#mariana stepping up to be a (practically) single parent

[avacadokin]

ok with juanaflippa fucking dying again and tilín dying i am,, less interested in qsmp, possibly by a significant amount.

i understand that the eggs were intended to be temporary but i just cant be invested anymore because i can't make myself hope for a happy ending anymore and the constant repeated tragedy is boring and unsatisfying because it replaces so many potential interesting diffrent arcs with the same oh everyone is sad now because their egg died and any hope is crushes

like the arcs dont even have to have a happy ending (tho i personally prefer them a bit) as long as they fucking exist! like slime's fucking eggxile means less cuz theres no longer the tension between will he get better and save his daughters best friend so they can be a happy family or will he keep making everything worse accidentally. because there's no happy family hope anymore so the loss of that hope doesnt hurt as much

this point is honestly mostly just a preference thing but i was so looking forward to some lighthearted (with angsty undertones) couples therapy arc with slime+mariana and a custody battle arc over tilín to contrast the heavy angst but now there's mo way in hell the therapy arc is happening (and luzu's shit trying to bring back tilín actually seems really cool so i am being a bit mean lumping them together) and it all seems to be heavy heavy sadness. variety is important!

i really want to be invested in all of this but if its not gonna be silly goofy happy and it's not going to bee satisfying what's the point?

angst is cool angst is fun! but it cant be all that, and having it all angst makes the angst less angsty

juannaflippa coming back wrong from hell and the trauma she seems to have experienced down there is never going to be explored, it's never gonna be more than an oh that sucks too footnote, cuz she just immediately fucking died

im probably overreacting to this and they don't have the luxury to plan everything out in advance perfectly cuz of the nature of the challenges and stuff and cuz rolling with and expanding on unexpected stuff is a huge part of the charm, but im just afraid things will just keep going worse and worse and there'll never be a break or fun cuz the intense angsty drama is what gets the most attention and it is their livelihoods so they do have a very strong incentive to go after it even if it (in my opinion ) reduces the overall quality of the experience

[echotunes]

Slimecicle characterization: (sorry this is a bit long)

* Mainly referred to as slime but close friends (Wilbur, Philza, etc.) almost exclusively call him Charlie

* He makes up slime related words a lot and will just make random noises

* Makes up songs a lot/ will replace lyrics of existing songs to whatever he finds situationally appropriate/ funny

* Does both goofy humor where he laughs at himself/ along with others and dry humor where he plays everything totally straight

* “Yarf/ I’m gonna yarf” (throw up)

* “My bones!” (When hurt)

* Doesn’t use emoticons in messages, no caps unless it’s the full word for emphasis, single messages with punctuation if needed (chat example: “we won the war. (qsmp)” vod 35:45 you can see his chat history with Foolish)

* He has a really extensive vocabulary and when making jokes will always switch up the phrasing/ use synonyms so as to not say the same words repeatedly

* He will make jokes to himself/ quietly and if no one heard it then he might repeat it once more but never more than that

* He makes himself the butt of the joke a lot, especially with new people. Only when he’s super close friends with someone will he makes jokes about them

* Literally king of the bit. Will take any opportunity to continue a bit or make a new one (breaking Roier’s windows, calling Phil old, getting “stuck” in the ghost maze)

* Mf is both easily distracted and laser focused, often at the same time and rarely aware of his surroundings

* He almost never responds to being hit when people are trying to get his attention, especially if he’s having a conversation with someone else (in general if he’s having a one on one convo with someone he’s practically blind to anyone else)

* Doesn’t move around when talking to the point that someone may leave his view and it might take a few seconds for him to move to see them again

* Despite being highly social he doesn’t like interacting with large groups that have multiple conversations going on (most likely cause it’s hard for him to pull focus) - he’ll often ask others to step to the side

* *After leaving a group* “I can finally hear myself think”

* He’s isn’t super knowledgeable about minecraft so isn’t aware of a lot of mechanics. He plays almost exclusively to hang out with people and doesn’t enjoy doing things alone

* Will play into his own ignorance for a joke - typically comically over exaggerated

* He’s super grateful for gifts and if it’s something that directly benefits him (amour, food, supplies) he’ll always ask if the giver is sure

* If he’s around quackity there is an extremely high chance of him getting manipulated

* Boy has pipes and while yes this does make him a good singer it also makes him a really loud screamer

* Loves to be silly and goofy and then pulls out the most gut wrenching angst/ trauma you’ve ever had the misfortune of witnessing

* When in serious situations will entirely drop any jokes and talks very sincerely/ more soft voice

Specifically QSMP

* Canonically can shape shift

* Was kept in a cage as a child and had abusive parents and multiple other siblings who are assumedly deceased

* Thinks very lowly of himself and doesn’t think himself deserving of any kindness shown towards him since accidentally killing Tilín

* Is an alcoholic and self harms (uses a taser to electrocute himself when he feels sad… which is often)

* Loves his family more than anything and actively talks about how much he misses them every time he streams

* Fights with Mariana are more humor based - like what’s the most absurd thing that can be said

* Repeats eggs’ names a lot when talking to them

* There’s natural gas in his mine that makes him hallucinate and forget things

(I definitely went a bit overboard with this so feel free to pick and choose what would actually be useful for the cheat sheet. Hopefully there’s some helpful stuff here 💙)

!! ty so much anon! I'm not much of a Charlie viewer so this is a big help I'll make sure to add it to the doc

[sannylity]

your Artistic Director x Prostitute AU for Slimeriana is soooo good had me pacing around my room while i read it ! do you have any other idea or information about it ?

Hmm… Aside from what 💫anon has added in another ask, I really like the idea of how Mariana fell in love first with Charlie (since Charlie’s been dealing with horny men for a long time, he is more guarded), so when it was at the point where they have to start practicing for the play, Charlie’s character has a love interest in it.

For the first few practices, it doesn’t go well. Not because Charlie can’t act, he’s perfect. But because Mariana is bothered and he knows exactly why.

He can’t stomach Charlie pretending to be in love with someone else. Let alone, the intense kissing scene is his final straw to stop the whole practice and suddenly place himself on Charlie’s partner scene.

Mariana had his fair share of roles on stage before, he can very well play to be Charlie’s lover. Maybe even more authentically too.

And since everything the infamous artistic director says goes, Mariana steps over to play Charlie’s love interest. He has never taken advantage of his position before until now.

But as much as it makes him giddy that not only is he back on stage, but also performing alongside Charlie, that little stunt didn’t bode well to leave a better impression on Charlie as a person.

Since Charlie’s not had the best relationship with men, especially with his job where he gets paid to be degraded, slapped, marked, spat on, Mariana’s display of power left a sour taste in his mouth.

And for that, the few practices of them together doesn’t go well either.

It wasn’t until by some stroke of (good or bad luck), when Mariana finds out Charlie is a single dad and meets his adorable daughter, did things started looking up for them.

Mariana and Juana clicked instantly, which was a shock to Charlie. He didn’t think Mariana would be good with kids but there’s an immediate connection between him and his daughter and it puts him more at ease with Mariana after that. Because usually, being a single parent is already frowned upon whenever he tries to start a relationship with anyone.

It’s the first time someone looked at his daughter and saw admiration in his eyes.

That’s when Charlie fell back in love.

The more Mariana spent time with his daughter, his feelings only kept growing.

Practices became much better, as a result. Even naughty and wild, as they get handsy in dressing rooms, on stage, backstage, lingers on certain romantic scenes.

The cast and crew who has worked with the artistic director for years has never seen Mariana so fun and carefree and happy. It’s a breath of fresh air, honestly.

[scnguinehealer]

STATS.

full name: luna mariana verity

age: twenty8

gender & pronouns: ciswoman, she / her

sexual orientation: pansexual

species: witch

birthplace: london, england

affiliation: tbd coven

occupation: apothecary manager @ herb & spice apothecary

MISC.

positive: intuitive, compassionate, witty, enigmatic,

negative: reckless, stubborn, altruistic, calculating

moral alignment: chaotic good.

mbti: isfj - the nurturer

enneagram: 2, observer.

BACKGROUND.

oh, let me tell you about little miss luna verity.

born to a single mother, her birth father left her mother shortly after finding out that she was a witch. luna was raised the coven’s resident baby, growing up with a host of surrogate parents and an eclectic personality to boot.

the apothecary, that her mother owned, luna was raised in from practically her birth. she knew everything about what was sold and ran through there. she knew how to brew potions, craft herbal remedies, and heal before she hit teenhood. truly, she was coming into her own as a young witch and her mother couldn’t have been more proud.

