular information could potentially make not just Mona, but both mobs particularly happy. Soon as they’d reached the Blackjack table, the patron, Patron E, swept her merrily into his arms, spinning her in place, resulting in her delighted laughter, clutching onto his shoulders to maintain her balance. Once he’d gotten his fill, she carefully placed a single kiss on each of his cheeks, taking in the scent of whiskey on his lips. No wonder he’d been especially playful. The whiskey had only begun their job for them. “Why, if it isn’t the most lovely person in all of Verona,” Patron E stated, grinning ear to ear. “I absolutely adored your old hair, bella, but with this cut, you somehow managed to become even more magnificent."

She smiles coyly, hands traveling down the lengths of his arms until meeting his hands, which he brought promptly to his lips for a kiss. "I was feeling spontaneous, E, but knowing you like it lifted a significant weight off my shoulder. Everyone else’s opinion be damned, but yours has always meant the world to me,” they coo in flawless Italian. “Is there anything else you noticed?"

His eyes drank her in hungrily, almost hungrier than usual, before returning to her eye level. "You’re wearing my good luck charm,” he responded with an almost childlike euphoria. Patron E had been referring to the deep V-Neck Dolce & Gabbana gown that had been purchased for her by another Patron of hers— Q— with the jet black of her hair only accentuating the Black sequins of the gown. She took it upon herself to take his hand and lift it above the both of them, completing a graceful, yet playful twirl to show off every sparkle and curve of the length of her body.

“Is that so?” she mused with her head tilted curiously on an axis. “It’s almost as if I wore especially for you, mio callo. You did tell me tonight was a big night for you, after all.” His eyes twinkled gratefully as he pulled out a seat for her at the blackjack table, settling into the seat next to him, her body positioned perpendicularly to his, taking absolutely no interest in the game before them. It had been a game she’d witnessed by the side of many men before him and would witness many men after him. Her knees were pressed against his thigh, with the leg closest to the table occasionally finding itself absentmindedly caressing his own. One hand consistently remained attached his shoulder, with their other hand assisting them in the delivery of their sweet nothings, cupping his ear to whisper everything he’d ever wished to discover. Together they laughed, flirted, and whispered— he drank and she carefully sipped, until the game finally came to a close, with him losing per usual. After that, the pair of them moved to a more intimate section of The Dark Lady, the place in which Omi would officially make her move for the information she sought. There he sat on the couch, with her comfortably positioned horizontally in his lap, her slender legs coiled around her legs, with her hand absentmindedly stroking his hair. She’d been telling him some story she’d invented ages ago, half-truths tumbling effortlessly from her lips as she illustrated her last days in Sakura. Once she was done, she began studying his features intently.

“See anything you like?” he asks her quietly, and she cups his chin before deciding he’d been worthy of an answer.

“I see something I like, but something different,” she began with faux perplexion. “Even beneath this red light, I can sense the excitement almost vibrating off of you. “It suits you. I wish you were always this happy when you saw me. Far less tense than usual.”

“Now, Omi, you know I feel most like myself when I’m with you. You always receive the best parts of me,” he says seriously as his hand cups her wrist. “But, to tell you the truth, I’ve come across some very good fortune. A good fortune that I believe will alter the trajectory of my life. I’ve struck a life-changing deal.”

“That’s amazing! I couldn’t be happier for you!” she exclaims softly, before falling into a demure pout. “This… deal won’t take you away from me now, will it?”

He chuckles at her pout as if him parting from her would truly be the most unfortunate occurrence in her 30 years of life. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing, Tesoro. The deal I’ve made has allowed me to acquire a large sum of money. And I have no plans of parting from you anytime soon.”

She smiles gratefully, yet sadly as if she can’t believe it. He looks at her, searching for an answer to her sadness. “What is it, il mio amore? Why do you look so blue?”

At that moment— the slightest pang of sadness sped through her. How effortlessly he had succumbed to her charm, to the point that she’d almost felt bad for the fool. “Well… the way you aren’t giving much information about the deal is only forcing me to draw my own conclusions. Ones in which I can’t help but assume that you’ve been put in a dangerous predicament, which is stopping you from telling because you’re afraid to get me into trouble.” He drew her closely, placing a soft kiss on each of her temples, then her forehead, then her lips.

“I wouldn’t let them harm a hair on your head, Omi. I hope you know that I mean that.” She resisted chuckling. She’d been nearly divinely protected. If anything it was him who wouldn’t be able to harm a hair on her head.

“Is this them you speak of…” she looks around carefully, knowing there was no one near, but doing it as if to accentuate her supposed fear. “The government…?” she offers him, and when he does not react, she places a long, lacquered pinky nail upon her lip. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with one of the mobs, E—”

“Mixed up with the mobs?” he interrupts with a haughty chuckle. “Why, they’ve gotten themselves mixed up with me, dearest Omi. Sooner rather than later, both the Capulets and the Montagues will be feeding out of the palm of my hand.” How drunk had the man had to have been to have confessed such a silly sentiment? Or was it not the liquor at all, and simply Omi bearing witness to the limitless bounds of the male ego? Probably a mixture of both.

She shoves his shoulder gently, feigning shock. “You’ve either done something insanely brilliant or incredibly stupid. But I’ve always known you to be far too clever for the latter.”

With each curious caress, they’d managed to extract more and more information from their subject, his ego centering itself above all else— even his desire to live. He had to have known that, hadn’t he? Or had he simply been too foolish to even consider the danger he’d been putting himself in by leaving every detail of his plan upon Omi’s lips? How foolish he had beenShe shoves his shoulder gently, feigning shock. “You’ve either done something insanely brilliant or incredibly stupid. But I’ve always known you to be far too clever for the latter.”

“Someday…” he slurs, faced resting comfortably on her chest as she stroked the top of his head, his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist. “I’m gonna whisk you away. And just like that, you’ll be mine. Forever and always.”

Omi chuckles at this sentiment— ones she’s heard nearly a dozen times before. She’d had no desire to be one of his pretty things, not by him or any other person in this world for that matter.

“Why, E— I know if that were to occur, you’d be doomed to break my heart.” “Omi, you can’t truly believe that now… can you?” he says tilting his head upwards until their lips are only mere inches apart.

“I’m afraid I do, mi caro. Because the moment in which the magic begins to dwindle from your eyes when you look at me is the moment my heart is sure to break. I know that if we continue our occasional rendezvous that I’ll continue to be the loveliest I could be in your eyes. Oh— and I’m a terribly loud snorer. You wouldn’t sleep a minute in my presence.”

That had been enough to satisfy him, if only for a single moment. The very thought of him truly breaking her heart had been absurd, but the very thought of the blossom mirror cracking, the idea of her carefully constructed persona being exposed for being exactly that, alarmed her. Anything short of near perfection was unacceptable. She owed her to that and Mona. It would be at that moment that Omi would understand that she was no longer as good at her job as she needed to be. Surely that would not leave them desolate, they would still be a top-performing Sparrow after all. But they would no longer be the best, and no man or woman would ever take that away from them. Even if they meant keeping the majority of the world at a safe distance. Not when they’d finally found their people. Not when they’d finally answered their calling. Not when Verona was finally starting to feel like home.

Little did she know that this would be the last time she’d ever see Patron E. Just as she’d suspected, the information had been of immense value. Her reputation as the top Sparrow only increased tenfold, and she remained in Mona’s good graces, never tiring of her constant praise and doting. Word of his death returned to them from another one of their patrons even before it appeared even in the papers. Omi couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for his widow and children. No woman and family should have their livelihood threatened by the likes of a stupid, stupid, stupid man.

She did not wear Q’s dress after that day. When she asked about it the next time he saw her, she began whispering a delightful tale about how her suitcase had mysteriously wound up missing upon returning from a brief trip to Paris, knowing she’d wind up with a new one before the conversation concluded…

#accepted #accepted: olivia

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chwrpg · 4 years

Text

It’s about time. We’ve been waiting for you guys. -- Nova Lisbon

A NOTE FROM ADMIN B: If anyone can hear screaming in the distance don’t worry it’s just me!!!!!!!!! It’s no secret the Lisbon sisters are the loves of my life so I’ve always wanted to have the full set on the dash to really get into that family dynamic of theirs. And now, thanks to resident angel™ Tiff, we’re one step closer! I love the way you’ve written Nova-- like the other sisters she has that enigmatic manic pixie dream girl facade, but there’s so, so much more behind what everyone else projects onto her. I cannot wait to see her finally get the attention she deserves.

