#woodmouse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

m0ther-of-p3arl · 7 months

Text

can't start the fire without a spark

(robert aeor high au p14)

masterpost

ROB AEOR JUMPSCARE!!! probs two more chapters after this, we are drawing to a CLOSE!!! big big chapter today, lots of things happening we're jumping allllll around pov-wise :D very very fun to write i hope you like!! ohhh and also with the addition of this chapter, rob aeor is now 60,000 words in its entirety!! pretty cooool :D

Karissa watches from the upstairs window as the same white camper van pulls up outside her house, screeching to a stop under the streetlight. It’s finished making its rounds, and she can almost see from here the essences of the people pushed into the back, bound and gagged and drugged. She smiles, fake and manufactured yet still slightly psychotic, nails drumming against her thigh as she pulls on her heels and heads out the door, eyes searching for signs of life.

or, shit is Going Down. buckle in, buttercups, because we are going for a RIDE.

(6949 words)

Karissa Major stands, poised and perfect, posture impeccable as she gazes out from her balcony. The chill of very early morning digs silkily into her skin, her very bones, and a smile stretches across her face at the knowledge that everything she’s worked for could come crashing down at any moment. It’s a manic thing, desperate and rough around the edges, nothing like the polished facsimile of human emotion she displays around others.

If this goes wrong, if any mistakes are made- her game is ruined, her life’s work is all for naught. Her eyes watch nervously (or, as close to nervous as Karissa Major can be) as an inconspicuous white camper van passes through the street. This is the final moment, and if anything deviates even slightly from her plan-

But it can’t, it won’t, and Karissa knows it won’t- she’s crafted everything obsessively, meticulously- all the details gone over with her crew at least twenty times, the plan burned into all their skulls. There’s almost no way any of them could forget it now, especially considering the consequences she has laid out if someone deviates from the plan. Karissa almost can’t wait for the day she’s strapped to the chair, wires attached to her brain, her manipulative siren magic the sole thing keeping the game going.

Third Life.

It’s Karissa’s dream to have that much power, it’s been her goal ever since she was very young- ever since she watched the life drain out of a woodmouse as she crushed its windpipe with her foot. Since Karissa’s childhood years, she’s had an idea, a spark in the back of her mind that- until recently- she simply hasn’t had the time to pursue. But her cult is really coming together, it’s gained a fair amount of members recently- and with all the funds now pouring in, Karissa finally has the money to begin developing the technology that would let her great imagination become a reality.

The technology that allows a siren’s power to be amplified by ten thousand and broadcast across many multiple people through a chip in their brain, strong enough to even wipe their memories and convince them so thoroughly that the world she’s put them in is the only one they’ve ever known. She has all the rules laid out for her game, all the plans- she’s spent countless sleepless nights developing them, deciding what combination would produce the most carnage and emotion from which she can feed.

Because Karissa’s new tech, though insanely high-quality and as perfect as she can get it, is not a perpetual energy machine. It needs something to feed it, something to keep it active and working. And what she’s found, through extensive study, is that the best way to power the mind-control mechanism is the consumption of the negative emotions of those being controlled.

Therefore, Karissa has decided that it has to be death, the game she will have the teenagers she preyed upon play. She has the perfect plot of land, close enough to her compound that the people within will be susceptible to her control, but not too close that the players will be able to see it outside the borders.

Of course, there won’t actually be any borders- that would be silly. Karissa will simply make the players believe that there are, and they will be physically incapable of crossing a certain point. It’s genius, this thing she’s concocted, and if it goes well, she can try and arrange one every couple of months for her and the other Watchers’ entertainment.

However, despite Third Life being a death game, the people inside won’t actually die. That would be ridiculous, completely unneeded carnage- and the loss of good players for later games. Well, wait- that’s a false statement. The players of the game will die, but they’ll be brought back to life. Just like the person with the flamethrower who Karissa had hunted through the woods so many years earlier.

She has been the prototype throughout all of this, she’s been the test subject, Karissa’s little guinea pig kept in a cage. Zombie, Their name is. Or, that’s what Karissa has named her, obviously. Their real name was something along the lines of- Cora? Cleo?

Karissa thinks it was probably Cleo.

But she’s Zombie now, they have been ever since they joined up at sixteen- a vulnerable young person, lost and alone. Of course, she was the perfect specimen- as is the typical coming-of-age ritual of traditional gorgon families, when she turned sixteen, she was banished from the home for a year to learn of life in the real world. Afterwards, it’s the custom that the child can either return home to learn the traditional ways or continue life in the outside world.

Zombie had found safety with the Watchers- but when they’d wanted to leave, to go back to their traditional gorgon roots, to return to their family…

Well, Karissa couldn’t let that happen, now could she?

And so she hunted down the teen in the woods and murdered her. They were brought back to life, of course. It’s been many years, and Zombie’s been broken and stitched back together thrice as many times since. She is, obviously, going to be one of the players in Karissa’s new game. It’s just fitting, isn’t it, that they take part in the experiment of a lifetime after they’ve helped oh so much with it.

Karissa’s thoughts eventually lead back to where she’s still stood on the balcony, outlined in stark black against the early morning sky. She shakes her head, laughing slightly under her breath, and turns with a swish of fabric, treading back inside on two-inch stiletto heels.

Her ride will be here soon, and it’s time to get ready for the time of her life.

Scott never did get back to Jimmy’s house.

They’re on him before he can think twice, figures in white hazmat suits descending upon him from trees and rooftops all around him, roughly grabbing and throwing him into the back of camper van. He doesn’t even have time to be confused before thick, rough rope wraps around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the wall. An oily wad of fabric is stuffed into his mouth, a strip of duct tape pressed over his mouth before he can scream.

And now he’s sitting here, half-conscious of others being piled in beside him, an arm or two pressing up against him, feet touching his. A red sweater, a black headband and green shirt, a boy covered in scars- defining features jumping out at him in bright flashes before they descend back into the numbing murk that surrounds him now.

It’s so hazy here, previously well-defined images turning to nothing but colors and shapes now through the fog in his mind. The sky is so dark here, and the ground is gray, fuzzy. Where’s the grass? Where’s Jimmy?

With his limited ability of thought, Scott sluggishly thinks that it must be the shock that’s rendered him so helpless, though a sharper part of him in the back of his mind wonders if maybe he’s been drugged somehow. The rag in his mouth does have a strange taste to it beyond the oil, a sweetness he can’t quite place. Scott’s not quite sure how much time passes from one thought to the next, each realization taking eons of time to nail down.