(tw death) tragically, her mother was killed under still unknown circumstances. so her aunt stepped into raise her along the rest of the coven members. her aunt took her place in the apothecary, and luna is forever grateful for the older woman in her life.

college saw luna pursuing a dual major in history and chemical engineering, at oxford of all places. she traveled for a year after graduation, which is how she ended up in raven's peak. a trip to the town in search of her mother's lineage in the ravenlock family lead luna to landing a job at the local apothecary, a perfect fit for the now grown witch.

since, she’s worked as a healer for the local populace on the down low, as well as helping craft various spells, potions and the like to help aid where she can. she also manages the apothecary, and loves helping supernaturals and humans alike. she enjoys what she does and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

personality wise, she’s plucky, quick on her feet and always has 6 other back up plans in case the current plan she’s running with fails. she carries herself with a casual confidence, and has never been afraid to go toe to toe with anyone twice her size (which at 5’4”, can be a good number of people). she’s got a heart of gold, a dry sense of humor, and terrible lack of self preservation. let’s have some fun, eh?

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven's Peak, Patches, we're excited to have you! Luna Mariana Verity (Florence Pugh, witch) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

OUT OF CHARACTER 

NAME: Patches PRONOUNS: She/Her AGE: 25 TIMEZONE: CST TRIGGERS: None!

IN CHARACTER 

FULL NAME: Luna Mariana Verity SPECIES: Witch AGE: 28 DATE OF BIRTH: October 30th, 1995 GENDER IDENTITY: Cis Woman NEIGHBORHOOD: Cherry Heights OCCUPATION: Apothecary Manager WORKPLACE: Herb & Spice Apothecary POSITIVE TRAITS: Intuitive, Compassionate, Enigmatic NEGATIVE TRAITS: Reckless, Stubborn, Altruistic LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: Six Years FACE CLAIM: Florence Pugh 

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: death

oh, let me tell you about little miss luna verity.

born to a single mother, her birth father left her mother shortly after finding out that she was a witch. luna was raised the coven’s resident baby, growing up with a host of surrogate parents and an eclectic personality to boot.

the apothecary, formerly a tea shop, that her mother owned, luna was raised in from practically her birth. she knew everything about what was sold and ran through there. she knew how to brew potions, craft herbal remedies, and heal before she hit teenhood. truly, she was coming into her own as a young witch and her mother couldn’t have been more proud.

(tw death) tragically, her mother was killed under still unknown circumstances. so her aunt stepped into raise her along with the rest of the coven members. her aunt took her place in the apothecary, and luna is forever grateful for the older woman in her life.

college saw luna pursuing a dual major in history and chemical engineering, at oxford of all places. she traveled for a year after graduation, which is how she ended up in raven's peak. a trip to the town in search of her mother's lineage in the ravenlock family lead luna to landing a job at the local apothecary, a perfect fit for the now grown witch.

since, she’s worked as a healer for the local populace on the down low, as well as helping craft various spells, potions and the like to help aid where she can. she also manages the apothecary, and loves helping supernaturals and humans alike. she enjoys what she does and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

personality wise, she’s plucky, quick on her feet and always has 6 other back up plans in case the current plan she’s running with fails. she carries herself with a casual confidence, and has never been afraid to go toe to toe with anyone twice her size (which at 5’4”, can be a good number of people). she’s got a heart of gold, a dry sense of humor, and terrible lack of self preservation. let’s have some fun, eh?

EXTRAS

FILLING CONNECTION: no INSPIRATIONS: pinterest board here!

[ahmedmootaz]

For the writing, How about some fluff between Donald and the kids? :)))

Dear Anonymous,

Hello! I did it! Hah! Take that, laziness, I wrote the thing someone requested!...Yeah, sorry about that. The whole delay. Both to you and to everyone who kindly sent me requests. As said before, short things aren’t my style, so I hope you enjoy this!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468854

Do share your thoughts with me, if you would so kindly do that. I like receiving feedback.

Oh and for those of you that don’t want to go to Archive Of Our Own, here’s the magical Read More button:

Ah, McDuck Manor. It was a wonderful place, really. Its rooms were almost endless, the hallways spanned on for miles, and the collection of mostly lethal items and antiques that got expanded every other day certainly made it unique in a sense. It was where Donald Duck had spent most of his childhood, and it was often a pretty, if empty place.

Perhaps this was how monarchs envisioned their castles. Spotless, massive, elegant. Or perhaps this was...this was...oh, forget it! He wasn't good at descriptions anyway. What mattered was that this manor was large, expansive, eye-pleasing, and basically was everything Donald never had for the last twelve or so years. Though it was rather lonely at times.

Not the current times, however, as now it was privy to the footsteps of little paddles running around in it all the time, and Donald couldn't be happier about it. After all, who wouldn't be happy seeing his favourite little nephews running around happily in their new home? He still used his house-boat, admittedly for no real reason other than how hard he worked to get it, but the children were more than happy to stay in their new home, a castle in comparison to where they lived before.

Of course, Donald didn't get to see the kids much these days, what with their mother returning and all. He still couldn't believe it. Twelve years. Twelve years stuck on the moon because of a giant termite just had to rattle a dust storm. He honestly had to admire his sister's ability to not murder the thing and whatever hellspawn it had the moment she could. He would've. Maybe. Probably. He was still prone to fits of rage, but he felt the rage would've been justified at that moment.

Disregarding that, it was truly miraculous how the triplets loved Della so much. Duh, she was their mother, but they never saw her for twelve years. Not one single time. To them, she was the ghost they never asked questions about or he'd just remain silent and give whoever asked a glare. He truly feared that they may never get used to her as family. Luckily, however, a few near-death experiences and some adventures later, they learned to love her as what she truly was: Their mother.

At first, it alleviated some stress off of him, but then he realized he still needed to remain as mentor, not to the children, but to Della. She was doing a fine job, learning when to discipline and when to let things pass, but he still had to intervene to stop her from convincing Huey that crossing a piranha-infested river wasn't all that dangerous.

Still, whatever critiques he gave Della, his beloved sister had grabbed the boys' attention for the time being. He couldn't blame them; both as someone new and the person they longed for their entire lives, she was certain to outshine Donald as the parental-figure for the moment, something that he absolutely had no issues with. No issues at all. Nuh-uh. What, was he fifteen? He could handle being outside the lime light for a few weeks. Months. Whatever it took.

-"Yep...no issues whatsoever...", he mumbled to himself, listening to his distorted voice as it plopped unceremoniously with no echo. He was sitting in his house-boat's living room, situated in Scrooge's pool. He had to swallow quite a bit of ego to bring the boat this far, not because it necessitated Scrooge's help, oh no, that was the easy bit. The difficult bit was seeing the fact that his uncle's swimming pool was bigger than the boat he struggled to purchase.

Well, whatever. He could handle that. He handled many other situations that jabbed at his ego and you didn't see him crying. Not on the outside, anyway. He tapped rhythmlessly on the couch he sat on, sighing as he did so. Today was a slow day. A very slow day. No adventures, nothing that needed fixing, and Della seemed like she wasn't intent on putting herself in a life or death scenario, oddly enough. He was supposed to be happy about that, but honestly, it just bored him to death.

It wasn't as if the kids somehow left him and only sent him greeting cards, either. They, alongside Webby, saw him everyday, talked with him, but somehow...he felt like a third wheel. He didn't want to force himself in, but even if he wanted to, what would he do? He never had to go to the kids, they always went to him. He was watching something on his T.V. and trying to focus on it. It wasn't Ottoman Empire, surprisingly enough, it was something about...Uh...The African Penguin's migration to the island of Mayotte to save the world from the evil Lepoard Seals...? He rechecked the program. Ah. It was a movie. And here he was thinking it was a documentary.

Donald was a fan of movies. He really was. But today, he wanted to move and do something. Anything He thought about that last sentence for a split-second before deciding he'd do anything that isn't life threatening. Last thing needed was for Scroo- sorry, Unca' Scrooge to somehow read his mind and send him down the Mariana Trench to search for some old treasure. He still needed to remember that he was living with his uncle again, and as such, politeness was due. Even in thought, because you never know when you'll think out-loud.

 Knock Knock KNOCK!

He suddenly jumped. Well, not quite, he still ended up on the couch again, but he turned off the television, wondering if Mrs.Beakly was going to tell him he accidentally put an omelette on the mansion's cooker and then headed for his house-boat. He really didn't need to spend the afternoon putting out a fire before it reaches some mysterious artefact that shouldn't be touched. Not again. But at least it'll be something to do. He took a few quick steps, turned his door knob and opened it as quick as he could.

-"What is it, Mrs.Beakl-", he started, having thoroughly convinced himself that this was the situation before noticing nobody was in front of him.

-"Down here, Unca' Donald!", huh. How odd. She lost height and lost her deeper tone. He moved his head down, suddenly realizing the past conclusion was probably made by some part of his brain that decided intelligence is for losers. The red hues immediately told him all he needed to know. It was Huey, accompanied by Webby, an overexcited smile on her face and her eyes practically glowing. She was cute, but also...unnerving?

-"Oh, Huey.", he brought a hand to his forehead, suddenly feeling very relieved he was not going to spend an afternoon putting out a fire. "What brings you here? Do you need more information on the Marines? The Navy?", he asked, bringing a smile to his beak.