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

That Bitch FKA Tiff . 26 . CST

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Nova Lisbon

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

SECONDARY CHOICE:

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

If John Green had ever met Nova Lisbon he would have had a field day with that one. Everything about her from the way she walked with a little skip in her step to her more arbitrary habits like the way she dotted her i’s with hearts and took Buzzfeed personality quizzes when she was bored in class was more than enough material for her to inevitably become someone’s manic pixie dream girl. It wasn’t even that there was necessarily anything special that made her stand out from everyone else, people were just naturally attracted to her because she was an enigma; an experience that they could talk about at class reunions in the years to come. The Lisbon sisters were known in town for the air of mystery that followed them, enticing those who enjoyed a challenge to go to great lengths in hopes of catching the attention of one of the elusive sirens. Catching the eye of one of them was like winning a lottery ticket or climbing Mount Everest. While her sisters preferred to shy away from this portrayal that had been placed on them since their move to Rosewood, just trying to live normal lives, Nova reveled in all of the extra attention, more than happy to take her sisters’ share. Being caught smack dab in the middle of so many personalities made it so that it could be difficult to not get overlooked and that soon became one of her biggest fears, being forgotten and ultimately left behind, even by her own family. A fear that she never shared with any of them out of fear of sounding more irrational than her mother often made her feel. How could she tell them not to be themselves because it made her feel small compared to them when their parents had already stifled almost all enjoyment out of their life? Instead she began doing outrageous things and getting into unsavory habits for the sake of standing out. And in a way showing that she had control over her life, that no one told her what to do, even her parents. Though as mature as she tried to come off she was still a naive, hopeless romantic who could easily be taken advantage of. She fell in love easily. It seemed almost weekly. Unfortunately all of those people were out of her life about as fast as they had come in. But in that desperation to become a person of importance in others lives, in fighting so desperately to not become just another passing flavor of the week, she gave pieces of herself. Until she had given so much there was nothing left to give. Until all that was left was for her to get her shit together and pick up those pieces herself. And slowly but surely she was learning to do that. No offense to Alaska Young, but she was going to become the one who would control the narrative to her own story.

SAMPLE WRITING:

When Nova had first proposed the idea of a peer counseling program she had been met with a couple of chuckles, little bouts of amusement which soon took an awkward turn when the realization hit that she was completely serious. They were completely in their right to believe that she had been joking of course. Up until recently she wasn’t known for taking anything too seriously, much less known to dabble in humanitarianism. How on Earth did this girl, the same girl who throughout high school threw fits mid lecture over something as simple as a break up note think she was equipped to share any kind of advice with anyone? But that was exactly why Nova thought she was a prime candidate to participate in a peer counseling program. While, yes, she had been raised in an extremely sheltered environment she had somehow managed to find herself going through certain hardships that weren’t universally shared in such a short amount of time. Sure, as the whispers around town had led everyone to believe once the girls had all effectively left their time in captivity in their house, there probably wouldn’t have been so many speed bumps along the way if she had just listened to her parents. But she also wouldn’t have learned any of the life lessons she had if these experiences never occurred. For as much as she had been shamed at the time for her mistakes she felt no regrets. These moments and lapses in judgement that she was demonized for, especially by her mother who constantly berated her for being a free spirit, had molded her into the person she was today. The thing with Nova was that she stopped letting herself be bound by the rules the moment they settled down in Rosewood. Which really should have come as less of a surprise considering the compounding frustration that had slowly built up in the girls, passing on the baggage from the sister before them like a rite of passage.

Being part of such a tight knit family had always felt like both a blessing and a curse. The Lisbon sisters had always been as thick as thieves, so close that growing up Nova even believed they all shared a soul. That they all took different parts of it and together completed a whole person. Tessa had snatched up the compassion and understanding, Marina the brutal honesty and vicious protectiveness, Bridget the loyalty and adaptability, and Cecily the courage and patience. At least that was how she coped with their situation, by doing what she always did and romanticizing everything. Perhaps that was where the real problem lied though, that their codependence ran so deep they lost their sense of individuality. But what else were they supposed to do when their growth had already been stunted so severely by denying them the ability to form any true relationships outside of their own household? Even Nova had always been more open to the public than her sisters left a lot of things unsaid, things she didn’t think were of much importance but explained a lot about her character. Things she wanted people to find out about her by looking deeper than surface level. She left hints here and there, little moments with different people, like a scavenger hunt waiting to be solved. It was a path many had tried to venture but very few actually made headway along.

These who truly got to know Nova knew she was like a hurricane; calm and still at times like the eye of the storm, the still point in the turning world as one of her many suitors once stated. But destructive in passing, wearing her heart on her sleeve, and often making a scene when she felt like she was being played. Maybe that was why no one could quite understand why it was she felt the need to start the peer counseling program. Was it to gain some kind of karmic retribution for all the lives she had turned upside-down? Or was it to live vicariously through the lives of others by listening to their stories like they were retellings excerpts from books in some vast library of life? The truth was much more simple than that. Nova just loved people. And she liked to help them, not out of self interest despite this desperate need to be loved in return, but because she was fundamentally a caretaker.

This was how she found currently herself the only running some errands for colleagues and shopping for holiday decorations to spruce up the little office they used as the peer counseling center. She had taken a bit of a detour in the beauty department when the wails of child snapped her out of her own thoughts. Turning to scan down the aisle and see where the ruckus was coming from she spotted a little girl, no more than two or three years old. Around how old her child would have been had things turned out differently. The kid seemed to be lost and crying out for her mom but there was no one in sight who seemed to be coming to her rescue. She shuffled back awkwardly to the end of the aisle, looking all around to see if anyone was making their way back over for her or even if there was an employee whose attention she could get, but there was no one. Part of her told herself to just go and pretend like she didn’t see anything, it wasn’t her business anyways. But this wasn’t something she could overlook, it didn’t sit right to not do anything. Seeing this tiny person so upset because she was lost and didn’t know what to do reminded her of herself, and how she felt growing up.

“Hey sweetie…Did you get separated from your mom?” She asked timidly, slowly making her way closer to her, crouched down slightly so she was level with the kid to not make her feel too intimidated of this stranger coming up to her. The little girl simply nodded in response, wiping at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of the jacket she had on. “Okay. I’m gonna take you to some people that are gonna help find her, alright?” The Lisbon girl offered in the most reassuring tone she could muster up to reassure the child that things would be okay. Gracelessly she led the little girl through the store towards the front, to the customer service area where she knew the girl would be safe and there were people who were more trained on what to do in this kind of situation. Whose hearts probably wouldn’t be on the brink beating out of their chest from anxiousness of having someone else’s safety in their hands, especially when the girl reached up to clutch her hand only managing to hold onto a few of her fingers as they walked.

As awkward as she herself felt, the unknown leading the unknown, she did her best to keep a brave face all the same. The same forced smile she plastered on whenever she went back home, which she hadn’t been back to since her miscarriage. Nova had never been great with kids. They were a huge responsibility, they required lots of time, they were very dependent. They asked for much more than she currently had to give, more than she thought she would ever have to give. And quite honestly she hadn’t had the best examples of parenting. The fear of screwing up another life because of her own damage was real. It was why as shitty as she felt thinking it she was actually sorta relieved when she miscarried. It was a sad situation knowing there had been a life inside of her and losing it from one minute to another. But it didn’t feel sad to her. To be honest she didn’t really feel anything when it happened other than a weight off her shoulders. It felt like she had been granted a second chance at life. A chance to do everything over but better this time. But currently this tiny person was being so strong and entrusting her whole life with someone she didn’t know. The least she could do was act like she had her shit together for a few moments.

When they made it to the service desk the employees got straight to making an announcement calling for the girl’s mother. Nova turned to head back to finishing her errands but stopped in her tracks when she felt a tug on the back of her shirt. It was the little girl. She begged for her not to leave and Nova didn’t have the heart to tell her no. So she stayed and played the few schoolyard games she remembered, like patty cake and rock paper scissors, with her until her mother arrived.

The mother’s face was covered in tears as she scooped up her kid and held her close. She thanked Nova over and over again. “I don’t know how to repay you.” She said through her tears.

“That’s not necessary, ma’am. Seeing how happy you two are is enough repayment for me. Just remember to cherish her the same way you are now always. Even when she gets older and starts giving you a hard time.” She said with a soft laugh and warm smile. As happy as she was for the happily reunited family she felt a pang in her chest as she thought about how broken hers currently was, everyone going in completely different directions once they had left home. It pained her heart to see someone have the kind of relationship she had always wanted with her mother, to see someone be revered simply for existing and not looked down on as if she was a mistake.

Maybe this was a sign. She had overcome every other problem in her life. Maybe it was time she faced the last one holding her back. Letting go of the anger she felt towards her parents. Or at least confront the issue instead of running from it. She pulled out her cellphone and dialed the number of the one parent she wasn’t scared out of her mind to talk to.

“Hey, Dad…How are you?” She asked softly into her phone.

ANYTHING ELSE?

1985

#accepted #submission

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ofreligion · 4 years

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hi everyone !! my name is reed, chaotic energy queen, owner of a single braincell (only 33% of the time), and 1/2 of the admin team at covingtonhqs. i live in the est timezone, use they & she pronouns (pls alternate these as much as u can, thank u mwah), am 19 years old, and a hot mess disaster. however, you’re not here to hear about me, you’re here to read all about my daughter, michal. so, without further delay, click the read more to learn all about the one, the only, michal glickman.

name: michal glickman gender & pronouns: cis female, she & hers age: 21 major & year: environmental studies major with a dual concentration in toxic plants and environmental advocacy, fourth year faceclaim: diana silvers occupation: floral apprentice at foxglove florists

everyone has a moment where they first find the place that they belong, michal’s just happened to be in the middle of bum fuck nowhere

bresheit––in the beginning

born michal אביבה glickman (pronounced michal aviva glickman) at 6:00am on april 22nd, 1998 to two loving parents; rabbi adam עקבא (akiva) glickman and deborah ברכה (bracha) glickman nee goldstein esq

name meanings time !

michal: biblical michal was king saul's daughter and first wife of david. in the biblical narrative, michal chooses the welfare of david over the wishes of her father. when saul's messengers search for david in order to kill him, michal sends them away while pretending she is ill and laid up in bed. she lets david down through a window and hides teraphim in his bed as a ruse. although she risked her life in helping him, after he leaves the court, he makes no attempt to contact her. after michal was returned to david, she criticized him for dancing in an undignified manner, as he brought the ark of the covenant to the newly captured jerusalem in a religious procession. for this she is punished, according to samuel, with not having children until the day she dies.