That’s why he doesn’t quite catalogue the tapping on his shoulder until someone’s head slams roughly into his bone, and Scott starts, eyes widening. If he wasn’t gagged, he would have yelped in surprise. He turns his head, and even fighting as hard as he can through the drug-induced blurriness, he’s only able to make out two bright yellow wings, bound alongside him. A shoulder presses into his own, and Scott’s almost certain he can hear someone crying as his eyes drip shut yet again. It’s too much work to keep them open, it would be so much simpler to just drift in and out of consciousness, the figure with yellow wings the only thing keeping him grounded to reality.

He wonders, in the back of this camper van from hell, if somehow it’s an angel.

Jimmy is frantic, his heart beating out of control, head throbbing insanely and his mouth filled with a disgustingly smooth texture- maybe cloth of some sort? He’s not really sure- it’s been a blur most of the time he’s been in the van. The drug (he’s sure he’s been drugged in some way) doesn’t seem to have affected him as strongly as everyone else. Maybe it’s something with him being an avian- the other avian here, a parrot, is looking around in the same frantic way that he is, and their eyes meet across the camper.

His eyes are filled with tears, waffle-colored hair swinging back and forth as he shakes his head vehemently, and Jimmy’s chest fills with an aching sadness. He’s sure he’s seen this boy at school, he’s fairly certain his name’s Grian. A traditional avian name, not like his own of Jimmy. Of course, it won’t be Grian’s true name- that’s a closely guarded secret, as well as one known instinctively.

Jimmy makes a vow that if he ever gets out of the hands of his captors, he’ll tell Scott his own true name- Solidarity. He’s been meaning to for a while, of course- but it’s hard to get up the courage, to gift someone with something of that capacity. The level of trust it takes to tell someone, especially a non-avian, your secret name- well, needless to say it’s almost unfathomable.

He’s not quite sure how long he sits in the truck, watching with bated breath as the van stops every few minutes, another figure bound and gagged thrown in with them- but none further that Jimmy recognizes. They all seem to be in the same drugged stupor, staring straight ahead with half-lidded eyes and offering no resistance to their white-suited captors. Again, he and Grian seem to be the only ones aware of the true weight and direness of their current situation.

Jimmy doesn’t really take note of anyone else in the van- sure, he’ll notice a detail here and there, but mostly he watches Grian and the gentle tears that slip down his face. All he can glean from the other avian’s slumped posture is an air of absolute hopelessness, one that threatens to spill over onto Jimmy and leech all the life from his soul as well.

Suddenly, Grian goes rigid, seemingly honing in on something Jimmy can’t quite see. His head shaking becomes even more vehement, and though the gag is never removed from his mouth, Grian’s voice cascades over him.

His tone is desperate and broken, his words streaming in a parade of syllables, a different tongue that makes no sense to Jimmy. Grian’s voice only switches back into something Jimmy’s familiar with when another captive is thrown into the van, a tall elf with scars carpeting almost every inch of his skin. Grian’s borderline begging, and as hard as Jimmy strains not to hear the words, they’re too sharp in his ear and he can’t push them away.

NO! Please, no, you promised, you PROMISED- you said that if I came, you wouldn’t take him, you said he would be SAFE! Please, I’ll do anything, anything, just let him go- I can’t let him go through this, I can’t, you have to understand, please! You promised me, you promised me- Scar, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Scar- no, no no no, let him go, LET HIM GO-

One of the people in white suits punches Grian hard in the skull, seemingly fed up with his tortured screams. Grian’s head pitches forward, his eyes dulling to their normal beady black and voice tapering out pathetically as he falls unconscious.

Jimmy’s shaken- and not just because of the disembodied voice that everyone in the van could apparently hear. He’s mostly just confused about that. No, the thing that disturbs him most is the genuine fear coating Grian’s words, the desperate begging for them not to take the other boy- Scar, Jimmy remembers- and to leave him be.

That does not bode well for whatever’s going to happen to them all, and Jimmy shivers involuntarily, closing his eyes. He doesn’t open them again for several minutes until he feels the truck stop once more, the doors swinging wide and the white-suited people shoving in a new figure, right beside him.

Jimmy catches a glimpse of cyan out of the corner of his eye, and he just knows.

Scott’s here.

He looks the same as the rest of them, glazed-over eyes, seemingly undistressed. Jimmy has to get his attention. He needs to. But he’s bound, and Scott’s in no fit state to respond to the muffled grunts that happen to be the only sound Jimmy can make. He huffs, annoyed, and pushes his head back against the wall, fighting back an onslaught of tears.

Jimmy’s just a curious little bird.

It’s been. SO LONG. Since he heard her voice, since he heard those words. But here they are, loud as anything, biting and taking and angry- no, worse than that, almost dismissive. Jimmy nearly wilts under the pressure like a wildflower when summer comes, he nearly lets it get to him, the situation he’s in. No one can blame him if he does, after all- any normal person would have broken a thousand times over by now.

But as Jimmy hears the words again, instead of hopelessness, all they spark is anger. A deep, simmering rage, unlike anything he’s ever felt before, burns through his veins like a monsoon flood. Who are these people to kidnap him, his boyfriend, and so many more presumably innocent people? Why would he even allow himself to be tied up like this, rendered so vulnerable that anything could happen to him?

Jim’s anger goes deeper than even that. He’s always balked in the face of authority, whether it be Patty, the only mother he’s ever known, or these hooded figures who stole him away in the dead of night. Jimmy has never had a shred of rebellion inside him, he’s never even entertained the possibility of doing anything other than what the present person in charge wishes him to do.

It’s one of his biggest shortcomings as a person, he realizes- and even though it’s too late to do anything to change the predicament he’s in, there is a small act of uprising that he can commit. He and Scott are bound closely enough- so close, in fact, that their bodies are pressed together, the feathers on Jimmy’s wings resting gently on Scott’s back. Obviously, Jim can’t move his arms or legs- or wings. All his limbs are out of commission, really.

But the one thing they neglected to bind was his neck, and by extension, his head.

Jimmy headbuts Scott in the shoulder as hard as he can without arousing the suspicion of the guards, which is admittedly pretty lightly. He does it again, and again, and again, but no response is received for Jimmy’s efforts and Scott stares straight ahead, eyes blank of any thought or emotion- blank of any of the things that make him quintessentially Scott. The canary almost gives up, tears of frustration and hopelessness springing to his eyes.