Admittedly, his time in the Navy was cut short because his sister suddenly disappeared into space, swallowed by the unknown dark abyss, and so he never really got to experience most of the...fun action the Navy got itself into these days. Still, he had enough knowledge to satiate Huey's thirst for information, and Webby's too, if the way her pupils dilated was any proof. He felt smug; he still had it in him.

-"Well, not really, I needed some help inside the mansion. I need someone to hold me some test subjects so that I can confirm whether or not the temporal anomalies the building sustained throughout the time changed the surrounding gravity or not. It would certainly explain why I've been having difficulties with liquids far more often now.", the younger Duck started, losing himself in an explanation that Donald tried to simplify into simpler terms. Huey's intelligence was most certainly gained from his mother's side. It wasn't that Donald was dumb, per say, it's that Huey was smart. Too smart for any duck his age.

-"Okay then.", the older Duck replied, happy to be of help. He took a few steps forward, closing the door behind him. Expecting a nod of acknowledgement from Huey, it was Webby instead who started speaking.

-"Hello Mr.Duck Unca' Donald sir!", she jumped in front of him, somehow managing to stick the landing and continue on walking backwards. Donald loved Webby. He truly did, as any responsible adult would love a girl her age with such a bubbly personality, but he couldn't ever shake off the feeling that there was something a little...off in her. He always shrugged it off as her superior training, and so he did at this instant. He wasn't one to make the poor girl feel alien, she already had difficulty with everyone else. "While we're on our way to test the stability of the mansion, do you mind telling me what the world's greatest adventurer did in the Navy? How many bad guys did you beat up? Did you have to stop Glomgold or Magica in the Navy? Did you fire guns? Are dreadnoughts still in action?", she shot question after question at the overwhelmed sailor as they entered the massive house.

-"Well...uh...I mean, they still have battleships. We don't have dreadnoughts.", he began, following Huey to the triplets' room. "As for my work...I had training. Aim-improvement firing sessions. I think I had an encounter or two with those chumps in The Navy, but it didn't really change anything; they still lost, after all.", he boasted, taking in Webby's amazed glare as he entered Huey's room, having gone up the stairs that lead to it.

-"Alright Unca' Donald, hold this tube for me, alright? Tell me if anything happens to the water inside it.", the cap-wearing duckling handed the former-sailor a tube of water. He was expecting it to be a bit more...interesting, but as he stared at it, he found nothing. Just a tube of water. "Now this could take anywhere from an hour to two, so if you think you can't do it-"

-"What? Pffft, of course I can do it! I can do anything!"

-"That's mom's catchphrase.", a lazy voice announced from his bed. It would've made Donald jump had he not been used to it. It did, however, ruin his dramatic affirmation.

-"Well, yes, but since I'm her twin, I have the right to use half of the things she says, Louie.", his uncle answered, not without some dignity. The hoodie-wearing duckling slowly rose from his bed, laying his laptop beside him as he stared at the sight unfolding in front of him.

-"Do you have legal documents for that? Because I believe you may have just broken a copy-right agreement, which could allow one to sue for monetary compensation...", of course, con-man that he is and trying to be sharper than the sharpies ever since Unca' Scrooge told him he can be, would find a method to make money out of this. Well, he was certainly impressive, Donald gave him that. In fact, every one of his nephews was impressive in his own way. But Donald also had methods to impress people.

-"Your mother still doesn't know why the gas pipes exploded two weeks ago.", he bluntly stated, and yet his nephew kept a wide, if forced smile.

-"Yep, that'll be all the documents I need. By the way, do you really want to teach your cute little nephews how to blackmail?!", he obliged, feigning shock at the end of his sentence.

-"Louie, I have literally learnt how to blackmail from you. Also, isn't it blackmail if you threaten me with a lawsuit for a catchphrase? I don't really think that has much legal basis.", came the reply, shutting down the last argument the cunning duck could hold onto.

-"Yeah, okay, fair point.", and that was that. For the moment, anyways, Louie would always fund something to argue with, and Donald would just have to find a counter-argument. Somehow. It has gotten a bit difficult these days, but Donald loved a good challenge. Well, actually, he didn't, but he dealt with them all the same.

-"Any new results, Huey?", the perky, energetic voice of Webby asked as she ran around, fixing some tubes and...balls attached to ropes? It was only now that he realized how unconventional the contraptions Huey set up looked. It was basically gears, nails, and various building materials cobbled up together to make a sort of...measuring device? And that was the least worrying one; the entire room was filled with makeshift machines of all shapes and sizes.

-"Nothing yet...If you could steady your hands Unca' Donald, that'd be great.", he said absently, prompting Donald to turn the tube in his hand a few centimeters. Well, he went from doing nothing and watching T.V. to doing nothing while watching his nephews. That had to amount to something.

-"Wow, you're really just going to stand there for Huey so he can prove that it wasn't his super shaky hands that made him spill the milk this morning, aren't you?", the smugly lazy voice of Louie called out, now under Donald. He'd heard him going down from his bed.

-"My hands are *NOT* shaky, Louie!", the older triplet yelled, outraged by such preposterous claims.

-"Okay, Doctor Butterfingers.", his sibling teased, keeping a neutral face. Donald knew that was what got to Huey; the teasing, he could somewhat handle, but Louie's lack of expressions simply made his mockery get to Huey more easily. Luckily for the inhabitants of Duckburg, Duck War One-Thousand and Whatever could wait, as Donald was there to interfere. For now.

-"Actually, I will. It's a bit unwieldy, but I'll do it for the greater good!", there. A nice, dramatic statement, that should prevent the 'Do you really want to say that' ultimatum. Man, he really had to be a diplomat someday.

-"I don't think you'll call it the greater good when Huey realizes he just has butterfingers.", the little schemer whispered to his uncle, and suddenly, a very dark future flashed in front of his eyes. Well...all in time, he supposed. "Still, I guess you must really have one heckuva patience to just keep holding this tube.", he continued, this time a bit louder before adding under his breath 'uselessly'.

-"Well, yes, I am the most patient person in the world, no? I couldn't dream of starting fights with even the most annoying of people.", the older duck proudly claimed before making an expression that clearly told Louie to shut up about the four-digit number of times he lost his temper. It was better than being five-digits, at least.

-"Yeah, yeah, whatever.", the green-wearing duckling dismissed without second thought before picking up his sentence. "Still, I guess the mad scientist over there has reason to trust you; you are pretty reliable."

-"Aw, Louie-"

-"Extremely reliable in fact!", Huey intruded on their chat, lifting his head from the calculations he was calculating. "I mean, really. Unca' Donald was there for us the entire time; remember that one time in the house-boat when the plumbing stopped working all of sudden and you tried going to the-"

-"Please, for the love of all that is Holy, remember any other time I was useful. Just not....that!", the once-calm sailor begged, his voice filled with dread and his eyes going blank. Well, that's untrue; he still had pupils, but he just wasn't...there. Lost in his flashbacks. The Great Toiletening. The horror.

-"Oh, right...forgot that we don't talk about it...well, either way, all I'm saying is that we really do appreciate what you do! Even if we never really talk about it. Or thank you.", the smarter duckling reflected, bringing a hand to his beak.

-"Well, it's the thought that counts!", Webby chimed in, positive as always. She was right. To an extent. A lot. Okay, maybe she was right, but Donald didn't have to let her know. He wasn't a mind reader, and so he appreciated whenever people spoke their mind to him.

-"I mean, yeah, she's got a point, doesn't she, Unca' Donald?", ah, Louie. Every time Donald thinks he cannot get any more smug, he goes and proves him wrong. "But I guess I should say thanks for everything. Even though you didn't buy me that self-refiling can of Pep Gyro offered...Hey!", he objected as his uncle ruffled his head-feathers with his free hand, a smile on his beak.

-"It was going to go evil and try to strangle us in our sleep and you know that.", he bluntly stated, keeping his smile.

-"I still think it was worth a shot.", the con-man replied, moving towards the room's door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a new method of getting richer than Uncle Scrooge, and I'll be accomplishing it by six in the evening.", he declared, opening the door to a beaten Dewey. "Dewey.", he nodded, passing by him.

-"Louie.", his brother nodded in return, waiting for him to close the door behind him. He looked horrible; a few scratches scattered on his face, his feathers were pointing in all directions, and his left eye felt less...firm than the other. "How much to you guys want to bet we'll have to save Louie from a demon or something by six?", he asked, pointing with a thumb to the door behind him.

-"What on earth happened to you, Dewey?! It's not even three in the afternoon and you look like you crawled out of the grave!", Donald yelled, heading over to the energetic duckling, almost spilling the water in the tube. "Are you okay? Can you see with your left eye? Did you disinfect the wounds?", he shot question after another, trying to judge the severity of the injuries with his free hand.