אביבה (aviva): a modern hebrew name meaning "springtime". it is related to the name of the israeli city tel aviv, as well as to the jewish holiday passover which occurs in the month of nisan, previously called aviv.

glickman: the name glickman is a proud symbol of ancient jewish culture. it is taken from the yiddish word glik, which means luck.

more about her parents !

michal’s dad works as hemlock’s one and only resident conservative rabbi at temple shir shalom, located about a fifteen minute walk from the glickman family home. (i define conservative judaism as a happy medium between reform ~laid back judaism~ and orthodox StRiCt judaism, a conservative jew would probably punch me for saying that).

michal’s mom works as a corporate lawyer at some ugly mean bank that hates the environment and we don’t stan at all

they didn’t meet on j date but they met via j date’s predecessor, their grandmothers being best friends

the past !

the glickmans have been a member of high society in hemlock since their matriarch, michal’s great grandmother hadassah, came over during the holocaust. she immigrated easily, fitting right in with the crowd. an avid follower of practical kabbalah, a jewish mystic tradition concerning the use of magic, her uniqueness made her quite the popular person, and people began to pay large sums of money for her to interpret their dreams and read their palms.

hadassah was the last follower of kabbalah in her line, and her son cut off ties to the mystic tradition as soon as he was able to choose his own religious practices.

still the past but less far in the past !

michal’s upbringing was pretty standard for a white rich kid in a white rich town. she was brought to parties and events she didn’t want to go to, forced to wear cute dresses and shoes and things that she felt weird wearing. she wanted to run around outside, she didn’t want to eat gross appetizers at boring events and pretend like she wanted to be there.

as the years she spent on this earth grew, so did the amount of donor events and fundraising efforts and pairs of fancy shoes she owned. despite her expressing to her parents multiple times that this was not who she was, that these were not things she wanted to go to, they refused to listen to her and continued to drag her to the events against her will.

while they took care of her financially, they didn’t take care of her spiritually. she has a weird complicated relationship with her childhood, as it could have been so much worse, and in the grand scheme of things she was so lucky, but there were so many things she wished she could have done like go hiking and play basketball and be allowed to be herself, and missing out on that has really stopped her from letting her true self shine through, even now.

the label !

now, you may be asking yourself, “reed, how on earth does michal fit this label?” well, let me tell you!

when i hear high heels, i think of an old pair of dress shoes that you probably should’ve gotten rid of a while ago. they’re scuffed, a bit too small for you, and have lost the majority of their shine. michal is trapped in this idea of what her parents want her to be, and while she still squeezes into those high heels for important holidays and events that she is still forced to go to, it’s something that she does begrudgingly, and because she doesn’t want to start conflict.

vayikra––and he called

on a retreat to charles mound, the highest point in illinois, during her sophomore year of high school, michal experienced what it was like to feel the presence of god. she took her shoes off, laid down in the grass, and closed her eyes. it was the first moment she was certain of anything

ever since then, michal’s point of view on spirituality and religion has changed drastically, and she has become much more in touch with the world around her. she practices her judaism through gardening, leading environmental protests (sometimes against her mother’s company, she’s got no clue how she’s managed to avoid getting caught for that), and going on lots of hikes and adventures

it was a moment of clarity for her, her first opportunity to really be who she wanted to and needed to be

bamidbar––in the wilderness

so now, she’s stuck. she knows exactly what she wants to do and who she wants to be, yet is afraid of coming clean to her parents, who currently think she is studying economics on a pre-law track.

she has this kind of double life that she leads, she’s one person at school and another person at home, and as much as she hates it, she fears being cut off from her parents if she refuses to do what they ask of her

headcannons

taurus sun, pisces moon, taurus rising

she was born on earth day in case that was lost on u adjshjkfdhgfd

wants to be a park ranger when she grows up

very socially awkward and bad @ most human interactions, but is also super witty once u get to know her

hasn’t been single/not actively pursuing a or being pursued for a romantic relationship since she was six

falls in love extremely easily, leads to her getting her heart broken a lot

bisexual (prefers women & nb individuals, probably like a 4.5 on the kinsey scale)

while she has had a lot of romantic relationships, real friendships are harder for her to make, and finding one that sticks and makes her feel comfortable is something that is so sacred and special for her that she cherishes it

really looks up to melanie, the connections she makes with people, and how confident she is in the person that she is

smokes a lot of weed

extremely anti-shoe, if she could never wear shoes, that is what she would do, but bc she has to wear shoes sometimes she wears tevas and birkenstocks most of the time

has a huge passion for learning and gaining knowledge, would probably have seventeen minors if she could

she wants to visit every national park by the time she turns 30

michal has a catfish named dog!! it’s a hebrew joke bc in hebrew, dog means fish.

wanted connections

exes ! all of the exes ! ending on good terms, ending on bad terms, first love, losing their virginity to each other, right person wrong time, something that was never quite a relationship

friends ! pals ! amigos ! comrades !

other things i FORGOT TO FINISH AND RAN OUT TIME FOR THIS PLS PLOT W/ ME THANK U

#covintro

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randaccidents · 4 years

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Kintsugi

OK, before the fic I need to make one thing very clear.

This fic was written initially as a vent fic in response to my own unclear thoughts and emotions about recent goings-on in the Shadow People discord. Certain events are referenced. However, this is not me projecting. The character already held these opinions, and they aligned with the situation at hand. I was confused on how to think and writing this character’s own response helped me reason my thoughts. That said, I do not want to call out anyone or attack them. I will take down this fic if it makes the people involved feel uncomfortable, especially J (you can dm me to take this down, no judgement at all). Please do not ask me what happened, due to timezones I was sleeping when this occurred resulting in some of the messy feelings I had.

However, this is still about the character’s own opinions, just with a dash of my own thoughts in it, so I decided to post this here. Again, if the people involved are uncomfortable, I will take this fic down.

I apologise if I'm vagueing, I don’t really know how to address this politely.

Shadow People AU comes from SaraSP (no, I don't think I should @ her for a vent fic)

TW: discussion of morality and the black and white outlook on characters, panic attacks, unintentional self harm, recent discord events

A discussion with Chamomile.

Standing outside the door, hand raised to knock, Cavalier hesitated.

Logically, he knew he was welcome here. It was right at the center of the Daycare, and the shadow inhabiting the room was one of the nicest he knew. He wouldn't see Cavalier's presence as a bother. Still, he hesitated.

His dilemma was resolved when the door opened, revealing a head covered in small flower blooms. Chamomile smiled warmly at him. "Cavalier! Welcome, would you like to come in?"

Mutely, he nodded. Slipping past Chamomile, he made a beeline for the nearest chair, reforming on the chair and slumping backwards into the soft pillows, eyes closed. There was the sound of cups clinking together, liquid being poured, and then a cup was being gently pushed into his hands. Gratefully accepting the cup, he held its warmth up to his lips like how Chamomile had taught him, breathing in the scent of the tea.

Today's drink smelled like lavender.

He heard Chamomile sit down across from him, feel his intense gaze upon him. "Cav, what's wrong? You haven't sat in that seat in a long time."

He didn't respond, absorbing the warmth and scent of lavender and letting it permeate his body, attempting to calm his thoughts. Finally bringing the cup down from his lips, he stared down at the swirling contents of the cup. "Chamomile, are you neutral on the whole Puzzler talk?"

He could hear Chamomile shift, and he gripped the cup tighter. A light hum. "I told you, you can call me Cammy. And I hold no strong opinions on this matter. Is it bothering you?"

"I-" He couldn't get the words out of his mouth, couldn't get his thoughts to translate into words that sounded any more coherent then fractured sentences. There was liquid on his hands, lavender overpowering the air.

Abruptly, he stood. He needed to run, needed to let the wind sweep away his thoughts and emotions urges and desires and leave him empty to be filled and commanded. But he also knew this wasn't something he could run from, this was something that would follow along as whispers in the wind, and he had to tell someone how he felt. He- he-

A hand gently grabbed his, removing the teacup from his hands and replacing it with a piece of cloth. Snapping out of his mind, he stared into Chamomile's concerned eyes. Looking away, he could see the cup he was holding, cracks spread through and dripping purple. He shivered. "Sorry..."

Chamomile tsked lightly, still absorbed in his task of wiping Cavalier's hands dry. "There's no need to be apologetic about your triggers, Cav. Are you ready to talk about it, or do you want to do this another day?"

He found himself shaking his head before Chamomile had even finished his question. "Today. I don't want to run away anymore."

Chamomile smiled. He focused on that, the warmth and acceptance and patience that went into that smile, as Chamomile directed him sit together on the couch.

And yet again, he found himself at a loss for words, unable to explain his thoughts and emotions. It was frustrating, his mouth opening and closing like a fish in his inability to form words.

Chamomile seemed to notice the problem. "Want me to start with my view on the situation?"