He headbuts Scott once more, one final time, not giving a shit about what the guards will think this time. He puts all his strength into the motion, and slowly, miraculously, Scott turns towards him.

But it’s all for naught, because when their eyes meet, Scott looks just as zombified as ever. Jimmy doesn’t even think he recognizes him.

Scott’s head drops down, back into place, and Jimmy cries.

The van moves through the night, and finally hopeless, Jimmy cries.

Martyn doesn’t know where he is.

He has no idea what’s happened to him, has no idea what anyone could ever want with him- he’s just a good-for-nothing twenty-year-old pufferfish seafolk who’s spent most of his life doing- well, doing absolutely nothing, if he’s honest.

And now, he’s been kidnapped.

Martyn Littlewood, ultimate disappointment to his parents and everyone else in his measly little life, has been kidnapped.

It still doesn’t really sink in, the absolute danger he’s sure he must be in. He just feels numb, brain muted and fuzzy. He knows that he’s tied up, he’s aware that he’s in the back of a vehicle of some sort, and he knows that there are other prisoners here with him. But that’s it. Try as he might, the drugs that must be on the rag that has been stuffed into his mouth have absolutely ruined his brain, normally sharp thoughts nothing more than clumsy, cankered fumbling.

It’s really quite frustrating.

Especially because all Martyn has got going for him, the only thing that’s saved him from being the ultimate loser, is his mind. Though, one has to understand that he’s not smart, per se- he’s not good at math or writing essays or any of the things that make someone excel in school or get a good job or create the next big instant messaging app or whatever. Nah, Martyn’s just clever.

Clever and really funny.

He wonders vaguely if his current situation has anything to do with that thing he’d signed up for last month, a flier on some lamp post somewhere advertising something called “Third Life” that was promising twenty thousand dollars to whoever participated. Martyn was the very first person to sign, to etch his name on the crisp lines- because for that kind of money, what wouldn’t he do? Even if he had no idea what this thing was (there had been no information given, not a single word that could’ve helped him to identify even remotely what this thing he’d just signed up for was.)

When he’d come back to the spot a week later, mainly just to check if there had been any updates or whatever, the paper was filled with signatures, cramming into every nook and cranny, not a singular unfilled spot on the paper. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money, after all. Most folks like him would kill for that kinda cash, and he’s been struggling enough recently that he’s not surprised in the slightest others have been as well.

Martyn wonders, if this is truly what Third Life is, if he’ll get his money at all.

Martyn wonders, marveling at the words that flit quickly in and out of his slogging brain, if it’ll even be worth it.

But it’s still and cold outside, no plausible or even remotely possible threats in sight. Karissa puffs a short sigh of relief out her lips, heels clacking along the cobbled path as she makes her way towards the van. It’s shining, gleaming brightly in the puddle of light cast down from the fluorescent street lamp, a stylized purple symbol painted on the side- a rectangle, cut off before two corners diagonal to each other, small individual squares taking up the place where the corners would have been.

If there had been any doubt before that she’d somehow mistaken the vehicle, it’s erased now as the symbol of the Watchers glares back at her from the side of her van. Her smile only grows.

Karissa swings open the door of the van and climbs into the shotgun seat, flashing a simpering smile at Zombie- who, at the current moment, is driving the car. Zombie shoots a quick, light glare back at her, and Karissa laughs, high-pitched and ringing, even in her own ears.

“Now, now, Zombie,” she admonishes, glancing back to where her other thirteen contestants (excluding Zombie, of course) are tied and drugged, white-suited cult members looking after them, “remember what happens when you don’t show the proper respect.”

Zombie flinches, and Karissa feels a jolt of twisted pride that she’s managed to make this person break so easily that they’re terrified by any mere allusion to possible punishment. She’s just disappointed that her son has gone and been so strong-willed; he would’ve been the perfect experiment- more so than he already is, of course.

It’s interesting, truly, to realize how the boy’s siren and gorgon traits have come out differently in combination with each other. Karissa wonders, was she to try the experiment again, have another kid- Karissa wonders if the results would be similar, or vastly different. She’s too old to bear a child by now, however, and there are some things that even one such as she will not force upon a person who does not want it.

“Zombie, stay en route to the compound. I’m going to go check in on the prisoners- make certain that Grian’s not having second thoughts about his task.” Zombie nods tersely, and Karissa pats their head condescendingly as she stands, moving smoothly through the vehicle until she’s standing aloof in the bare back compartment.

Thirteen different young adults, all drugged and tied and gagged, the perfect hamsters to run around Karissa’s proverbial maze. She smiles, a genuine expression for once, even if one of perverse satisfaction and power. Moving among her captives, Karissa takes in their appearances, the familiar yet unfamiliar face of one in particular catching her gaze. Karissa cocks her head to the side, confused, and sticks her hand roughly under their chin to tilt their head up so she can get a better look at them.

But instead of the drugged blankness she’s been expecting, Karissa is met with a glare full of pure venom. She startles, dropping their head in surprise, and scrutinizes the person further, eyes squinting as she stares them down. Straw-blond hair, golden canary wings… and the faint but unmistakable smell of rapport magic.

Ah. So unless she’s been poorly informed, this must be Jimmy.

Just as she’d instructed the guards a half-hour prior, Scott is hog-tied up right next to his lover, his snakes as limp and drooping as the rest of his limbs. But Jimmy seems alert, almost… aware. Karissa ruffles her eyebrows, flecks of dried foundation flaking off at the wrinkle. This shouldn’t be happening. But, no matter- if he’s awake, she might as well let him speak. The gag won’t do anything now, given how remote the area they’re traveling through is. Plus, it was only really needed for the administering of the drug.

Ripping the duct tape off his mouth, no consideration for the pain that might come afterwards, Karissa watches as he ejects the sopping wad of fabric out of his mouth and onto the floor, spitting out the last residue of the drug that had been soaked into the cloth with a look on his face that can only be known as disgust.

“Hello, Jimmy. My name is Karissa Major, and we are the Watchers. Welcome,” she spreads her arms, gesturing around the interior of the decrepit van, “to your new life.”

Two simple words spring from the young boy’s mouth, face contorted in a solid mask of hatred. Karissa’s eyes widen in delight. Oh, yes, he will be perfect.

Is that someone’s voice Scott can hear, through the daze of his own mind? It sounds like Jimmy. Scott wishes it was.

Everything’s better with Jimmy by his side.