-"Yeah! What happened to you, Dewey?! Don't you know that the demon-scheme was last week? This week it's the 'Try-to-trick-a-rich-man-scheme'! We'll probably have to discuss some silly law-whatchamacallit with a bunch of angry lawyers by five at most!", Webby happily corrected him, looking just a teeny bit oblivious to Donald's source of worry here.

-"I'm fine, Unca' Donald. It's nothing big, mom was just...y'know. Doing mom stuff. Teaching me how to fight with the wilderness of the forest. It's no biggie.", the daring duck tried to deflate his uncle's worries, waving his hand nonchalantly, as if this was some regular occurrence he had to deal with. He failed.

-"Your mother took you to fight the wilderness?!", he repeated, grabbing his nephew's shoulder with his spare hand and trying to keep the other tube balanced.

-"Oh, come on, Unca' Donald, it's just basic stuff to learn!", he argued back, trying to shrug his shoulder before he winced from the act with an 'Ow!'.

-"Wha- Is your shoulder hurt? Did you encounter bears? How did you fight them?", he kept asking, barely giving the self-proclaimed adventurer any time to breathe.

-"I-It's nothing, just a bad landing, that's all. I mean, we were fighting bears, wolves, and flying beavers with nothing but our wits and bravery, the Heros of the For-Hey!", he tried to finish his sentence, only to be dragged by the sailor to his bed and forced to sit on it.

-"Oh, what am I ever going to do with your mother!", he grumbled, taking the first-aid kit they kept under the bed for emergency situations and trying to manipulate it with his one hand. "She just...she just thinks it's some jolly old fun to bring you over like it's nothing! Like you'll just bounce back from a fifty-meter jump and be okay!", he kept ranting himself as he took out some bandages and started unpacking them before heading to Dewey and starting to cover his wounds.

-"Heeeey! I told you I was fine, Unca' Donald.", the duckling huffed, unable to resist his uncle's medical aid as he kept putting bandages wherever he could reach. "And...Mom's trying her best, you know. No reason to get all mad, y'know...", he added, looking both offended and embarrassed.

-"I know she is.", Donald softly mumbled, putting the last of the bandages. Dewey's face wasn't too far from a mummy at this point. "It's just...sometimes her best isn't the best for everyone, and it's not her fault but...I'd rather you don't get mauled by a bear, Dewey.", he explained, taking a step back and paying attention not to let the tube in his hand tilt. Last thing he needed was to stand there again holding a tube full of water because the first one got spilled.

-"Yeah...me too, I guess.", he conceded, rubbing his arm and trying to chuckle. Donald responded in kind, trying to make his nephew be more at ease. "But she's so cool whenever she does it. How she kicked that bear and then it just turned over and winced in pain.", he dreamily recounted, looking to the ceiling before coming back to reality.

-"She kicked a bear and it just turned over?", Donald repeated, baffled; he knew his sister was strong, but weren't bears made for fighting harsh fights? Layers of fat and all that?

-"Well, I didn't get to see the fight in all its glory, but all I saw was that she flipped over the bear, managed to go behind him, and then she...kicked...", the young adventurer clenched his fists, enthusiastically recalling what his mother did until the realization dawned on all of them. 'Oooooh', was all he and Donald could say for a minute.

-"I don't understand. What did she do?", Webby asked, tilting her head as she carried some machines around the room.

-"O-Oh, it's nothing, Webby. Nothing at all.", he was lying through his teeth. Donald knew she knew. But as long as he wasn't the one who needed to tell her, all was going to be fine. "Ahem...Regardless of her strategies, you're not going to be your mother in one day, Dewey. De-, uh, sorry, your mom is an extremely talented person, but she also...slips. She needed years of broken bones, internal injuries and other injuries to reach where she is now. All I'm saying is that you can learn it all from her the easy way without breaking your neck. I know, not very fun to you,", he paused to add under his breath 'somehow', getting a glare from Dewey, "But it's what I think is better. You don't have to prove anything to us, you know.", he finished both talking and applying some extra bandages, looking at his nephew.

-"I can't promise anything; I can and probably will dew anything.", the blue-shirted duck began, receiving a sigh, "But it makes enough sense. I guess I don't have to be the star of every adventure, but...eh. Maybe I can sit back sometimes. The world needs a break from my awesomeness from time to time.", he finished, flashing his titular proud smile and forcing Donald to hold a smile, making the former's smile drop a bit. Oh, the world needed a break from Dewey alright. Just not for those reasons.

-"Yeah, Unca' Donald has a point, mom means well, but a bear's teeth are stronger than good will.", Huey added, though almost absently as he kept tinkering with the various machines throughout the room and re-reading his notes, as proven by his late response. "This just...this just...It doesn't add up! NONE of these numbers add up! The conclusion...it's wrong! Incorrect! It...It...", he yelled, almost unable to form a coherent sentence at the end. Oh, no. He was going into another rush of his. "Show me the tube, Unca' Donald!", he ordered as he made his way over to his older relative, who tried to remain calm. He did not succeed too well.

-"Uh, Webby? Did...did Huey take some sugar? What's going on in here?", Dewey asked the enthusiastic young duckling, who followed Huey to the triplets' bed.

-"Oh, it's nothing. Huey's been researching the surrounding gravity of the mansion to make sure it didn't change gravity or anything after it nearly got destroyed a couple dozen of times with us inside it!", clenching her fists and raising them to the air, her enthusiasm would've been infectious if Huey didn't look on the brink of a meltdown.

-"Riiiiight...", the blue-shirted triplet processed as his brother practically ripped the tube from his uncle's hand. "And he's doing this becauuuuse...?"

-"Oh, well, he spilled his milk this morning.", she immediately answered, reflecting on her words. "Yeah, not the best incentive, but it's for the greater good!", she confidently boasted, turning to her research-partner. "Right, Huey?"

-"The...The water's okay? How is it okay?! WHY IS IT OKAY?! I NEED TO KNOW!", said research partner was currently yelling at a tube of perfectly okay water, as any great man in history did. His eyes bulged and he ground his beak, looking ever so close to that breaking point.

-"Uh...Listen, Huey, I wasn't there this morning...but is a spilled milk cup really worth all of...this? Your hand probably just slipped. I spilled my milk last week, too.", well, that wasn't exactly true, but Donald didn't have to let them know that he mixed up which hand was holding the cup and which one was holding the brush. In his defence, he'd just woken up and...yeah, that was the only thing he could say for himself.

-"No, you don't understand! I've been pouring myself a glass of milk every morning for three years! I mastered a technique of holding the bottle and the cup for three years! What if I needed this technique for a dangerous artefact...or...or...Or maybe so Scrooge's keys don't fall down a drain! What if I needed to fly a plane with this knowledge and it fails me like it did now?!", ah, how Donald loved Huey's rants. He was just so passionate about the things he did. If there wasn't a chance of him picking up a knife or some other dangerous object and going around on rampage with it, he'd have encouraged him to do it more. No pent up feelings and all that jazz. It was also threatening that his left hand had a screwdriver that looked just a bit too sharp to be waved around.

-"Well...when the time comes to that, you'll come up with a solution. I know you will.", he smiled encouragingly, making his ranting nephew look at him and eyeing the screwdriver in his hand. "But sometimes, a glass of milk is just that. A glass of milk. There's no bigger meaning behind it most of the time and you don't need to beat yourself over it.", he argued, slightly snapping Huey out of his momentary madness. "And that's uncle Scrooge to you, Huey."

Well, yes, there were times when knowing how to play the guitar saved him and his family, and screwing that up would've killed them all, but in the end, you need to prepare yourself mentally for when the time comes, and not by beating yourself for every small or big mistake. There are times for that, but this was certainly not one of them. Donald would know. He did it as an emo teenager. Man, he missed those days. Why did going emo fall out of fashion?! It's all about gothic movements these days, and he wasn't about those clothes.

-"I...Yeah, you're right.", the mad-scientist in Huey gave the wheel back to his rational self. Thank goodness. No new paint-coats for this screwdriver. "Sometimes a glass of milk is just that. Milk.", he repeated, taking the tube out of his uncle's hand and letting the water fall. "Thanks, unca' Donald. I needed that. Don't know what came over me there for a moment.", he too smiled, allowing the houseboat sailor to pat his shoulder.

-"Bah, don't sweat it, Huey! We all had this moment when we went on an insane scientific adventure to prove something that's probably unreal because we...uh...Yeah, I can't dig myself out of that one.", Webby admitted, slumping near the end of her sentence as she suddenly looked a bit tired. Helping Huey all day on his quest probably wasn't the easiest thing to do today. The quadro of ducks shared a laugh.

-"C'mere, Huey.", the older duck held his arms out, allowing his nephew to nestle in for a hug. He gestured to the two other ducklings.

-"GROUP-HUG!", taking advantage of the situation, Webby grabbed Dewey's arm and threw the both of them onto the sailor, who felt the air get knocked out of him for a moment as the two ducklings slammed into his stomach. Regaining his breath, he wrapped his hands around the three duckling around him.