Cavalier nodded, relaxing tense body parts he had unknowingly strained in his struggle against himself. "Personally," Chamomile started, eyes staring intently at Cavalier, "I think everyone's blowing this out of proportion. Puzzler isn't here anymore, 3D is a different person entirely, so why is everyone up in arms about things he supposedly did? I never saw the point in it, although that could also be because I never lived through the War period. What's your take on this issue Cav? Is Puzzler good or bad, and should we really blame 3D?"

That question was like flipping a switch in his mind, suddenly aligning all his jumbled thoughts into a line of easy to parse sentences. Taking a deep faux-breath like how Paladin would, he began to speak. "That's why I wanted to talk to someone neutral. I don't know."

Cavalier could hear make a questioning sound, what sounded like words being spoken, but he didn't, no he couldn't stop talking. It was like what was holding him back all this time had finally opened, and all his thoughts came spilling out one over the other.

"Everyone always says that Puzzler was bad, he did bad things, manipulated and hurt people, even Joy. And their right. Puzzler was mean and hurt people and convinced me and Joy to do things that hurt others. Puzzler did punish us harshly when we messed up, isolated us from outside help. Puzzler did do all those things and more. But Puzzler was also kind, in his own way. He gave me a purpose and a reason to be. He looked at me and found potential for something, raised me to be the person I am. I had no use for the Empire, yet he took me in. He praised me on a job well-done, gave me the gift that lets me be who I am today even though I never asked for anything." He gripped his wrist, letting the metal of the clasp dig into his palm and ground him against the tidal wave of his thoughts. "Puzzler gave me a home, a family of people who I still trust more than most. But Puzzler also manipulated me, used me for his own purposes and gains. I can still hear his words, echoing praises and threats at me. And I can't agree with anyone that Puzzler is just, evil, you know. To me, Puzzler was good, he was kind, and he was the teacher who taught me how the world turned. He genuinely cared for us in some way, even as he genuinely used us as tools in some game. And now he's different, now he's 3D, and people only see him for the bad that Puzzler did. I haven't spoken to 3D. I want to be his friend. But- but-" The words stuttered off, choked, unable to be truly expressed in a moment of sudden insecurity. He gripped tighter around the clasp of security.

Hands gripped his, gently pulling them down and out of his tight grip. "Breathe, Cav. Breathe."

The absurdity of the statement made Cavalier want to laugh. "Shadows can't breathe." he choked out, blinking the face before him into focus.

Chamomile only gripped his hands tighter, grounding without hurting, so unlike how he's always grounded himself. "I know that. I'm asking you to imitate that motion now." He pulled Cavalier's hands up to rest against his chest, which rose and fell in a rhythm. "Feel that? Mimic it, in and out, follow me, in and out."

Cavalier felt the movements under his hands and tried to imitate it. He took a deep breath in, then let it out. Everything smelled like lavender. He followed the rhythm, in and out, methodical and purposeful, and began to feel himself calm. Chamomile squeezed his hand lightly, prompting him to look up at his face. "Feeling better? Anything else you want to get off your chest?"

... there was one other thing that's been bothering him.

"Everyone's blaming 3D for Puzzler's badness, and it makes me wonder if I'm bad too, for still loving someone who has done bad things, for offering forgiveness and friendship when no one thinks he deserves it. No one is purely evil or purely good, he taught me that much. Is it really so hard to accept that there was good in him?" Cavalier looked pleadingly into Chamomile's eyes. "Am I bad for wanting to believe that Puzzler wasn't evil?"

“Oh Cav…” Arms wrapped around him, pulling him into Chamomile’s chest. Hands patted the top of his helmet. “You’re not bad. You’re so kind, to want to forgive people for all the bad they’ve done.”

His hands pressed forward into the solid chest of Chamomile, feeling for the movement of his chest to follow. In, out, in, out. Chamomile smelled like lavender. “I’ve done bad things too.” he mumbled, muffled by the figure holding him. “Shouldn’t everyone hate me too?”

And there was no answer Chamomile could give, other than to tighten his hold on Cavalier.

#shadow people au #cavalier #chamomile #this is a vent fic #it really helped to get these down as words #Im sorry if Im vagueing I dont know how to deal with this properly #aight trigger tags time #panic attacks #self harm #discussion of black and white views on characters #recent discord events #my writing #J if you want this taken down #I will do it in a heartbeat #please take care

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alternislatronemhq · 4 years

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Congrats, Kat, you have been accepted to AL for the role of Sophia Burke (FC: Anya Chalotra). I have to say that when the idea for a character like Sophia occurred to me, she quickly became one of those that I was most interested in seeing portrayed. I think you’ve done a great job of flushing her out so that she’s an actual character and not just an idea that sprouted into some admin’s head. I’m so excited to see how she progresses in our little world! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist. Welcome home, we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — kat age — 25 pronouns — she/her timezone — est activity level — about a seven I try to at least check in once every day. any questions? — I love you so much!

IC Overview

name — Sophia Burke age — gender — cisfemale sexuality — demisexual patronus — butterfly a free spirit and a love of her own mind she’s constantly transforming herself boggart — her boggart is herself trapped in a cage her hands shackled and there no way to break free.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

curious – that saying of curiosity killed the cat could describe her perfectly. Except her life hasn’t ended just yet. It’s the trait that drives her to learn more and more and it’s the same trait that got her caught up with the death eaters. A blessing and a curse.

Loving – Sophia was never doted on as a child and in response she has been the one to do the doting. Those who are close to her are constantly being showered in love and devotion. The two things that she always wished she could have in her own life.

Reserved – Sophia has always been the watch and listen type of girl. As a child she was always sent off to the shadows when not being used as a pretty prop. She’s learned to be quiet and think before acting when she can keep her mind from running away from her at least.

Vindictive – Sophia learned the game of cruelty from her father long ago and she’s picked up some of those traits herself. If you cross her she is not likely to forget and certainly won’t forgive. Her goal will become taking you down and there won’t be any apologies from her afterwards.

character biography —

Sophia was born to a loving mother and a disinterested father. She was not the boy he wanted and he had no time for the girl. He had thought to have another child and leave her off to the side. A boy this time but he had no such luck. She was the only child her mother would ever have. At the age of eight her mother died in childbirth. It had been a baby boy but the baby hadn’t survived either. Her father drew farther away from her. He was colder and she was an ornament to pull out for parties and events and nothing more to him.

She was happy to go off to school. The chance to leave behind the life that had become cold and unbearable was the chance for her to live once more. She was sorted into Ravenclaw a further disappointment to her father but she was happy. Her mother had been a Ravenclaw as well and she felt she was following in her footsteps. She thrived in school and her grades were excellent. Her mind always wanting to know more. Always wanting to seek out the truth of things. She particularly held an interest for dark artefacts. Thinking if only she gained more knowledge in this area that her father would look upon her with kindness.

Right out of school she continued her search for more information. Tracking down those with rare objects wanting to know all about them. This is what led her to the doors of Death Eaters. This is the path that brought her into the tangled web of joining a war she had no wish to join. It was almost a blur getting the mark. One day she was looking at artefacts and the next she was making oaths she didn’t believe in and doing her part to fight for a master she had no cares for.

The longer the war raged and the longer she was part of the Death Eaters she learned to hide her thoughts. She learned to play the mind games they all seemed to insist upon. Her hands are not free from blood and her soul that still leaps and sings for freedom and happiness shies away from that knowledge. When the war ended it was time to return to life once more.

She thought perhaps she could learn to breathe again. That she could look to her own desires. Her father brought her into his business. Finally giving her some grudging respect for the vast knowledge she had of the very things he kept in his store. She even learned to enjoy her job. Learned to enjoy her life again as well. Though at night the nightmares come. The screams of those she hurt. Those that were hurt around her still come to her.

The whispers that her old master might be coming back bring these nightmares to her mind even more now. She has no desire for him to return. She wishes only to live her life the way that she wishes. Those that she once fought alongside are coming around more often now. They start watching her once more. As if they’re waiting for her to show her true thoughts on the matter. The mind games are starting once again and Sophia is readying herself for the charade that she must once again put before them.

PLOTS

I would love for someone on the other side of the war to start working at Sophia to try to get her to change sides. Maybe she slips up around them and they see her lack of dedication for the Death Eaters cause. Maybe they don’t know anything about her being a death eater and they just wish to recruit her.

Sophia has killed before and I think it would be interesting if that came back to haunt her in some way. If maybe she killed the friend or family member of someone who is in her life now that the war is done.

A death eater who doesn’t fully believe that Sophia is dedicated to their side. Someone who watches her and tests her loyalty. Maybe in the form of a false friendship or maybe they don’t care that she knows that they’re watching her.

#al:accepted #sophia burke

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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, ROSEY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE HIGH PRIESTESS with the faceclaim of SOO JOO PARK. The High Priestess fits you like a well-tailored glove, ma’am, I must say that. Levana is a fascinating study in what occurs when you let Necromancy take root without letting it fully control you. This application very much made me feel like a student of Levana’s, someone who could look up to and admire her while also trembling at the power she dragged along behind her. The human elements were there, yes, but it became clear by the end of the application just who Levana was: a frame, a shell, a portrait of a woman in the middle of decay. She’s cold and merciless and starving, and I can’t wait for her to meet the dashboard.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

THE HIGH PRIESTESS APPLICATION

- OOC -

NAME: rosey

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 23? i think?