“Fuck you,” Jimmy spits, lips curling up in a sneer. “You’re Scott’s mom, aren’t you? Why would you do this to me? To us? To your own son? What in all the world is wrong with you?!”

Jimmy hates the way that Karissa’s smile widens, as if he’s simply egging her on, playing into her little mind games and tricks. She doesn’t speak, just stands above and watches him as if he’s some haphazard experiment and she’s a twisted scientist waiting for results. So he screams it again, spit flying unbidden from his mouth, eyes squinted and angry, the rage building beneath him as he pulls at his bindings, tries to get as close to her face as he can.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” he bellows, voice breaking in half. He pretends not to notice how, next to him, Scott stirs lightly, eyes blinking slightly open to stare at Jimmy blurily.

Karissa stares down at him, nothing even slightly akin to pity on her face.

“I noticed you seemed interested in Grian,” Karissa states, a cold hand covering Jimmy’s mouth when he tries to speak. “Are you wondering if maybe he could be a friend, a little ally for you in all this? A fellow avian to share your sorrows?”

Jimmy feels his eyes betraying him, drifting to gaze upon Grian’s unconscious form. He had been hoping that, he’s never met another tropical avian before. He’s been naively wondering, in the back of his skull if maybe, once they get out of here, he and Grian could go out for coffee, maybe hang out together sometime. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s correct. Karissa raises her eyebrows, as if impressed. It just makes the anger bubbling in Jimmy’s stomach increase tenfold, hatred marring his usually smooth face. Karissa keeps talking.

“Because you see, Jimmy dear- and I can tell you this because soon enough, you won’t remember anything at all and much less this conversation- Grian is not on your side. He’s on ours. He won’t have his memories, per se. I’m not stupid enough for that. He’d just throw everything away for that Scar boy.” Her head gestures to the elf slumped in the corner, and Jimmy realizes that must be Scar. A fitting name, really, when one notices the amount of long since healed over injuries covering his body.

“But, nonetheless, Grian is on our side. My side. He’ll follow our orders, keep things interesting so I can keep power. Think of it as a bit of a hazing ritual. If he succeeds, he gets to join the Watchers. If not…” Karissa lets the threat hang in midair, before presuming a cheery tone and finishing her sentence as if she was describing going to the fridge to grab a snack. “Well, if not, then we just do it all over again, don’t we?”

Jimmy feels his blood run cold. “What are you talking about? Take my memories? Grian is- he’ll be keeping what interesting? And what do you mean, do it all over again?”

Karissa hums gently, swiping a thumb over her perfectly manicured nails. “The game, darling. What you’re here for.”

“I didn’t- I’m not signed up for this, I know my rights, let me go.”

“Jimmy, dear! You really think you could do anything, even if you somehow manage to escape? You really are a misguided child, aren’t you. No, darling. We’re high in the Boatem Mountains by now, in an area so remote and unheard of that you’d never even be able to find out where we are, much less send for help. So, don’t worry your little head about escaping- because I’m afraid, at least for the moment, that you’re stuck with me.”

Jimmy feels all the air go out of him, replaced by a deep confusion. “How are we that far out of the city already?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, darling. But I’m afraid that a magician never spills her secrets.” Karissa’s eyes are dark and cold, not a speck of humanity left within the cyan irises. Hard lines form around her mouth, and she sneers.

Jimmy has a sinking feeling that she’s telling the truth.

He’s not getting out of here anytime soon.

Karissa is surprised that Jimmy has so much fight in him. She’s watched him from afar, of course (she’s done the same with all her contestants), and he’s always seemed almost too soft, someone who can be hurt and broken easy as that. But then she’d come to the back of the van, and Jimmy had practically screamed in her face. It was an extreme whiplash from the kind of person Karissa had been expecting, but she can adapt.

It is, after all, the thing she’s best at. So she stuffs Jimmy’s gag back into his mouth once she bores of him and returns to the front of the van, not even bothering to buckle her seatbelt. “Zombie, drive quicker,” Karissa orders, arms crossed and staring straight ahead. For once, there’s not a trace of a smile, real or fake, painted across her all-too-perfect face.

“We’re already going twice the speed limit, ma’am,” Zombie replies, not even looking at her, hands clenched too tightly around the steering wheel. “I’d actually advise slowing down- if we speed up any more, we’ll get pulled over and rest assured they will find the people in the back, and even your siren magic won’t be able to convince them that it’s a normal thing to have thirteen drugged teenagers in the back of your van.”

Karissa huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t get me caught, or I swear to god I’m tearing out all your stitches at the next possible opportunity.”

Predictably, Zombie flinches, memories of an enraged side of Karissa that only they see probably streaming through their mind. “I don’t doubt it, ma’am. I will try to the utmost of my ability not to get us caught.”

“Good girl,” Karissa purrs, reclining like a queen in her chair, “this is all going so well, I simply cannot wait for the games to begin.”

Zombie nods, eyes still straight on the road, and Karissa can see their throat bob as they do so, can feel the nervous tension bathing the air in a wash of sickly greens.

“Are you excited?” she asks, more as a form of sadistic manipulation than anything else. Zombie, of course, of course, isn’t excited. It’s a death game, she’ll lose all her memories, and worst of all, she’ll have to kill people. But if she says as much, she knows Karissa won’t hesitate to rip her throat out (and then stitch it back up, of course. It’s been done before.)

“Yes, ma’am, very excited.” Zombie spares a glance to the back of the van, something like guilt flashing across their face, so briefly that none but Karissa (master of manipulation) would have caught it.

“You’re lying to me,” she slithers back, voice smooth as honey yet twice as sharp. “Zombie, don’t you know what happens when you lie to Karissa? It doesn’t end well, does it.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Zombie says quickly, eyes darting nervously to Karissa’s enraged face. “Please don’t hurt me.” The plea in her tone is pitiful, voice withering away until it’s next to nothing, miniscule and timid.

Karissa scoffs, a hand reaching up to stroke Zombie’s sallow cheek. “You’re like a daughter to me, Zombie. Every child does bad things sometimes, and I think at heart, you’re still a child. You’ll always be a child to me. But remember, if you like to me like that ever again…”

She leaves the threat hanging in midair as her hand drifts down from Zombie’s face, their eyes turned resolutely back to the road, teeth clenched sharply. Karissa almost laughs, because it’s just all too easy, isn’t it. It’s just so simple to take advantage of this lost person, lightly masked threats all she needs to get Zombie in line. Honestly, she’s growing bored of it- bored of the complacency. She misses the days when Zombie would fight.