-"Okay that's enough.", Dewey was the first to pull out, never one for too much emotional content when he didn't need it. The other two slowly pulled out, looking satisfied.

-"Welp. I guess it's time to clean this mess up.", the former mad-scientist in Huey was now firmly dead, it seemed. He let out a sigh, looking at the various contraptions he had set up in the room.

-"Don't worry about it, Huey, we can help you out. Not like I'll be doing much like this, anyways...",  his brother gave him a pat on his back, pointing with his other hand to the various bandages that covered his face.

-"And I can help you, too! I want to get back granny's knives and laser guns, you know.", the young Vanderquack chimed in, looking cheerful as always, but a bit more down-to-earth now that the experiment she was assisting in turned out to be a bust. She pointed at a strange device that was, surprise surprise, made with various knives and what looked to be laser guns tapped together. What was even the point of that thing? To look science-y?

-"Ah, goodie, I think I'll help, too.", Donald added, trying to encourage this little aide-circle. He didn't really want his nephews to live in what looked like a madman's dump, which...for a few hours, it was.

-"Actually...I think you'd better prepare to try and bail Louie out of a lawsuit.", Huey suggested, starting to pick up the papers and small machines that covered the floor.

-"Oh, come on, Huey, I'm certain Louie is smart enough to not get himself into much trouble!", even before the older Duck finished his answer, the room's occupants began laughing. Oh, what a scenario that would be. Louie, not getting himself into trouble while searching for fortune. What a joke. "Yeah, okay, you're probably right.", he finally concluded, heading to the room's door and opening it before turning his head back, "Now, if you kids need anything, you can tell me, alright?"

-"Yes, Unca' Donald.", the three ducklings replied in unison with their usual boredom to his patronising acts. Ah, how he loved that tone of theirs.

Closing the door behind him, Donald started going down the stairs, taking in a deep breath. Well. This wasn't really the way he thought he'd be spending his afternoon, but you know what? It wasn't like he was complaining. A small bonding session with the boys was as good as any, after all, and the little motivational speech at the end? Mhmmmm, peak uncle performance right there.

Good job, humble Donald, you did well. What, he was allowed some sort of internal pride, wasn't he? If Gladstone could do it externally because he's lucky, then he could feel some pride for being a good uncle. He hoped. Well, thinking about it now...a good uncle wouldn't have let Louie go get himself into trouble...Hmm...

Well, maybe he wasn't a perfect uncle, but with his uncle and sister promoting this adventurous life-style, there was only so much he could do. Besides, people learn when bad things happen to them. He just had to hope nothing too bad happens, which, luckily, it doesn't. Most times.

He shielded his eyes as he got out of the building and had his eyes blinded by the sun and thought back to the smiles Dewey, Huey, Louie and Webby gave him. What he would do to have them smile like this all the time. Take that, Della, today, Donald had won the...uh...race? The contest of who's a better parent-figure? Well...all of them were good parent-figures but...Oh, forget it! What mattered was that he felt he did something good today and that was it.

He basked in that feeling of pride for a moment, opening his houseboat's main door before noticing a small green figure running towards the mansion from an enraged older man. What worried Donald wasn't the situation; it was that whatever Louie did, it made this man, who couldn't have been any younger than eighty, manage to wake his dormant muscles.

Well, he thought, guess it's time for more uncle-business. Ooooh, that was good. Maybe he could make it a catchphrase and actually copy-right it.

Whenever he calmed this older gentleman, of course. He took a step forward, readied his mind, and mentally prepared to save Louie from a butt-kicking. Yep. Typical Tuesday, alright, and he couldn't be a happier uncle about it.

[skgway]

1829 Jan., Tues. 6

5 3/4

10 1/4

At my desk at 7 20/60, having been 1/4 hour further and finally preparing for M– [Mariana] 

“Thank you, Sibbella,” (letter wrote on Sunday) for your 1st letter this year (which I received this morning) and for your so kindly wishing me to be happier every succeeding year, than the last – Perhaps my best hope is, that the circumstances, ‘that caused you unspeakable misery have been those that have led you step by step to the prospect’ of all the good at present in your view – 

For the last 8 or 9 years of my life, I have had nothing more sincerely at heart, than your happiness – This gained, much is done towards my own – Not to be easily reconciled to any plan that really and securely promotes your welfare, would argue a degree of selfishness of which I should be ashamed – While your scheme is merely in theory, we may possibly differ in opinion; – But the moment I see it put in practice, and realizing your hopes rather than my fears, I shall be reconciled, and satisfied – 

The reasonable persuasion that we are ‘spending a life of usefulness,’ will do much to make us contented in any case – To a mind like yours, is it not half of what is requisite to make you happy? I do not attempt to guess at what you may possibly allude to – You will tell me when we meet; and I shall endeavor to be patient” –

Account of her health better than I should dared to expect – No doubt Mr. Long will on every account do his best –

“I only wish, there was not such a perpetual prolongation of the time required. But the curtain seems a little drawn aside by the following sentence, ‘he shakes his head, and says, you never will see Paris’ – I cannot ‘calculate his influence – If it be paramount, I hope it is for good” 

. . . . think the climate of Paris mistaken – My aunt after 2 1/2 years residence cured of a host of complaints that hourly threatened her life in England – 

“I shall not be in town till next month (I have delayed my return, and shall continue to delay it, by every possible excuse, as long as I can), and, by the time you reached your journey’s end, the fine weather would be awaiting us – But may you decide according to the wishes, and advice of those best able to advise; and heaven prosper the event! 

I shall be delighted to have you with me, disappointed to leave you behind, but perfectly reconciled, and perfectly satisfied to be thus disappointed, if it be for your good – What gives me greatest pleasure, is your occasionally having your uncle with you – I do not quite understand your correspondence being promised for you by another, without your leave; but I am persuaded, it will give so much pleasure to your correspondent. ‘Tis possible, your time might not be better employed – 

‘I have many surprising things to tell you’ – Would that you had that one thing to tell me which occurs to me at this moment! Would that your life of usefulness were on behalf of that one for whom I am interested on your account! I am more than half persuaded, you do not yet know me well enough to be aware how deeply I am anxious for all events to work together for your good – 

‘Yes! I do guess what passed in your mind, but think not of it’ – I will endeavor to take your advice, but do not promise more – I trust, however, that these pages will not leave upon your mind any impression which is not as cheerful, as you yourself would have it – 

No! No! Sibbella, it shall not be I who throw one momentary shade across the brightness of your prospect, be that prospect what it may – But may its brightness be no fictitious glare that, like the ignis fatuus, lures but to deceive! If your plan be good and true, God speed! 

Yet why, Sibbella, this sentence? ‘I feel assured you will not like this plan, but I may in time reconcile you to it’ – I am more anxious about you, than you think; and it will be a comfort to me to see you” – 

Glad she approves my plan of being in the same house with her – Shall not care 2d [pence] about having a fire in my bedroom –

“Tell me, if you think it ‘no joke’ to be kept 1 month longer under Mr. Long’s care, what do you think it to be ket 3 months longer, with the prospect of still delay upon delay? Is it Mr. Long’s opinion, that you can live entirely in London, or that the climate of Mull, or Edinburgh, or any part of Great Britain where you can conveniently settle, is better than that of Paris?

It grieves me to hear of your coughing so much ...... Long may you have ‘the thanks and blessings of all sides!’ But what is love that thus amuses some, bewilders most, and recompenses few? How often ‘tis an idle dream, an empty sound, a charm that worse than lulls to sleep! In such a case, how difficult to give advice, how difficult to take it! 

But you will think the air of Shibden makes me prosey – Perhaps you may think right – Or these may be some lurking ever that Mr. Long’s infallible should remove – I hope to see you in about a month – May your health be better and your plan be good, and may this year, and every succeeding year be happier than the last!” 