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: PST area and i don’t even know...i think i can put out 3-4 replies a week, although i do take breaks sometimes just to keep myself refreshed and going! so i think my activity could be a 7/10

ANYTHING ELSE?: ty for taking the time to read the app !! uwu please feel free to throw it in the garbage disposal BECAUSE IT’S TRASH

- IN CHARACTER-

TW: Death, child death, dark themes, and abuse throughout the application

SKELETON: The High Priestess

UPRIGHT

Intuition -- She has always had a remarkable intuition, knowing exactly how to pull and tug at minds and heartstrings. And so too has she always trusted in the way that she works her magic, in the way that she pulls and weaves the energies of the world to give life to once-beating hearts. Her intuition has always been her greatest asset, as though the Undying God herself has granted it to her and made it a blessing greater than her powers.

Sacred knowledge -- From a young age she understood her place in the world and why the Undying God had placed her upon it. There was a certain surety that came from understanding the Beginning and the ever-looming End, the tale of the wolf, the serpent, and the folly of man. How the birth of the Undying God came to be. Her parents looked at her and were jealous of the daughter that they had, of the age-old look in her eyes and how ignorant she made them feel.

Divine Feminine -- A divine woman is one who is circumspect in all things, tying together intuition, compassion, empathy, and inner wisdom. And at one time, she did have empathy for her fellow man -- for each person who sweated, bled, and ached as she did. But the ability to commiserate is no longer an option to her, but that does not taint her very intimate understanding of the plights of others because, at one point or another, it is likely she has felt such things herself. Having lived the life of man three times over, how could she not?

Subconscious Mind -- It’s in her dreams that she feels closest to them, the Undying God. There have been times where she swears she can hear their voice, and feel her touch. But then she wakes and the voices fade to whispers, which fade to breezes, which fade to nothing more than a melancholy silence. Every time she wakes and finds herself conscious, she wishes to hold a wake and mourn the loss of being so close to something so divine. But, as she wakes, that hunger comes for her again, and her subconscious mind is eclipsed by that yawning hunger for power once more.

REVERSED Secrets -- She keeps too many of them. Hoards them hungrily, like a bear dragging one poor doe after the other into its den to gorge on before the long winter comes. She keeps them even when she knows that they are of no use, even when she knows that they’ll die with her and none shall ever be able to taste the potency of their sweetness on their lips. Maybe it’s because she thinks she’s given too much to the world at this point in her life -- and these are the only things she can think of to call hers and hers alone.

Disconnected from Intuition -- It happens when she begins to perform resurrections that drain more from her and those around her. The weeks that follow leave her disconnected from herself, leave her tormented by her own silence. Her eyes shift around the room, trying to linger on a face that would give her that familiar pull in her gut, that certainty in her soul. But she’s left adrift in an ocean of quiet, and she has no choice but to lean on her logic and reasoning, to deduce until she can be as certain as she can be. All she has is her intuition and that, too, is slowly dying.

Withdrawal & Silence -- At a young age she became very adept at withdrawing into herself, at slipping into shadows. She realized that biting at the hands that sought to strike her only ended up in her getting hit harder. That raising her voice only ended up leaving her hoarse from her sobbing and tears. As all things in life, this means of survival was learned and it was a more difficult lesson to swallow. But after living two lifetimes, she realized that it was difficult to feel pain when you’re made of nothing but hard, unmoving stone.

NAME: Levana Morrigan Morrell

LEVANA Being given the name of a dead thing was perhaps the most ironic prelude to her story. Being forced to act as they would have expected her sister to, the most cruel. Her mother never missed the chance to tell her how beautiful her older sister would have been, with her wide, dark eyes and sweet disposition. Even though her sister never lived past the second summer of her life, she was the one that was meant to bring them out of their destitute life. What a disappointment then that the namesake had to be given to a child that was far less capable-- according to her mother -- of gaining such a future. To which her father would sagely nod his head, watery, large eyes blinking at her sorrowfully as she sat at the rotting table, cheeks burning as she pushed her food around. She forgave them for it, though. After all, Death could rob people of their ability to love.

MORRIGAN It’s the name of her rebirth. It’s the name that she gave at the Temple, the name that she would give at courts when bestowing them with the great gift of her presence and knowledge. Sometimes used in place of Levana, other times attached to it. Nevertheless it was a name that would forever remind those who had bore witness to her power the Undying God had blessed her with. It was the name that was tied to the image of a woman bent low over the corpse of a wolfhound, teeth bared, eyes as dark as the coal that she smothered around her brow. Then the wolfhound’s teeth bared, like hers. It’s eyes opened, like hers. And soon Death gave way to Life, just as Levana gave way to Morrigan.

MORRELL -- NO LONGER USED/RECOGNIZED A name that was never meant to make something of itself, and a name that never would. Her father, whenever he was in his drunken stupors, would always remind her that the Morrell name was cursed and that she was the culmination of its disappointments. The words would slide off of his lips, the slurs a true litany illustrating her uselessness and shame. There was no use in taking the bottle away, though, not until it slipped out of his grasp and rolled onto the floor. Now, though, she never bothers to acknowledge her surname. Why should she, when they know her as Levana the Necromancer? She had promised to let the Morrell name die with her, and it did. It died with her the moment she put breath into the life of the first corpse that was laid at her feet.

FACECLAIM: Soo Joo Park Marquita Pring Golshifteh Farahini Freida Pinto Inbar Lavi

AGE: 220 years old

DETAILS: You have not always been power-hungry. It was from the very first line that I think I fell head-over-heels in love with her. She has so much power held within the palm of her hand but the cost has been so very, very great. When you read about the necromancers all you can really see is their power and glory of the title, the High Priestess being a force within herself, gaining the ear of a king, the power of a God, the reverence and awe of so many more. But there is such great weakness and pain that comes from holding power -- and it’s reverberated within every single aspect of the High Priestess. She’s suffered such great loss and the most tragic part is that she can’t even grieve it because that ability, too, has been stolen away from her.

I feel like...in general, people might think of a character like her -- old, withering, so close to death as someone boring. What is there to do with a character like her? What does she have to live her? But that’s what I love so much about her. She’s seen so much, has been through so much and she’s jaded by every single thing in the world. She’s lived for so long, what’s to keep her from doing what she wants and saying fuck all to everyone and everything? There’s a motivation that’s keeping her from completely letting loose on them all. Perhaps it’s the mere love of the long game but I think it’s because, at her core, she’s a giver and she wants to leave some semblance of good -- what she defines as good -- in this world.

BACKGROUND:

It’s an unfortunate thing, to carry the legacy of a ghost before you’ve even taken your first breath. Her parents were never able to really let go of dead things, though. Their marriage was long dead before they even tried for their first child, the love that they had once had for one another before even that. They held onto their dead ideas and dreams just as they had held onto the memory of their first daughter years after she was buried six feet beneath the dry soil of the summer ground. A famine had swept through their country and Levana’s poor sister had never stood a chance, despite the prayers that had been offered up by the Morrells time and time again. The last vestiges of their hope for something living had been placed on Levana and even when she had been placed into her mother’s arms, howling and red-faced, it hadn’t been enough. Where her sister had been a thing of beauty, she was a shock of white hair and sharp edges -- looking like the corpse that her sister very much had been.

The irony of it all was not lost on her. It was perhaps why she had such a wry, dry sense of humor despite how tragic it actually was. In the face of fate’s cruel humor, she couldn’t help but laugh along with it. She still had air in her lungs, a brightness in her eyes and a smile so bright that the moon had no choice but to look on in envy. When her mother would bite and spit at her, she would simply turn her gaze the other way and go out to the fields once more - either to lay in the wheat or lounge upon the back of their old, weary work-horse. As the sun would shine upon her pale, ivory skin she was more than content to let it eat away at her, all too happy to live a life of ease, if it only meant that she not bother the world with her existence and it not bother her with its woes and tragedy. Levana had disappointed her parents enough, there was no need to disappoint the rest of Tyrolhm by imposing her useless heap of skin and bones, her cutting mouth and staunch moralities.

When she wasn’t blissfully sketching away with a bit of charcoal stolen from the hearth or wrestling another bottle out of her father’s hand, she always managed to corral the kids of the neighboring farms into grand, elaborate games. She was always the leader, the one who set the rules, who dictated what was fair and what wasn’t -- just as she was always the one to clean up the scrapes and bruises of her comrades, whether they “fight for the king” or not. Even when she ruled with an iron-fist it was clear that she was soft around the edges, forever armed with a warm smile and a bawdy joke that would have made her mother balk and her father grab the broom to smack her with it.

What a lovely childhood she had. She wished she could remember it, now. She wished it had lasted longer.

The days of playing games of mages and holding mock-court were long behind her. The reality of her inability to be anything more than a farmer’s daughter was beginning to make the Morrell household a rather suffocating place to be. Too odd-looking to marry off, not savvy or competent enough to hold the land and keep it to herself. There was no profit to be made in caring for the children of the countryside or teaching the war-ravaged and orphaned creatures how to find joy in capturing the smile of another in charcoal, or coaxing them into sweet sleep with tales of pirates and warrior women. No man wanted a woman so useless. No family wanted to pay a dowry for useless little Levana who could only offer a shining -- albeit impish -- smile. The only suitor that had come knocking had left in quite a hurry when he realized how strong-headed she could be, how sharp her tongue was and how her eyes seemed to see right through the facade of gentility and courteousness. For the umpteenth time in her life, she had been sent to bed with an empty stomach -- though, throughout the night it had been full of laughter at her suitor’s expense.