Maybe that’s part of the reason Karissa created the game, she muses, as she stares ahead at the sky lighting up with dawn beyond the trees. Zombie became boring- so Karissa created an environment so hostile that none could hope to survive. Even if somehow, all her players decide to be peace-loving idiots (and they won’t, Grian will make certain of that) then they’ll die by natural causes eventually- and probably sooner rather than later, one of them will feel the red haze clawing at their mind, begging them to turn on the others. And they will.

When that point is finally reached, Karissa will feel power. She will feel it beyond anything anyone else has ever known. She relishes in the thought, smile snaking sadistically behind her facade. In the corners of her vision, Zombie flinches.

Their hands grip the wheel of the car, the feeling of teeth grating together inside their mouth the only thing keeping them sane. Why are you doing this?

Zombie- or is it Cleo? Cleo Zombie? Zombie Cleo? They’re not sure anymore. But they like Cleo better, so they decide to stick with it. Her other self is not falling for this orchestrated distraction, however, this thought of property and names- the question springs back up, unbidden, and Cleo flinches at the sound of their harsh words inside her skull.

I said, why are you doing this?

Cleo’s knuckles are white now, white with the exertion of keeping her hands on the wheel when all she wants to do, all her other self wants her to do, is jump out of this van and never stop running. They decide to refer to their other self as Zombie, because they do have two names, and best to make use of both of them.

Zombie scoffs, and Cleo doesn’t even realize that their body had made the sound until Karissa’s smile appears in their peripheral vision, teeth too sharp and flawlessly white to be natural. Cleo flinches back, muttering stuttered apologies as Zombie hums disapprovingly inside their mind, head shaking sadly back and forth.

There used to be more of them, used to be more than just Zombie and Cleo. But their time at the cult, before they tried to leave under the thinly veiled excuse of getting back to their family, had taken a toll on all of them. When she’d come clean about the others in her mind, others who had sprung up when their father died, or when they were in an awful car crash. Sometimes, she’d even get a new person just from being super interested in something.

But Karissa had told them, hand on their shoulder and venom in her words, that they weren’t real, that Cleo was wrong- and one by one by one, all the people had drifted away. They’re still there- Cleo can be sure of that, and Zombie even more so- but they’ve all hidden themselves away, away from the pain and misery and everything else.

Zombie is the only one who’s stayed. And Cleo is forever grateful for them, because they make everything so much easier with their snarky quips and comments at Karissa, they make everything so much more bearable than if it had just been Cleo on her own.

Oy, little sheep, I appreciate the sentiment and all, but keep your eyes on the fucking road! Jesus Christ!

Cleo shakes herself, blinking the thoughts out of her eyes and out of her mind. Zombie reclines angrily in the back of their mind, and Cleo can feel that it’s still not happy that she’s agreed to this.

It’s not like she had any choice- Cleo hadn’t had any more choice than the people tied and drugged in the back of the van. Or at least, that is what they tell themself, frantically fabricating a panicked reasoning for why she’s doing this.

Cleo doesn’t want to get hurt again, and she doesn’t want Zombie to leave them. She doesn’t want Zombie to be forced out of their mind by Karissa’s prying talons, and they will do whatever it takes to keep their only friend safe with them.

Cleo exhales, calming the shaking of her hands. They’re okay. They’re fine. Cleo just needs to play the game, and then she can figure out a way to escape. They just need to be a part of the game, and then they can leave.

She tell herself this even when she knows she’s lying.

It’s the only way Zombie and her could ever keep going.

Scott feels the truck pull to a stop. He hears doors sliding open, and feels his body being lifted underneath him. The air is crisp and clear on his face, and he blinks as the tape is ripped off his mouth, his gag removed.

Immediately, his mind clears, and all the pieces click into place. He looks around frantically, eyes darting this way and that. He’s been slung over the shoulder of one of the white-suited cult members (because of course it’s Mother’s cult that’s kidnapping him, obviously that had been their plan from the start, and Scott curses himself for not realizing it sooner.)

He sees some of the people he’d half-noticed earlier, but his eyes flick over them quickly, not seeing what he’s looking for until the last person is carried out of the van, bright yellow feathers bound tightly to his back, eyes immediately meeting Scott’s, large and scared and pleading.

Joel is also here, Scott notices sadly, he’s been tied to the roof of the truck (as he’s much too big to fit inside). He’s being wrangled by at least ten employees, his eyes ablaze with anger, tail raised up protectively.

“Get off of me,” Scott hears him yell, “this is not what I signed up for, get off of me-”

He finally notices Scott, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. “S-scott? What are you doing here? And Jimmy? What’s going on-”

Before Joel can finish his sentence, the white suits jump on him, subduing him with a shot of something viscous and liquid-clear directly into the soft spot of the celestial’s neck. He howls, and drops to the floor, the last emotion on his face a potent hatred before he passes out.

Jimmy’s eyes lock to Scott’s again, fear apparent on his face. He must have no idea what’s going on, Scott realizes, and he feels such intense pain in his chest for his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” Scott whispers, guilt raking through his body like a hurricane of doubt. “This isn’t what I thought would happen.”Jimmy just shakes his head slowly, his gaze wrenched from Scott’s as he’s carried roughly inside the building. The sky shakes, and the world shakes, and everything comes crashing down because they got Jimmy. And, not for the first time, Scott doesn’t know what to do.

8 notes · View notes

unfortunate-arrow · 1 year

Text

𝐑𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐋𝐲𝐦𝐚𝐧 | hphm character profile

warnings: mentions of death, dementia, WW2, and parental abandonment

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Ruth Abigail Lyman

Nicknames: Ruthie

Name Meanings: Ruth → Hebrew, “compassionate friend” ; Abigail → Hebrew, “my father is joyful” ; Lyman → Dutch, “beloved man” or English, “meadow-dweller.”

Date of Birth: July 17, 1973

Gender: Female ; she/her

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Blood Status: Half-blood

Nationality: Irish

Residence: Dublin, Ireland (birth to 4) ; Lyman Bakery, Dublin, Ireland (4 to 25) ; Dublin, Ireland (25 to 35) ; County Donegal, Ireland (35 to death)

✧ APPEARANCE ✧

Hogwarts Faceclaim: Millie Bobby Brown

Adult Faceclaim: TBD, but suggestions are welcome! Preferably an actress between 30 and 35, but can go up to age 40.