Mention expecting M– [Mariana] a today for a week or 10 days – If I send a box or 2 of books has Miss McL– [MacLean] room for them? Mention the account of my aunt and her getting about – 

“It will be a sad disappointment to her, if you do not return with me – But may you do what is best! My own opinions shall never be selfishly opposed to yours, on any subject – I never think of you but to wish your happiness, and am always, Sibbella, very faithfully and affectionately yours A[nne] L[ister]”

At 8 25/60 sent off by Jno [John] my letter (vide yesterday and Sunday) to “Madame Madame Barlow, Rue des Champs Elysees, No [number] 6, Paris” and my letter as above to “Miss Maclean of Coll, 13 Nottingham Terrace, New Road, London” – 

Vide Miss McL– [MacLean]’s letter received on Sunday 

“Your last has left a deep impression on my mind almost of sadness – You said nothing I can assure you in your 2nd last that caused the slightest irritation of feeling – You know I have long, long considered myself consumptive – And do you suppose, I could feel any vexation that others should know it . . . . . . Then banish the thought from your mind, – And do not say I write on ‘relentless’ – 

Yes! I do guess what passed in your mind, but think not of it – I have many surprising things to tell you when we meet – Most singular have the circumstances of the last year of my life been, and perhaps the very events that caused me unspeakable misery have been those that have led me step by step to the prospect of spending a life (if I live) of usefulness – 

Not less, than in former years tho’ far different – But is still only in imagination I feel assured you will not like this plan, but I may in time reconcile you to it – If ever I put it in practice, which does not altogether depend on me” –

Her cough bad – Got cold from the hot rooms of her friends, and could not refuse the pressing invitations – Always gets cold at Lady Stuart’s – Lady S– [Stuart] “is I may almost say, an inveterate enemy to Mr. Long” yet said on seeing her last “well, you really are looking much better” –

Thought her spirits so good she must be “feigning”

“but I really feel so free from oppression in my chest, and that heavy feeling in my side quite gone, it has given me an indescribable cheering feel” –

All her friends raise objections to her going before for

“3 months yet, they say it will be doing both myself and Mr. Long injustice at such a season to go. He shakes his head, and says, ‘you never will see Paris’ – After a little discussion he says, ‘Well, in 3 months you may go’” – 

Rides out with him every day in his open carriage – He says it is absolutely necessary for her health, and she receives much benefit from it – 

“The most affectionate brother could not be more careful of me. I am engaged in a love affair. All parties have put the concern into my hands which is rather a bother, tho sometimes amuses me most exceedingly. I have as yet the thanks and blessings of all sides, but how it will end it is yet impossible for me to say – 

Assure yourself I am going on well, but slowly . . . . I wrote to Miss Hudson a few days ago – Mr. Long without my leave made a promise that I should” 

Vide my aunt’s letter received on Sunday, received my letter and enclosure on the 29th ultimo – Quite well – Had been to call on Mrs. B– [Barlow] “and walked up all except the last flight of steps to her apartment” and on the 28th returned “accompanied by my kind friend Mrs. B– [Barlow] I went to the ambassador’s chapel, and received the sacrament” –

Thinks I shall not be back before February – And that M– [Mariana] has “done well to make up the breach between her parent and friend, it will be a satisfaction to herself” – Sure of liking Miss McL– [MacLean]

“I only wish any feelings of partiality she may possibly have for myself, may not be entirely on your account – As to how long, or how short a time we may remain here, circumstances must determine – I shall, I hope, never wish to do anything, that may not be advisable at the time – another year or 2, is a long time to look forward” ..... – 

Wrote all the above of today, and had just done at 9 10/60 – Breakfast at 9 20/60 in 20 minutes – Went out at 10 – Met Throp in the road near the entrance gate) returning from planting 4 single trees (elms) in Charles H– [Howarth]’s field opposite to Pump and 2 ditto (beeches) in Jno [John O– [Oates] field opposite Dove house – 

Went with him then planted 2 single sycamores in the Allen Car, and then 4 beeches at the top of the wheat or wood field behind the barn – Then about 11 3/4 set off to H–x [Halifax] to meet M– [Mariana] stopt by the way and paid for my 2 pair shoes at Booth’s – Ordered the trespass act then called at Whitleys, Mr. Briggs’s office – Not in – Would send John – 

Then went to Mr. Parker’s office – Should like to know how soon the church money could be paid – would be a great convenience to have it by the 10th instant – This could not be Mr. P– [Parker] thought but might get it soon – Would lend me ￡700 (had it in the bank) till I got paid the church money – Much obliged – Might perhaps avail myself of the offer having a considerable sum to pay – 

Surprised to hear the coal bought of Wilkinson – The agreement signed on Friday by Holt – Brought it back with me – Hurried off to the Pineapple – There at 12 1/2 by the church – The mail should have arrived at 12 20/60 – Did not arrive till 12 40/60 – The man at Bradford would not have the horses sharpened and they had 8 or 9 men to help them up one or 2 of the hills – 

M– [Mariana] arrived – Walked home – She had been up all last night and had nothing to eat this morning – Had cold mutton and a glass of wine and went out with me a little before 2 – Along the walk in the fields M– [Mariana] planted 3 beeches near the brook in Lower brook Ing opposite Wellroyde.

Then went to Wellroyde brow wood where the wallers are preparing for planting a quickwood fence, then got it the new Northowram road sauntered past upper brea, then returned by Goldey and Benjamin’s B– [Bottomley?]’s and came in at 4 40/60 – 

Sat talking – Dressed – Dinner at 6 20/60 – My father and Marian came between 7 & 8 – Came upstairs at 8 20/60 – Looked over the coal agreement – To pay ￡40 per dayswork ￡100 down on excecuting the purchase 2 February next – Then looked at the list of proposed rents brought by Jno [John] from Mr. Briggs – Leaving out the advice on Marsh, upper place, and nearly the whole advice on Lower place, should gain by Mr. B– [Briggs]’s valuation – seventy six pounds a year.

Went down to coffee at 9 – M– [Mariana] and I came up again at 9 1/4 – Wrote the last 7 lines – The ground white this morning but more with frost (tho’ not severe) then snow – Very fine winter’s day – 

𝜋 [Pi - Mariana] very fond of me I am persuaded. Sitting after dinner explained why Steph thinks of leaving York. A profound secret even to the family. No field for his talenn [talent] o[r] variety of practice. The rich pay ill and the poor cannot afford to pay and he lives at great expense – 

Major and Mrs. Bailey parted. He could live with her no longer and left her in Paris recently – She seems almost even now an abandoned, headstrong criminal woman – He to allow her ￡210 per annum – 

Told M– [Mariana] I had no fire at night – Got up between 5 & 6, and lighted my fire then – Began on this plan with M– [Mariana]. She looks pale and thin – Rest will do her good –

[riaflicke]

Heya! I'm Rebecca. Looking forward to meeting everyone and throwing Ria into the Gallagher fray! Open to any connections. [est]

⌠SAMARA WEAVING, 24, FEMALE, SHE/HER⌡ MARIA “RIA” FLICKE! according to their records, they’re a SECOND year, specializing in LINGUISTICS, CULTURE, & ASSIMILATION; and they DID go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (parisian brand perfume, click-generating stilettos, a daydreaming, distracted gaze). when it’s the (gemini)’s birthday on 6/6/1996, they always request their CEDAR PLANK SALMON from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 

Spyhood was always Ria’s destiny whether she knew it or not. Raised by a single mother that was always on the move, she found herself somewhat resentful and stubborn to the way her life was going. Her mother would never give her any details on her father except for a vague “you got his nose”, nor would she truly explain why they were constantly moving. “It’s a work thing, you’re too young to understand.” Frustration and confusion grew to become defiance and resistance, and the foundation of her personality was laid. Ria Flicke was a total brat. Through and through. She never got answers to her questions, so she grew to be someone who would pester and pepper her mother with question after question - each slightly different than the next - to try and get something different.Then high school came. Ria’s mother told her that she made the difficult decision to send Ria to boarding school. “It’s not your fault.” She had assured, citing the constant moves and changes as “unhealthy” for Ria’s development. While she had the school picked out, Faircrest Academy, her mother informed her that Ria would need to interview for it. And for once, Ria wasn’t defiant about it. This was her ticket out. This was the taste of freedom she had craved year after year.  The interview was par for the course, the exam a simple aptitude test, but something didn’t feel right. If this was supposedly so prestigious of a school, why did it feel like a cakewalk to get in? Why did it feel like her acceptance had already been signed, sealed, and delivered? And what was it about the primary interviewer that looked so damn familiar.A few weeks passed by and Ria was requested back for a final interview. With her mother in tow, she went to the office the academy had been using for the interviews. It really was quite boring, sterile even. It looked as if someone took an office decor manual and checked off the most popular option for each finish and piece. Glass walls, cool toned white tile, it really could be anywhere at all and for anything at all. Soon she would learn this was the plan all along. “We have to tell you something,” her mother began. “We?” Ria sounded perplexed.  “Yes,” the interviewer said. Kennard Bowman was the name Ria recalled.  “Leon,” her mother coaxed, non-verbally urging him to soften his tone with a subtle hand wave. “Leon?” Ria echoed. The man looked at her mother, then Ria, and the story began. He explained to her how he and her mother met years ago in London, through work, and how they had fallen in love. On paper, the two were even technically married; although in practice, they had to act like each other didn’t exist.  “What kind of job is that fucked up that you can’t have a normal life?” Ria asked.  Leon sighed, “Well, all things considered, we probably shouldn’t even be telling you any of this - so you need to swear to secrecy.” “Okay, okay, now get on with it.” “We’re spies, well, I still am. Your mother retired from the force once we realized she was expecting.” “We…” “Yes,” Leon repeated. Ria frowned, “Well, why couldn’t you be around? Why did we have to move all the time?”  “I’ll correct you, I was around, hidden in plain sight. Spies are masters of disguise after all.”  It did explain why there was an air of familiarity around him, “And the moving?” “It was to keep us safe,” her mother explained. “I may be retired, but having been in quite a few high profile combat situations, you need to be careful. You never know when our foes will decide to seek revenge, especially since Leon is still actively involved.” Ria pursed her lips, “Is this school even a real thing? Was this just some fucked up way to tell me about my real dad? And she’s right, I do have your nose.” “Language,” her mother sighed. Leo wove his fingers together, leaning forward slightly. “Quite the contrary. The school is very real, the purpose, well, it’s beyond education. It’s a preparatory school.”  “Preparing for…?”  “Spyhood. Your mother told me you’ve become quite conniving, and the very fact that you have both of our genes, I think you’re probably cut out for the pace of life as well.”  “Who says I want to be a spy?” Ria argued. “You don’t have to become one, this is just the first step, a trial period so to speak.” And the rest was history. Ria easily found herself falling in love with the lifestyle spyhood offered. It was shrouded in secrecy, lies, and dripping in luxury. You could be anyone and everyone but yourself, but you had to be smart about it. And that was what kept her invested - the promise of a luxurious life. Sure, the missions and what have you were important… but so was the travel. So were the grand locations. The different cultures. The identities. After her time at Faircrest, she took a few years to continue to learn the lore, speak to her mother and father (begrudgingly), and truly become immersed in everything. It was her “pre-college” so to speak, and she did a semester of traditional college in person - doing the rest online. Even though she hadn’t gone on any missions, it was time she wouldn’t have traded for the world. Now to today, to her time at Gallagher. Her appetite for the luxury of spyhood never faded, so she easily chose linguistics, culture, and assimilation as her major with no question. Without turning back. And she was good at it, but it came at a cost. Many people thought of Ria as flighty, dishonest, someone who was wearing a mask - and paired with the bratty teenager attitude she never managed to shed - it made her someone tough to like… But wasn’t that one of the hallmarks of a spy? You didn’t want to make friends. You had to leave your life behind and restart it more times than you could count… but there was always a yearning to have something. Someone even. If her parents did it, why couldn’t she? {Parents: Mariana Flicke & Leon Calder}