Not long after, on the night of her 20th birthday, when her parents were ready to sell her to the most ill-reputed house in Tyrolhm that was furthest away, the Undying God decided it was high time that the blessings they had placed upon her be brought into the light -- the revelation of her abilities shining unabashedly in the bright, spring sun.

Her little gaggle had all grown and had children of their own or moved to have adventures across the Sahrnian sea. Some of them even became clerics at the Temple, while she was all too content to take each day as it came, toiling away at the dying soil, listening to the bickering of her loveless parents, frequenting the markets and listening to the songs of bards that were passing through. Levana had taught the children of the countryside her games -- telling them tales of the glorious adventures she and her friends had when they were in the golden years of their childhood. Wars raged while wielding sticks in the place of swords, and pieces of barks as shields. One of the girls had stumbled into the stream -- its waters tumultuous and high from floods that had come from the melting winter snow. The fretful, panicked hands of the small children tugged at her skirt, pulling her from her place beneath the shaded tree, voices high and weeping as they tried to pound life into little Errena’s chest.

That was the first time Levana could recall giving everything.

That was the first time Levana could remember trying.

She remembered peering up through the leaves, watching them sway in the light breeze. Years later, she knew that it was the last time she had ever known the meaning of peace.

Untrained and reckless, she had poisoned the earth that was there -- and because it hadn’t been enough, she had poisoned something within herself as well. The grass had grown black beneath her fingers, parched and dry as though it had never known green days. She remembered the cries of horror from the children as they had watched her body bow over little Errana’s, had heard the guttural noises that tore from her lips, the darkness that had been cast over her eyes. If the Undying God were to have had a voice that could be heard, it would have been the very same that poured from her lips as she called Errana’s name from the land of the dead. When she had arisen with the girl’s cold, trembling hand in hers, she looked at the children that stared at her in terror -- a weary smile on her lips as she told them to run along and keep this secret between them. There was no need, though; terror was the most effective muzzle.

She packed her bags and made her way to the Temple, leaving the Morrell lands and the Morrell name far behind her. Levana never thought to question why it was so easy for her to leave those ties behind -- the land of golden wheat and warm, drowsy memories. She never thought to ruminate on which part of her had died that fateful day when she had exchanged a life of peace for Errana’s beating heart. Levana built her life anew as Morrigan, giving the name at the steps of the Temple, while enlightening them about the tale of a girl once known as Levana. There had been no need, though; it would always be worth it for the lives that she managed to call back from the arms of the Undying God. Her tutelage at the Temple illuminated the path that she had willingly turned a blind eye towards in favor of lazing days spent adventuring under Tyrolhm’s golden sun. Ravenously, she consumed the tomes that they placed in front of her, testing the limits of her power and reflecting on the tolls that they took on her. For one of the orphan girls she resurrected a bird that had been target practice for the impish little boys -- and for that she lost her taste.

For a queen’s handmaiden, she had animated the limbs of her poxed brother, and for that she lost the life of the only person she had made there that she could have called friend -- a wizened old tutor whose eyes were milky and whose lips carried lines from smiling so often. The years began to bleed into one another, her hunger for knowledge growing as her abilities did until she began to spend restless nights squinting into tomes as the wax of once-tall candles melted into stubs. The coldness of corpses and the silence that they offered became more familiar to her and far more preferable than playing the enigmatic mage at the courts that the Temple recommended she visit. But for many years, she clung to who she remembered herself to be, the charming and vibrant girl that had spent so many days dictating which child would be allowed to be king, who was to be the advisor, the general, the serf, the mistress, and the queen. Her cutting tongue was known to cause riots within courts, stirring subjects with barks of laughter, making handmaidens and queens flush -- charming kings and princes and royals alike.

They whispered of her across the lands and the wide, raging sea -- the necromancer with silver hair and dark eyes, whose smile you wished to see before you died, whose siren-like voice you heard call you from the embrace of the Undying God.

But just as death and life were inseparable, were one, so too was the love and hatred of those who heard the tales of Morrigan. There were those who sought to control her, just as she had controlled the corpses -- shackling her in dungeons until she did their bidding. There were kings and queens who wished to bed her and use her for nothing more, casting her out of their castles mid-winter when they realized she would not. Poisonings and beatings were something she learned to become familiar with (demoness, devil, defiler), prejudice, bigotry, and poverty haunted her as assuredly as her sister’s nearly-forgotten ghost had. And what did the Temple do but preach to her about the practices of her power and her duty to guard wayward kingdoms from their tumultuous, violent ways? What more was she meant to do but bear these burdens and slights, so that they might know she might usher in a new age of peace? In her many travels and over the two centuries that she walked the earth she had lived a number of lives. The mage, the pick-pocket, the farmer’s daughter, the con, the philosopher, the artist, the scholar. Not a single one of them had known peace as intimately as Levana Morrell had.

But she was dead.

Only brought back to life once, in the chamber of a queen she thought she had loved, across the Sarhnian sea who always kept a wolfhound at her side. Morrigan thought she had the heart of a wolfhound too, which made it all the more easy to lay her heart at the queen’s feet. She remembered how she had poured herself into the creature, had harkened for its heart to beat, for its heart to rise. Some nights she can still taste the growl that had torn through her throat -- an echo from the wolfhound’s maw. She could still feel how her spine had bent over the limp form, arms twitching, back arching as the creature began to rise to its feet, tongue lolling, eyes black. In restless fits of sleep, her and the hound became one in the same. Sometimes she would wake, touching her teeth, thinking that they might be sharp. Within that week, she had been ushered out of the castle by one of the queen’s advisor, his eyes unable to meet hers as her threw her traveling cloak over her shoulders, shuddering away when his skin had grazed hers, paying no mind to the way he had the guards drag her since her legs didn’t seem to respond and gave way.

When she was returned to the Temple she wept for a fortnight, unable and unwilling to leave her bed. She had given everything and they had taken everything. There was no one but herself to blame -- and what was worse, she still craved the power that had poured forth from her. She hadn’t noticed how her legs had failed her, only the way all eyes within the court had looked to her in awe, in terror, in reverence, in horror. In the years that followed, she learned to use her legs once more, the iron casts and crutch aiding her, adding further allure to the century old necromancer whose bright eyes brought corpses to life in the Undying God’s name. She knew what power the whispers of common folk and courtiers had. When she had laid her heart out for the queen consort, something within her had exhaled its final, shuddering breath. Something within her had risen from its ashes and come to life -- awakening with a ravenous, insatiable hunger that eclipsed any she had ever known.

In the eyes of the great court, she had seen within them the reflection of the death defier that was whispered about. In them, she had seen the power that she had. She could realign the stars and there was no doubt that they would look at her with that intoxicating concoction of horror and awe. They would have no choice but to do as she wished -- and what she wished was for that power to be wielded by her and her alone. To bring about the Golden Age of the world as she would define it.

The woman that stepped into the court of King Septimus was a far cry from the girl that had spent her days lounging beneath the large branches and green leaves of an age-old tree. Her iron casts had echoed as she entered the large, grand doors of the castle and from the moment she laid eyes on Septimus, she saw a future of glory -- the Golden Age made incarnate. He was malleable beneath her touch and in the first decade of his rule, she flourished. It was not unlike when she was a child, dictating this and that, her the cutting edge of her words coming off as roguish and charming, refreshing and novel as the entirety of his court leaned in to listen. Morrigan forgot, though, how quickly novelty can wear off and before long the revulsion sets in, her contempt for Septimus beginning to become a nigh-impossible pill to swallow. She thought that perhaps her intuition had failed her, that once again fate, with its cruel humor, hoped to make a mockery of her once more.

The mage with all the power in the world at her fingertips was unable to bring anything more than a handful of decades of tenuous peace, known for nothing but carnage and carnage alone under King Septimus’ rule.

She didn’t even have the ability to laugh, as she once might have been able to. That power had been taken from her, too.

The yawning hunger within her, though, did not balk in the face of kings, though. It recognized neither the limitations of Morrigan’s own body, the intricacies of politics, nor the iron, bloodied fist of Septimus. All it knew was how close she had been to power -- fingers outstretched, yearning, reaching, grasping. She remembered the weary faces of the soldiers as they returned from the carnage, how pale and wide-eyed they had been, how their armor had shone, painted with the scarlet blood of the fallen. One soldier’s eyes had lifted to hers and within them, she saw the lifelessness of so many corpses that had been laid, prostrate at her feet before harkening to her call, their once-still hearts beginning to beat something fierce.

If she could not bring them peace with King Septimus then the issue was simple; she did not have enough power to. That made her culpable for this carnage. The sharp-toothed hunger within her stirred, sinking its claws deeper into her as the last vestige of her patience was swallowed whole. She would take the power that was not given to her. She would crown a new king and usher in the Golden Age of peace that she had envisioned, or upturn the board and start this game anew, with the rules dictated by her and her alone.

Her lips had twitched as she recalled a girl, standing atop a rock, dictating to those beneath her the new rules of a new game.

That young girl had been rather good at that.