Height: 5’4”

Build: Average

Hair: Brown hair that is either left down, in a ponytail, braided, or in a bun

Eye Color: Brown

Scarring:

Childhood & Hogwarts: Ruth has a small scar on her right knee from falling off a bike at the age of seven.

Post-Second War & Adulthood: None

Modifications: (glasses, piercings, tattoos, etc.) Ruth’s ears are pierced.

Other Distinguishing Marks: Ruth has a small birthmark on the heel of her left foot.

Clothing Style: Jeans ; skirts ; t-shirts ; blouses ; sweaters ; sweatshirts ; jeans ; dresses ; Mary Janes ; sneakers ; plaid shirts

Accessories: A charm bracelet ; a necklace with a Star of David pendant ; a locket from her grandmother ; a wristwatch

What’s in Her Pockets: Her wand ; money

What’s in Her School Bag: Textbooks ; a novel ; quills, parchment, ink ; Spiral notebooks ; pens and pencils ; a water bottle ; chapstick

✧ SPEECH & LANGUAGE ✧

Voiceclaim: Nicola Coughlan

Accent: Irish

Dialect: Connaught

Languages Spoken: English, Yiddish, some Hebrew

Languages Understood: English, Yiddish, Hebrew

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: INFJ — the advocate

⤷ An Advocate (INFJ) is someone with the Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Judging personality traits. They tend to approach life with deep thoughtfulness and imagination. Their inner vision, personal values, and a quiet, principled version of humanism guide them in all things.

Enneagram Type: 8w9 — the bear

⤷ The Eight wing Nine type is an Eight who has similar features as the Type Nine Peacemaker. They are confident, calm, and generally more patient than other Eights.

Positive Traits: Intelligent, creative, insightful, compassionate, kind, wise

Neutral Traits: Principled, passionate, curious, idealistic, altruistic, reserved

Negative Traits: Stubborn, perfectionist tendencies, somewhat conflict averse, has high expectations for those around her

Common Stressors: Exams ; low grades ; her own expectations

Comforting Things: Her own expectations ; baking ; reading ; writing

Interests & Hobbies: Reading, writing, baking, cooking,

Description: Ruth always strives to put her best foot forward, whether that’s in her duties as a prefect, her academics, or helping in her family’s bakery. She also tries to help others out whenever she can, which includes tutoring younger students in charms, her best and favorite class. Ruth does come off as aloof and a little stuck-up at first, but she’s just reserved and that sometimes hides her big heart. In general, Ruth is kind, intelligent, principled, and compassionate.

✧ MAGIC ✧

Wand: Ruth’s wand is made of poplar wood with a unicorn tail hair core and is 11 inches with a springy flexibility.

⤷ Poplar wands relied upon consistency, strength and uniform power, and were always the happiest when working with a witch or wizard of clear moral vision. The existence of these wands and its owners was cited as evidence against a myth that poplar wands never chose politicians.

Other Magical Abilities: None

Patronus: Woodmouse

Patronus Memory: Her grandmother teaching her how to make latkes for the first time when she was eight

Boggart: A banshee

Riddikulus: The banshee is unable to shriek and changes from a green-ish tint to purple

Amortentia:

Ruth smells like vanilla, strawberries, ink, and parchment.

Ruth smells old books, latkes, leather, and sandalwood.

Mirror of Erised: Ruth sees herself with people she loves and with some signs of success.

✧ HOGWARTS ✧

House: Ravenclaw

OWL Classes:

Astronomy — Exceeds Expectations

Charms — Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Exceeds Expectations

Flying — Poor

Herbology — Outstanding

History of Magic — Acceptable

Potions — Outstanding

Transfiguration — Outstanding

OWL Electives:

Arithmancy — Outstanding

Care of Magical Creatures — Acceptable

NEWT Classes:

Arithmancy — Outstanding

Charms — Outstanding

Herbology — Acceptable

Potions — Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration — Exceeds Expectations

Extracurriculars: Prefect in her fifth to seventh year ; charms club

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry ; numerous wizarding families ; a publishing company to be named

Professions:

Age 17 to 24 & 25 to 32 - Tutoring pre-Hogwarts aged children

Age 24 to 92 - Children’s book author

Age 32 to 57 - Charms professor at Hogwarts, teaching first through fourth years

Age 57 to 92 - Charms professor at Hogwarts, teaching all grades

✧ FAMILY ✧

Father: Gabriel Seth Lyman

Gabriel was born in Dublin on October 17, 1945 as the only child of Naomi and Judah Lyman. He had a happy childhood, which was full of love. His parents were kind and firm and loving, and Gabriel was able to make a few good friends, mostly those within the small Jewish community. However, Gabriel never truly connected with being religious and was more interested in Judaism as a cultural force, especially growing up post-WW2. At the age of 18, Gabriel began university while studying accounting and business, in order to help his parents with their family bakery. He graduated with honors.

At the age of twenty-one, Gabriel met Abigail Abrahamson, when they were introduced by mutual friends. They built up an acquaintanceship until they were forced to partner together in a couples competition when Gabriel was twenty-three. That was the start of their romantic relationship, as it began when Gabriel asked Abigail to dinner after they’d won the competition. They dated for four years, as Abigail was always a little apprehensive about marriage, and Gabriel proposed when he was twenty-seven and she was twenty-five. They were married in early 1972, and a little over a year later, their daughter, Ruth, was born on July 17, 1973.

However, Gabriel’s marriage began falling apart in 1976, after Abigail’s parents died suddenly. Gabriel did his best to support his wife, but after eighteen months of trying to fix their marriage, Gabriel agreed to a divorce in 1978. Things didn’t get better for Gabriel, as his father, Judah, began to experience memory problems which eventually turned into a dementia diagnosis and in 1979, Gabriel and Ruth moved into his childhood home to help his mother, Naomi, care for his father and run the family bakery.

In 1980, Gabriel’s father passed away after suffering a severe fall. He was heartbroken by the death of his father, but stayed strong for his mother and daughter. Gabriel loved them dearly, and he was grateful for the moments that his mother decided to handle Ruth, so that he could have his grief. He also became deeply involved in the bakery after his father’s death, especially the business and accounting side. The only time the bakery ever closed long-term was in 1997 and 1998, when Gabriel, Naomi, and Ruth were in hiding during the second wizarding war.

Gabriel never remarried, but remained a doting grandfather for his three grandchildren: Seth, Naomi, and Ciaran.

Ruth adores her father. He is her rock and she is very close to him. He has always been there, and Ruth knows that she can count on him for anything. He is her example of what a man should be.