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The Crossing (Disuphere series #3) Chapter 34

Scene VIII: If I Loved You

“Can it be my turn now?” Francesca asks, with her hand raised.

“Sure,” Dominique nods.

“Um...I don’t know what to say…” Francesca admits, giggling.

“That’s okay.  Would you maybe need a hand on my front steps, since there’s no railing there?”

“Mm-hmm,” Francesca nods.  “So….” she continues uneasily.  “I’m not sure if this is one of those things you said or not,” Francesca looks to Dominique.

“Accommodations?” Dominique clarifies.  “That’s alright.  You can always bring something up.  If it’s something you need, we wanna help you get it.”

“Well, like...I don’t really need-need it,” Francesca admits.  

“We wanna hear it anyway,” Dominique encourages.

“It’s just...could you guys wait for me?  But not like, the way that you’re so annoyed about it, I mean, like, walk the same speed as me, so we’re all the same and nobody gets left behind because that hurts my feelings, and--”  All Francesca’s words are out in a rush.  She seems almost frantic.

“Hey.  Buddy.  It’s okay. Breathe,” Jesus cues, and Dominique’s a little shocked when Francesca does.  Drawing in a slow deep one and letting it out.  “When we’re together, we’ll walk together.  Or at least two and two, so no one’s last.  Will that work?  We don’t want you to have to feel stressed about keeping up with us.”

“Definitely.  We’d never leave you behind,” Dominique promises.

“Would you get mad that I’m slow?” Francesca checks.

“No,” Mariana says, certain.  

“We don’t want you to worry about keeping up.  We want you to be able to enjoy what we’re doing.” Dominique says.  “It’s gotta be hard to do that when you’re worried people are gonna get impatient with you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you slow down, though?” Mariana asks Francesca.  “It’s hard to keep up when you go so fast.”

“I feel like I have to talk fast, and I don’t know how to slow down because I just feel like everybody’s tired of whatever I say, so I have to go fast before they don’t care anymore, and plus I always have to go fast anyway, or people get mad--” Francesca seems fit to go on forever without taking a single breath.

“Pause,” Jesus says calmly.  

(Dominique has no idea what this is, but she’s shocked when Francesa not only stops but breathes again, deliberately.)

“You don’t have to talk fast,” Jesus insists softly.  A bit more slowly than he usually speaks.  “You don’t have to, because we care about what you’re saying.  We wanna listen.  We wanna hear you.  Just like you don’t have to walk fast with us?  You don’t have to talk fast, either.  We’re here.  We won’t leave.”

“I don’t know how…” Francesca says, sounding tearful.

“Okay.  Come here with me,” Dominique offers.  “You want to?”

Francesca nods.  Gets up.  Accepts the hand Dominique’s offering and they walk away far enough that they have some privacy.  Sit on a bench that’s not Avoidance but not the rest of the world either.

“You’re having a hard time with this,” Dominique observes.

“Yes, because Mariana needs me to do something I can’t do, and if I can’t you guys might kick me out of the group!”

“Babe, listen to me, okay?  The only way we wouldn’t ask one of us to join in?  Is if that person were mean on purpose.  If you make a mistake, that’s okay.  Forgetting for a second is okay.  Trying as hard as you can and not being able to do something the first time?  That’s okay.  Slowing down takes practice.  Especially when you’re used to spending all day trying to keep up.  Trying to get people to see you for who you really are.”

Francesca nods, wiping her eyes.

“Your brother and sister and me?  We see you.  You don’t have to work so hard with us.  It can be easy.  It’s okay to take your time.”

“I literally can’t, though.”

“You want me to show you?”

“No teasing?” Francesca checks.

“Zero teasing.” Dominique reassures.

“Okay.”

“Okay.  What helps me...is to practice...putting in really obvious pauses...every few words,” Dominique demonstrates.  “You wanna try it?”

“I’m shy…” Francesca admits, looking away.  “Like everybody’s looking at me, knowing I messed up and I can’t fix it, and I can never fix it--”

“Count to three in your head,” Dominique cues gently

Francesca does, mouthing “One, two, three.”

“Good.  What were you saying?”

“I can’t fix it?” Francesca offers.

“You’re worried if you can’t do everything like you should, we’re gonna leave you out.”

Francesca nods.  “It’s what always happens.”

“But we’re working on it together,” Dominique encourages.  “I know it’s really hard to let your guard down.  To be who you really are inside, instead of who you need to be at school or at home.  But everybody needs a place they can just be them.  You have that with us.”

Francesca studies the ground under their feet.  “It feels not-real.”

“I bet,” Dominique nods.  “When you don’t have something you need and suddenly get it?  It’s hard to believe it, right?”

“Mm-hmm.  I wish you were my sister,” Francesca confides.

“I wish you were my sister,” Dominique echoes.  “I think Jesus and Mariana are so lucky to have a little sister like you.”

“Really?” Francesca asks.

“And I think friends can be family, too.  If they wanna be.  I think we can choose who we let close to us and inside our lives.  I’d really like you to be in my life.”

“I don’t have to get everything right?” Francesca asks, skeptical.

“No, you do not.  No one gets everything right.  In order to be family - at least for me - all it takes is practicing being a safe person.  Listening, believing, respecting, not teasing.  Mistakes are okay.  That’s how we learn.”

“Life is really hard for me,” Francesca admits.  “Because of how nobody is a safe person.  Not even my moms…”

“You have safe people, babe.  You have Jesus and Mariana and me.  And tomorrow, you’ll get to meet my parents.”

“Are they safe?” Francesca checks.

“I think so.  I got pretty lucky in the parent department,” Dominique smiles.

“I got pretty lucky in the sister-department,” Francesca allows, leaning against her.  After a minute, she pulls back:  “Do you think I used up my turn?” she asks.

“No.  Like I told Mariana.  There’s time.  There’s time for you, too.  A lot of it.  As much as you need.”

They stand together and walk back to the table.  Jesus and Mariana are there talking.

“Hey guys,” Mariana greets.

“Hey, sorry.  I practiced slowing down for you…” Francesca admits, ducking her head.

“You did?” Mariana asks, touched.

“Yeah, so I can do the thing for you now.  You know?  Help each other?”

“I’d love that,” Mariana smiles.

“Is it still my turn?” Francesca asks.

“It is,” Jesus nods.

“Okay so...um...what if...I don’t know what I need...until later?” Francesca wonders.

“This is a conversation that’s always open.  We can always add more to it.  It’s not like once we stop talking about it today, we can never do it again.  So, if you think of something later you can bring it up.  To Jesus, Mariana or me.  Or to my parents.”

“They let you talk about that stuff?  Like, without getting mad?”

“They do,” Dominique nods.  “They’re cool.”

“Okay.  I think I’m done for now,” Francesca admits.