She would be too.

PLOT IDEAS:

THE GATHERING: The most difficult part about being a necromancer is the fact that everyone fears you. Levana is quite aware of the fear that she incites in people -- and the problem with wanting a major shift in power is you need support in order to make sure that the kingdom isn’t lost in total and complete anarchy. The best way to ensure that the shift of power has some control and stability is by having a group ready to take control when there is a vacuum of power. And in order to have a group with a shared agenda and mission in a monarchy, one has to have a figurehead to throw their support behind. First, though, she has to assess who is loyal to who -- or who, at the very least, can be swayed. Which means networking, connecting with people, communicating with them. This is going to be a rather difficult piece of her plan to achieve since the way that people connect with others is by emoting -- and she can’t do that anymore. It’s going to certainly push her out of her comfort zone and is going to be an interesting test that will force her to reflect how much she’s changed, and how she’s lost the ability to do one of the most human things: connect with others. THE REVOLT: I broke this up in two parts because right now I see two definitive ways for The High Priestess to incite a revolt (although this could totally clash with the plans for the rp, I would be more than happy to completely scrap these OR do them and have them fail). So I think, first, she would have to find someone to support -- because she would never ever ever be the face of a revolt -- if she were, it would be coming from a mage and that would throw a wholly different light to the war and it’s not one she cares to think about (much). First, I think that she would find two of the more malleable minds that are in line for the throne -- the World and the Chariot. Depending on which one she thinks is better for the position, she would talk to them directly and either enlist their help OR if they have something in the works already, try to push herself into a position of power within the revolters group so she can have a definitive say in how this is going to play out. THE FLOURISHING: Despite how much she’s grown with her power, there’s always an opportunity to grow even more. One idea that I keep on playing around with is mass resurrection. She’s been able to resurrect individuals with repercussions, but I think she wants to try and do more. The frustration with the limitation of her powers is beginning to grow more and more apparent, and I don’t think she’s going to be satisfied until she’s exceeded everyone’s expectations. Including her own. When she performs her magic, she gives everything she has into it, pouring pieces of herself until there is nothing left -- but it still isn’t enough. If she learns how to do this, the tides of war will be changed at her say-so. Why wouldn’t she want that? THE INSTITUTION: The Temple taught her a lot, there is no doubt. But it did not teach her everything and distinctly ties the power of the mages to this idea that they are either blessed/cursed and that they owe something to the Undying God for their abilities. However, the fact that there’s only one way of learning how to control something so personal and unique to oneself does not sit well with her. It makes her lips curl and coats her tongue with bile whenever she thinks of the waste that there must be -- how a mages power can be limited by such narrow-minded thinking. And I think that the Wheel of Fortune, the Moon, and the Hierophant are evidence of that -- that, though they study the arcane there is no need for their methods to be archaic. The times are changing and so should their perceptions of magic, their understanding and belief in the Undying God, and their perception of themselves. THE EVOLUTION: One aspect that I would like to explore with the High Priestess is her perception of herself because as she grows more disconnected with the humanity that there is within her, it’s only natural that she would reflect over whether or not this is the next stage of the necromancer. There is no other like them, so why aren’t they considered gods? Why aren’t mages revered for all that they do for those who are could be conceived as “lessers”? It’s a dangerous train of thought that I think she’s careening whole-heartedly towards and something that I think could take a dangerous turn for her. Her body is literally decaying and yet she can stave off death itself at the expense of others. Isn’t there something god-like about that? WHO IS GOING TO CHECK HER? THE AGENDA: Okay this is gonna sound ICKY but Levana is the type to utilize her resources and the thing about being an orphan is that no one looks twice at you. Which makes you an asset -- someone unseeable, someone who can listen with there being no threat. The Temple didn’t utilize the orphans as they should have, and I think that (if it’s allowable) Levana has no problem utilizing these resources and taking advantage of them. For every whispered secret, she gives them a coin or resurrects a beloved pet. For orphans who give especially prized information or promise their loyalty to her, she might even hold the possibility of resurrecting their parents above their head. No one gives to her without receiving in return. Besides, you can’t survive long at court without having a means of leverage or the assurance of mutual destruction.

CHARACTER DEATH: Triple dog fishy dare you to do it, coward.

- WRITING SAMPLE -

Another bawdy dinner -- lavish, opulent, and wasteful. Dark eyes drank in the scene before her, the court members whose mouths were stained red with wine, howling and cackling. The women of the night, scantily clad, flitting from one odious lord to another, shoving their breasts in the faces of those who seemed more like boars than men. Their wives drinking more and more so that they might pretend that they didn’t notice. Perhaps, in another life, she would have acted like one of the boorish men, drinking to her heart’s content until the room grew hazy at the edges of her vision and the smile became a fixture on her face. But not now. Not with this path that she walked.

Instead, all she could do was look on in disgust.

Every barrel of wine that was rolled in might have been used to pay for a bowl of stew for a child, Another bed in the orphanage. A bushel of wheat for a hungering family. The ingredients for a doctor to mix a rare salve that might soothe the growths on a suffering, aching face. Or, at the very least, they could have saved it for when the economy of the kingdom would assuredly crumble. But who was she to say? It wasn’t as if Septimus had the capacity to process an intelligent thought. Levana had a working theory that he had three main thoughts and they rotated between power, pussy, and potent wine. Anything more than that would throw him off and likely send him into a tantrum. She supposed it hurt his brain to expend itself in such a manner, which is why he would only be able to respond in the most barbaric way.

When he patted her hand to garner her attention, she wanted to let her lip curl and pull away -- but her body was slow to respond. Today was particularly vexing -- she had brought The Wheel Of Fortune to an orphanage and the two of them had set about practicing their animations on corpses. She was resistant, which had meant that Morrigan was forced to do the majority of the work.

It’s a shame that such intelligence was outweighed by cowardice.

Her limbs were weary and deft to her commands, choosing to listen when they wanted to, which meant that her movements were labored and slow. As a result, she had no choice but to sit, watch, and endure the putrid smell of the sweaty man who was unfortunately the crowned king. So she swallowed down the bile that coated her tongue and turned to him -- she had never been more thankful for her inability to show her disgust -- brow rising as she subtly pulled her hand onto her lap.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she apologized, playing coy as she tilted her chin down. It made her look as though she were batting her eyes at him, but the fumes of his breath made her want to gag. It was nothing more than an avoidance tactic that required minimal usage of her facial muscles. Morrigan’s eyes slid away from his. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your bloated sense of self-importance...”

Her voice wouldn’t carry in the room. It always seemed to fall away, giving out at the end before she could quite finish, fading into the noise, into nothing.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” He bellowed, shoving the poor drunken woman off of his lap as he leaned towards her. “SPEAK UP, MAGE.”

Against her own sense of self-preservation and thoughts for cleanliness, she leaned closer to the king, turning into his ear. “I said that your subjects will no doubt speak of the debauchery of their king.” It wasn’t exactly a compliment but it was the truth. Hopefully he would hear her over the sound of his own labored breathing -- she was curious to see what his reaction might be.

Septimus leaned back with a grin and looked at her, hesitating a bit as he tried to process what she was saying. Perhaps he was waiting for someone to tell him whether or not he should consider the words a compliment. He didn’t quite have the faculties to gauge it for himself. His eyes flickered over her face -- not quite seeing her and unable to interpret the micro-expressions.

It was like looking for fog within mist.

There was nothing to be found except further nothingness. There was something blissful about knowing that she could never be understood, that interpretations of her words and actions could never be understood correctly. Another beat passed and then another. Her mouth didn’t shift upwards, her eyes didn’t wrinkle in delight -- she merely looked at him as she waited for him to grasp her words. Then Septimus let out a loud guffaw and she inclined her chin, turning away.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you,” he howled, “I bet back in your day before you started wearing the ugly make-up and looking like death you could’ve used it for something too!”

“Yes,” she answers, eyes flickering back to him briefly. “I happily used it for making already small men feel smaller.” Her lip twitched, nothing more than a slight lift, before dissipating quickly. It seemed that her muscles were too tired for that, even. “To chew up bones and spit them back out.”

He certainly caught that.

He snorted derisively and waved his hand. “Don’t bring talk of death here, not tonight, Morrigan.” Ah, Morrigan. So he truly was done with her for the night if he wasn’t calling her m a g e. Tediously, she rose to her feet, nodding at the Wheel of Fortune to hand her the crutch, leaning against the wall. Levana’s eyes shuttered wearily as she rose to her feet, iron casts around her legs groaning and creaking as she righted herself.

The king watched on in boredom, not bothering to help as he pulled another woman onto his lap.

Levana turned around and bowed.

“Long live the king,” she sighed, a pretty little (little, nothing more than a light lift of her lips, barely-there) smile pulling at her lips as she bid him goodnight.

One could only hope that he choked on his own tongue between now and tomorrow morning. As she put herself to sleep she couldn’t help but smile as she thought of the sound of him choking.

EXTRAS

Anything you’d like can go here, whether that be a playlist, a pinterest board, some headcanons, or whatever you’d like to show us!

#accepted #accepted: the high priestess

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mrsedmercer · 5 years

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Steamy Love (A Tom Hiddleston x Reader) Part 20: ~Together~

Summary: Now that you're sleeping in Tom's room, the guest room is open. Time to see a good friend, but not before Tom gets his fix.