Faceclaim: Max Greenfield

Mother: Abigail Rebecca Goldberg née Abrahamson

Abigail was born in Dublin, Ireland, on April 25, 1947 to Noah and Beth Abrahamson. She had a happy childhood full of love and a very close relationship with both of her parents. She had a small group of close friends, and sometimes shied away from romantic relationships especially as a teenager. She began university at age 18, studying art history and graduated with honors.

At the age of nineteen, Abigail met Gabriel Lyman through mutual friends. They struck up an acquaintanceship, being the only single people amongst their mutual friends, and that stuck around for two years. When she was twenty-one, Abigail was partnered with Gabriel during a couples competition and after they won, Gabriel asked her to dinner. Abigail accepted and they dated for four years, as Abigail was rather apprehensive about taking the step to marriage. But Gabriel proposed when Abigail was twenty-five and she accepted. They had a small, low-key wedding and a little over a year later, their only daughter, Ruth was born.

Things were okay for a little bit, but in 1979, Abigail’s parents both suddenly passed away. Abigail fell into a depression and her marriage began to fall apart. Despite spending eighteen months trying to fix their marriage, Abigail agreed to a divorce in 1978. After the divorce, Abigail remained in Dublin for the next six months, but the grief and memories in Dublin were oppressing and she decided to emigrate. She discussed her decision with her ex-husband and his mother, who were both supportive as long as Abigail continued to stay in touch with Ruth and find a way to explain her decision to her daughter. Abigail agreed and in 1980, she emigrated to the United States, leaving a detailed letter for her daughter and hoping that Ruth would one day understand.

Abigail moved in with one of her cousins, who had emigrated years earlier and eventually met a man named Aaron Goldberg, whom she fell in love with. Abigail wrote letters to Ruth every two weeks, never expecting a reply and rarely got replies. Every month, though, Abigail would ring the Lyman household and talk to her daughter, even though the conversations were never that deep.

However, Abigail’s relationship with Ruth didn’t begin to mend until 2010, when Ruth was pregnant for the second time. Abigail and Aaron had come over to Ireland after receiving an invitation from Ruth. Abigail met her grandson, Seth, and her son-in-law, Conor. She liked them and slowly began rebuilding her relationship with her daughter in a more equitable way.

Grandmother: Naomi Elizabeth Lyman née Cohen [1922-2006]

Naomi was born in 1922. She spent the first sixteen years of her life in the area that is now known as the Czech Republic. She had a generally happy childhood, with a lot of love. However, when the Munich Agreement occurred in 1938, Naomi grew up quickly and her family left Czechoslovakia as quickly as they could and her family then dispersed. The majority of her family managed to reach the United States and Canada, while others went to England. Naomi’s immediate family settled in Dublin, Ireland. Naomi liked the city of Dublin.

However, in 1940, Naomi visited a bakery to buy a loaf of Challah bread for her family’s dinner and met Judah Lyman, then a cashier. They struck up a quiet friendship, which eventually became romantic. Naomi married Judah in 1942, and was blissfully happy. Three years after marrying, their only child, Gabriel, was born in 1945, after WWII had ended. In 1950, Naomi and Judah took over the majority ownership of his family’s bakery. Naomi adored working in the bakery, especially the baking part.

In 1973, Naomi’s only grandchild, Ruth, was born. Naomi doted on the little girl, loving her endlessly. She began another rock for the little girl, especially during Gabriel and Abigail’s divorce.

In 1978, Naomi’s husband began experiencing memories and he was eventually diagnosed with dementia. Gabriel and Ruth then moved back home, adding a levity to the home and giving Naomi some much needed help with Judah’s care and the bakery. When Judah passed in 1980, Naomi was heartbroken but in a way relieved, because Judah would never have the chance to truly forget her. She knows the only reason that she got through it was her beloved son, her darling granddaughter, and the bakery.

In January of 2006, Naomi passed away, peacefully in her sleep, at the age of 84. She would never learn that her great-granddaughter was named after her.

Ruth adored her grandmother and her grandmother adored her. They had a fierce bond, which carried on even in death. Ruth really looked up to her grandmother and was very happy to know that her grandmother was deeply proud of her.

Grandfather: Judah Seth Lyman [deceased, 1920-1980]

Judah was born in 1920 as the third of five children. He spent the first eighteen years of his life in the Netherlands and he had a very good childhood there. However, in 1938 and the Munich Agreement, Judah and his family decided to leave the Netherlands out of fear. Due to being 18, Judah decided to settle in Dublin, Ireland, with his mother’s sister’s family, while the rest of his family settled in Canada. Judah loved working in his aunt and uncle’s bakery, which they had decided to open upon reaching Dublin.

It was the bakery that enabled Judah to meet the lovely Naomi Cohen, who had come in one day to buy a loaf of Challah bread. They quickly struck up a friendship, which turned romantic and Judah married Naomi in 1942. Three years later, their only child, Gabriel, was born in 1945. Judah adored his son and did his best to do right by the boy. In 1950, Judah and Naomi were granted the ability to take over his family’s bakery. Judah loved the bakery with his whole heart and did his best to make it profitable and prevent it from being sold.

In 1973, Judah’s only grandchild, Ruth, was born and he was instantly smitten with the little girl. She became the apple of his eye and he was able to do things with her that he would have tried to do with a daughter. Unfortunately, this time was short lived as Judah began experiencing memory problems in 1978 and was eventually diagnosed with an early onset dementia. It was difficult for him and his family. Judah’s memory continued to worsen and in 1980, Judah passed away peacefully in the hospital after suffering a bad fall at the age of 60.

Ruth sadly doesn’t have too many memories of her grandfather when he wasn’t suffering from dementia. She adored him, though, and her grandmother always insisted that her presence lightened up her grandfather.

Pets:

Childhood: An owl named Athena

Adulthood: A yellow Labrador retriever named Maudie

✧ ROMANCE & CHILDREN ✧

Love Interest: Conor Lorcan O’Donnell

⤷ Ruth first officially met Conor O’Donnell when Professor Flitwick paired them together in their fourth year. They had known of each other prior to then, but had never spoken until that moment. A friendship didn’t form until their sixth year when Ruth was tasked with helping Conor catch up on school work after he took a bludger to the head during a quidditch game. However, their friendship moved into romance in their seventh year where they shared a kiss late one night while studying and then never talked about it again. After Hogwarts, they lost touch and didn’t reconnect until 2000. They rekindled their friendship and after six months, Conor asked Ruth out on a date. She agreed and they dated for a year before Conor proposed. Ruth married Conor on January 27, 2002.