They pause for a bit, and then Dominique looks to Jesus.  “Do you wanna go next?”

[ficdirectory]

Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

Jesus is totally present.  Totally focused.  Totally here.  And yet, somehow, he’s none of those things.  All he knows is Brandon flipped some invisible switch.  Jesus is in full on manimal mode, because Brandon’s stupid face is just right there, and Jesus has to punch it.

Brandon’s lip is split.  His cheek is gonna bruise. But somehow, despite years of lifting weights, and Brandon’s years of not lifting weights, he gets the upper hand.  Jesus is on his back, and Brandon is wailing on him, screaming:

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve had to give up because of you?!  My dad isn’t even allowed in this house because of you!  Because you can’t tell the difference - in your freaking traumatized head - between a good guy and a sociopath!”

Jesus is ready to go for round two, but hands are pulling Brandon off.  Callie’s yelling, “Brandon!  That’s enough!”

On his feet, Jesus’s eyes flash and he takes a step, ready to knock Brandon to next week, but Mom’s between them.  She warns Jesus back with a look - the only person who could stop him in his quest to beat Brandon’s ass.

Jesus’s head clears in time to see Brandon walking away.  Hear the door slamming.  Frankie crying.  

Damn.  He really messed up this time.

Callie’s still here, should Mom need her, but he sees their silent conversation.  Catches Mom’s shake of the head, dismissing her.

“I need you,” she says with an intense firmness, “to sit down now.”

He does.  It’s not until he does that Jesus realizes he is shaking.  Mom is not messing around.  She squats in front of him (a bit lower on purpose) so that her face and her eyes are right there to focus on.  He drops his gaze.  His adrenaline’s still surging, but he’s fine.  Just bruised his knuckles.

“Focus on me, Jesus,” Mom says.  “Push your feet down into the floor.  Square yourself up.  Hands on your knees.  Head up.  Breathe.  Slowly.”

It’s like Mom’s on repeat because she doesn’t stop until she is sure as hell that Jesus is present.  Then, she addresses him.  “That can absolutely never happen again.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he murmurs.  It’s the single hardest word for him to say.  He almost never can, except that Mom needs to know that he is listening.  That he is taking her seriously.

“What if Frankie was there?  What if she tried to break you two up before I got there?”

“I don’t know,” he manages.

“Mama mentioned you said you wanted to work on your triggers.  That she offered our help.”

Jesus nods.  He remembers the conversation, and Mama asking later, if she can share it with Mom.  He remembers nodding.

“Part of being in a family, being our son, and being human, means you can trust Mama and me.”

“Mom…” Jesus can feel his ears burning.  He’s heard this.  It’s embarrassing that she thinks he needs to hear it again.

“I can see this is making you uncomfortable, Jesus, but I need you to hang in there with me.  This is important.  Can you listen?”

He nods.  Wills his ears to stop burning.

“You can trust us and you need to be able to trust us to keep you safe.  I understand that as a very little boy...and later...you’ve had experiences that have made trusting adults very hard.”

“Yeah.”  Jesus swallows.  Nods.

“I need you to know that this is different.  Mama and I will be here for you.  We’ll help you.  We have never hurt you and we never will.  It’s our responsibility as your parents to keep you safe.  But with six of you, we don’t always catch when you’re in distress.”

He can’t help it.  He shrugs.  Jesus is so used to that.

“It’s not no big deal, love.  It’s the biggest deal.  You and your brothers and sisters deserve to have us there when you need us.  But to do that, we need to know you need us.  So, I want to talk about an option with you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?  Are you still with me?” she asks.  

“Yeah.  I am,” he says.

“Okay.  First, with you and Brandon, can you pinpoint any warning signs that you were under stress?”

Nod.

“Okay.  You don’t need to share them if you’re not comfortable.  I just need to know that you recognize them.”

Nod again.

“Talk to me, Jesus.  Yes?”

“Yeah.”  (Sometimes he gets in the habit of nodding, and without even realizing it, he’ll be a million miles away in seconds.  Good thing Mom knows that.)

“So, I want to practice something with you, when you’re ready.” Mom says.  Jesus wonders if her calves are in agony from popping a squat for that long.

“Practice what?” He can’t keep the wariness out of his voice.  (Not when He talked about so many obscene things using common language.)

“Calling for backup.”

Jesus breathes a sigh of relief.  “Like police?”

“Kind of,” she smiles.

She talks him through it.  How cops never go in a dangerous situation without backup.  Same goes if a regular situation turns dangerous.  She talks about how it will serve a dual purpose: it will alert Moms that he needs them, but it will also send a message to whoever he’s having a hard time with.  Literally: “Back up.”

They spend a ton of time on this.  She has him practice saying it, regular volume.  Then calling it out.  They even do a mock trigger.  They find Mariana in the girls’ room and ask if she has bracelets that don’t jangle. And can she pretend they do?  It’s so ridiculous, he can call for Moms, no problem.

Mom brings him back to the couch.  He gets focused again.  And Mom’s serious.  “Mama’s been talking to B out back.  We need to speak to both of you about what happened.  Can you keep it together while we do that?”

“If I can’t, can I call backup?” he asks, wondering when exactly this new thing will be put to the test.

“I would prefer that to a brawl, yes,” Mom nods, and then sends Mama a text.  They come in the back door and sit across the room.  Mom stands.  Doesn’t miss the way Jesus pats the empty space next to him on the couch.

She sits.

Jesus can see by Brandon’s bright eyes that he and Mama have been having some real talk.  She always manages to get to the heart of something - to get people to open up - even if they’re a vault like Brandon.

“This is very serious.  We do not condone violence in this house.  It’s part of what keeps us all safe.  So I need you,” Mom turns to Brandon, “to stop antagonizing your brother.”  

“I didn’t even say anything and he jumped on me!” Brandon denies.

Jesus is on his feet, eyes flashing.  Mom is, too, at his side, like an angel on his shoulder.

“Backup,” she cues.

“Back.  Up.” Jesus insists, over-enunciating each word.

“I’m right here.  Can you sit back down?  Breathe?” Mom reassures, while Mama appeals to Brandon.

“You want to rethink that and try again?” she asks softly.

“I was just kidding around.  Nobody gets my humor…” he pouts.

“Do either of you want to tell us what was said?” Mama asks.  “To precipitate this?”

Jesus looks Brandon in the eye.  He doesn’t care to rehash it.  Their fists did the talking.  Jesus wouldn’t recommend it, obviously, but sometimes a good ass-kicking clears the air.  Jesus shakes his head.  So does Brandon.

“So, Jesus, I need your word  No more physical violence, yes?”

“No.  Yeah, I promise.”

“And B?” Mom turns to him.  “Whatever you said?  Never again.”

Brandon nods.  It’s the first time Jesus can remember that Brandon’s been put in his place by Moms about anything.

That night, after dinner, Jesus is on his laptop, trying to think about what to say to Ethan.  So far, he has:

Ethan-

Not a great start.

“What was that about earlier?” Mariana asks.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he manages and then kicks himself mentally.  Why, every time that she brings herself to talk to him, does he shut her down?

He wants to say “Sorry, come back,” but no words come.

Jesus is up late, just staring at his laptop screen. Trying to figure out how to fix everything.  Brandon walks through at 11:00, ice cream drumstick in his hand.

He couldn’t do it with Mariana, but maybe, with their fight clearing the air like it had, Jesus can talk to Brandon.  He still hates what Brandon said, but looking at his busted lip helps a lot.  (It’s everything Jesus wished he could do to Him.)

Jesus doesn’t talk about losing his mind and pounding Brandon’s face in.  Instead, he asks about one of the things he said, mid-fight, that Jesus can’t figure out:

“What’d you give up for me?” Jesus asks, when Brandon’s almost to the stairs.

For a beat, Jesus thinks Brandon will just ignore him and go upstairs, but he backtracks to the open doorway.  Nods to the piano with its lid closed.  Every week Jesus dusts the thing, but he’s right, since Jesus has been home, Brandon hasn’t played.

“Dude.  Seriously?”

“Yeah.  But you know, whatever…” Brandon shrugs.

“I don’t get it.  Look, I’ll be the first to admit it: I can’t stand you most of the time...but I seriously dig your piano stuff.”

Brandon’s eyebrows raise.  His mouth drops open.  He closes it.  “Are you messing with me?”

“Dude.  No.  I listen to that song you put on YouTube as a little shit every day.”  (In the shower.  But Jesus doesn’t add that.)  “It’s the only thing I can listen to that doesn’t give me hella flashbacks….because He had absolutely no musical talent.”

Silence.

Jesus tries again.  (Honor each other’s feelings.)  “The world isn’t better without your talent, bro.  It’s worse.”

Brandon stands there, licking his ice cream.

Then:

“I don’t think you’re a dog.”

Jesus blinks.  Okay then.

“Night,” Brandon says, and disappears upstairs.