Warnings: *Slight lemon thrown in at the beginning.

Read it on my Wattpad: @/HiddlesStar

Word count: 1'920

Tags: @theoneanna @midnightdragonzero @drakesfiance @kcd15 @ihthr @deviantsendbyreallife @bookgirlunicorn

The first week of you and Tom publically being together was a rather amusing, yet positive one. Tumblr was still not over the public kiss, and your best friend certainly wasn't over the fact that you were in the same house as him, never mind sharing a bed.

"How long have you been sleeping in his room?" Your friend asked through your headphones, currently in a Discord call with them.

"Couple weeks now, really.." You smiled somewhat. "The other room is just kind of the guest room now.."

"Well, now I have a reason to visit for a week!" Your friend spoke in a happy tone. You'd really like for them to come down, actually. While you enjoyed the friends you were making here, you missed (BF/N).

"I can talk to Tom about it when he gets home, if you really want to come down." You gave a soft smile. Tom had gone out for Betrayal related business, so you were home alone.

"Does it feel weird referring to him?" Your friend asked curiously.

"Kind of, even after the last couple days.." You chuckled. "I don't even like using his last name. It feels to official and professional, like its a stage name.."

"It's his real last name, right?" They asked.

"Yes, of course it's his real last name. It's just, like...I call him Tom or Thomas or Big Dog, but if I use his full name, it's like I'm talking to a completely different person."

"It's like you're one of those female interviewers that just endlessly hit on him throughout the whole interview." Your friend joked, immedietly getting you to laugh.

"That's so accurate!" You laughed.

"Right?" Your friend laughed along with you.

After the long chat with your friend, Tom returned home with a couple pages of paper and some groceries he had decided to grab while he was out. You met him in the kitchen and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before helping him put some stuff away.

"How was the meeting?" You asked him, seeing the little smile on his face.

"We've made quite a big decision, but I'm excited for it." Tom admitted, his smile growing. "We'll be performing at the Harold Pinter for a couple months."

"Ooh, starting when?" You asked, getting his help with some of the top shelf stuff in the cupboards.

"March." He replied. That was rather convenient. You and Tom are supposed to wrap up filming just before Feburary for this film, so that gives him a nice little break before going back to work. That'll also give you two a chance to spend some real, quality time together. It already sounded wonderful.

"The theatre is back at home.." Tom smiled. "Will be nice, being able to sleep in my own bed."

"Bet you miss your dog, eh?" You smiled, getting a soft smile returned from him.

"I do." Tom nodded. "He's a good boy."

It didn't really occur to you now what him going back home meant. While you've come together now, your real homes are in different countries. Different timezones. When the time comes for you both to return home, would the relationship really last?

"Speaking of missing, I was wondering if my friend could come down for a couple days next week?" You asked, sitting up on the counter once all of the groceries had been put away.

"That's...(BF/N), right?" Tom asked, leaning against the counter somewhat beside you.

"Yeah! It's just...I haven't seen them in a while. They're super chill. They're not gonna freak out when they see you." You smiled, making Tom chuckle slightly.

"I'm not against it. This is your home, as well as mine.." He replied, moving more to be in between your slight open legs. "Though, it may be hard to keep my hands off you while they're here.."

You smirked, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. "That just sounds like something you'll have to deal with, big dog." You teased, getting a grin from Tom.

"Then you won't mind if I take you up against this very counter, right now?" He offered, your smirk turning into a rather surprised, and nervous gaze.

"Ah--" You chuckled nervously. "Th-That's s-so sudden."

"Mm. Maybe.." Tom hummed. "But if I won't get to ravish you for nearly a week, I should...feed my cravings while I still can.."

You liked the tone in his voice. He was rather friskier than you imagined.

*************Lemon lol****************

Next thing you knew, you were up against the kitchen counter, facing away from the much taller male with your trousers and your panties in between your legs, Tom's body pressed up against you from behind. His hips grinded up against yours with his length sliding in and out of you at the perfect pace, his low moans let out in your left ear. You never thought this position could be done well, but Tom definitely knew what he was doing. You could feel his pleasant heavy breathing on your neck, feeling him nip at your ear and cling onto your neck, his strong hands holding you up some.

In just a few moments, he finished deep inside you, a sudden loud moan escaping him as he tensed up against you. The warm feeling made you release a bit as well, a weak whimper leaving your lips. He carefully pulled out of you, somewhat relaxing against you. A little snicker escaped him. "F-Fuck, I can't get enough of you.." He panted, carefully helping him turn you so he could pull you into a deep kiss. You gave a warm little smile, cupping his cheeks and kissing him back. God, this relationship was both like a porn video and a genuine rom-com romance rolled in together.

************K ur good it's done************

You made sure to mention it to your friend the next day that they would be able to come visit, definitely not mentioning what had happened in the kitchen. In the next couple days, you helped them find the perfect driving route and entertained them as best as you could as they updated you on they're little road trip to you. Eventually, near the end of the weekend, your friend arrived at your front door. You greeted them with a big hug. You really missed them. You haven't seen them in months.

"Hey!" You smiled happily, pulling them into a big hug. "What's uuuuuuppp?"

"Heeeyyyyy!" Your friend chuckled, pulling back after a moment. "It's been too long, girl!"

You heard Tom come around the corner to see who had arrived, seeing you and your friend greet each other. When your friend pulled back from you, they noticed Tom, kind of taking a moment.

"Oh God, hi." They chuckled, placing a hand on their chest.

"You promised not to freak out." You pointed at your friend, giving them a disapproving, but playful look. That got a little chuckle from Tom.

"I'm not freaking out." Your friend gave a slight nervous smile. "You cannot get mad at me for needing a moment. Do you see who's in your living room?"

"Yes. My boyfriend." You chuckled, looking back at Tom. "My scruffy little man."

"He is getting a little scruffy, actually." Your friend pointed out, pointing at him with a friendly smile.

"Ah. Thank you for noticing." Tom smiled, stroking the facial hair that had begun to grown around his mouth and along his jaw. His hair was even starting to grow and curl up at the back of his head. It looked really nice.

Tom walked up to meet your friend as they got their shoes off, holding his hand out.

"Hello, I'm Tom.." He greeted them, though they already knew his name.

"I'm (BF/N)!" They chirped, politely shaking Tom's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Tom smiled. "A good friend of (Y/N)'s is a good friend of mine.."

Your friend couldn't help but smile brightly. They were probably a bigger fan of Tom than you were, before you became close with him. I mean, you didn't even recognize him when you first met.

"Let me show you your room!" You spoke to your friend, helping them with their bags as you led them to the guest room. Once you were both inside, your friend closed the door

"Girl, you get to wake up to that?" Your friend spoke in a soft tone, wanting to stay quiet.

You chuckled. "I know. He's so hot.." You agreed. "I still can't believe it sometimes.."

"Holy shit.." Your friend fanned themselves comedically, making you laugh. "Is he growing all that hair out? For real?"

"He said he wanted to change up his style. I really like it." You nodded, helping your friend go through their luggage so they could take out anything they needed later without having to go digging for it.

One of your friend's favourite hobbies is photography. In fact, Another reason why they came down was to find some nice sight seeing areas. Maybe she'd even take some pictures of you. Or, better yet, of Tom.

"I really wonder how long it'll all grow." You spoke, still talking about his hair.

"He kinda likes to change it up every now and then, eh?" Your friend smiles, getting up to help you with their photography equipment. You gave a soft nod. "He's been getting a lot of compliments whenever he joins my streams. He really likes the chat."

"I watched a video that were, like, stream highlights of you two. Y'all are cute."

"We really are.." You nodded with a big smile. "He's great. I honestly feel like he makes me feel things that I've never really expected to feel in my whole life..."

In more ways than one.

"Oooh, think you're falling for him?" Your friend asked with a playful little push. You gave a soft, bashful laugh.

While you knew they were being playful, hearing the question aloud actually gave you a strange feeling in your stomach.

You haven't thought about it much, but you've been with Tom for nearly 2 months now. You spend plenty of time together on and off set, you make mad amounts of love nearly every day and you feel genuinely cared for. He's treated you like royalty lately, and you've truly never felt or seen this level of devotion and passion in a relationship before. Not Ever. Not until now.

"I'm..." You paused for a minute, giving a soft smile. "We haven't really gotten there yet, but...I really care about him."

Your friend returned the smile. "Well, y'all are cute. That's all that matters right now." Your friend replied, focusing all of the attention on their luggage for a little longer.

"Yo, (Y/N)?" Your friend suddenly spoke up again after a couple minutes.

"Yeah?" You looked at them, raising a brow.

"What the hell is 'Leg Day'?" They asked, looking rather confused.

Your cheeks immedietly got a little pink. You had remembered in the last live stream you did with Tom, he mentioned the infamous High-Rise 'Leg Day' inside joke you two had created in regards to the first love scene where Laing lifts Charlotte's legs up. He had referenced the joke while talking about how Zero Suit Samus fights in Smash Bros. Ultimate. He didn't explain it, though, keeping the inside joke as an inside joke.

"Umm.." You paused again. You really weren't sure how to explain it, or even if you should explain it. It was a bit...personal.

"Well...it's..."

#tom Hiddleston #tom hiddleston lemon #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom Hiddleston fanfiction #steamy love #fanfiction #fanfics

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