Son: Seth Lorcan O’Donnell

Ravenclaw | Keeper | Triplet | Demisexual | b. March 7, 2007

Ruth has a good relationship with her eldest son, as he takes after her more than he does Conor. Ruth tries to be quite supportive of Seth and encourages her son to find his passions in life, noting that passions can be unexpected. She is very proud of Seth and she loves her son dearly.

Faceclaim: Jett Klyne

Daughter: Naomi Ailis O’Donnell

Ravenclaw | Prefect | Triplet | Heterosexual | b. December 28, 2009

Ruth has a good relationship with her daughter, as she is a good mix between herself and Conor. Ruth adores his daughter and they often do things together, just the two of them. She tries to be as supportive as possible and encourages Naomi to find her passions. She is very proud of her daughter and adores her.

Faceclaim: Alisha Weir

Son: Ciaran Judah O’Donnell

Ruth had a good relationship with her son, although he takes after Conor more than he does her. She knows that Conor understands Ciaran’s relationship with stuttering more than she does and tries to reinforce the fact that his worth isn’t tied to his ability to speak. She is very proud of her and loves him dearly.

Faceclaim: Julian Hilliard

✧ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Best Friends: TBD

Close Friends: TBD

Friends:

Badeea Ali

Callie Black (@cursedvaultss)

Katriona Cassiopeia (@kc-and-co)

Odhrán Donovan (@amerrymystery)

Ellie Hopper (@thatravenpuffwitch)

Tulip Karasu

Cato Reese (@catohphm)

Acquaintances:

Diego Caplan

Ben Copper

Andre Egwu

Penny Haywood

Jae Kim

Barnaby Lee

Nymphadora Tonks

Talbott Winger

Charlie Weasley

It’s Complicated: TBD

Hogwarts Dormmates:

Badeea Ali

Isabelle Dubois (@endlessly-cursed)

Tulip Karasu

Lyse Spindle (@magicallymalted)

Academic Rivals:

Rohan & Rowan Khanna

Enemies:

Death eaters

Voldemort

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Place of Birth: Dublin, Ireland

Hometown: Dublin, Ireland

Childhood:

Born on July 17, 1973, Ruth was the only child of Gabriel and Abigail Lyman. Ruth was well-loved and was doted on by both her grandparents. However, when she was three, her maternal grandparents passed away suddenly and her parents’ marriage was on the rocks. Her parents divorced when she was nearly five in 1978. Her mother moved to the United States a few months after the divorce and shortly after Ruth and her father moved in with her paternal grandparents as her grandfather had begun experiencing memory problems. He was also diagnosed with early-onset dementia as he was under the age of 65.

At the age of seven, in 1980, Ruth lost her grandfather. His loss was hard on her and Ruth relied a lot on her father and grandmother. They were always there for her and made Ruth’s childhood happy and stable and fun. She also had very strong bonds with both her father and grandmother. Of course, in 1984, on her eleventh birthday, Ruth was told that she was a witch and would be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry in September.

Hogwarts Years:

Upon starting Hogwarts, Ruth was sorted into Ravenclaw. It took her some time to become comfortable in the house because, while she felt confident in the academic side, Ruth struggled to connect with the other students in her house. She was a hard worker and easily achieved high marks, often rivaled for the top marks with Rohan and Rowan Khanna. Ruth became prefect in her fifth year and began finding a niche, while forming more acquaintances. She also became friends with Conor O’Donnell and occasionally helped him and his siblings out with researching the Cursed Vaults in their sixth year.

Adulthood:

After graduating from Hogwarts, Ruth began attending a muggle university in Dublin where she studied education. Ruth loved her time in uni and began tutoring young wizarding children, which truly began in earnest after Ruth graduated from uni. She continued this profession until death eaters threatened her in 1997.

Therefore, in August of 1997, Ruth, her father, and her grandmother were placed in a safe house. Ruth spent most of her time in the safe house and to pass the time, Ruth began writing children’s stories, thinking of her young students who had often asked her to tell them a story. Ruth was never intending them to publish but in 2000, she did, at her grandmother’s prodding. Ruth generally continued on with tutoring after the war ended. She also continued to write stories and edit the previous ones.

In 2000, Ruth met Conor O’Donnell again and they slowly began a friendship once again. A few months later, Conor finally asked Ruth out and she agreed. He proposed in late 2001 and they married on January 27, 2000. Together, Conor and Ruth had three children, triplets: Seth Lorcan, Naomi Ailis and Ciaran Judah on December 28, 2009.

In 2005, Ruth was offered the position of charms professor at Hogwarts. She agreed to a part-time position, teaching first through fourth years. She didn’t take on a full time position until 2030, at the age of 57.

Old Age:

Ruth retired at the age of 92, seven years after her husband retired. She devoted the rest of her life to her grandchildren and hobbies. She also traveled more, mostly in Europe, but she managed to connect with a lot of different relatives that she hadn’t known existed.

Death:

Ruth passed away in her sleep at the age of 118. She lived a long and fulfilled life and she left behind three children, seven grandchildren, ten great-grandchildren, and three great-great-grandchildren.

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧

Favorite Color: Teal

Favorite Food: Latkes

Favorite Drink: Hot chocolate

Favorite Weather: A warm and sunny afternoon

Favorite Season: Spring

Favorite Book: Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen

Favorite Music: INXS, The Cure, R.E.M.

Dislikes: Bullies ; wet socks ; being compared to others ; music like AC/DC ; shrimp

Trivia:

Ruth is not a very religious person and doesn’t strictly follow the rules for Judaism, but still considers it to be an important aspect of her identity. She’s definitely more secular and culturally influenced than religiously, but she takes it very seriously, especially given what her grandparents went through.

Ruth discovered her love of writing during the war. That was when she began writing children’s stories. They were only meant to be a pastime while she was hiding with her father and grandmother during the war, but she quickly discovered a passion for it and continued writing them after the war ended. She also starts publishing them a few years after the war.

Ruth is a Star Wars fan and her favorite character is, unsurprisingly, Princess Leia. There was something powerful for Ruth about seeing Princess Leia kicking ass on the screen, especially because she hadn’t really seen that before she watched A New Hope.

Important Links:

Ruth’s tag

More information about Ruth’s children, Seth, Naomi, and Ciaran

#ruth lyman #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm character profile #my character profile #my aesthetic

10 notes · View notes