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thepiratearcinhamlet · 3 years

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Dead Apple Explanation:

Part Two: Dragon Head Conflict

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WARNING. If you do NOT want spoilers, then please do not keep reading. :)

Understanding what happened during the Dragon Head Conflict is key to understanding what happens in Dead Apple.

This section is going to be the longest, so bear with me.

6 years ago, (from the present timeline,) the Dragon Head Conflict broke out. It was the bloodiest day in Yokohama's history. Dead Apple starts on the last day of the conflict, Night 87/Day 88, but the Prologue explains the basic layout of the Conflict in pretty good detail. (If you want to skip my summary and just watch the YT videos, link in Part One of my explanation. There are five videos, the longest is 5 and a half minutes.)

What happens is as follows:

An unnamed ability user with a vast fortune died. At this time in Yokohama's history, there were many more rivals and gangs in the city and several different groups moved in to claim the treasure. The treasure eventually became just an excuse for the rival gangs to finally wage all out war on each other, even though they just called it a 'feud'. As the conflict dragged on into days and then weeks, turning bloodier and bloodier, the Special Division of the government decided to hire an ability user named Shibusawa, who became known as the White Dragon. They thought they could use him, but Shibusawa had his own agenda. (Obviously he didn't tell the government that LOL.)

Shibusawa has a many faceted ability - one facet of it allows him to create a mist, the Dragon's Breath, which separates a user from his or her ability. (There are users who are immune/can resist, but more on that later.) The ability will then turn on the user and kill them. (Please note that this mist was NOT the all-encompassing mist we see later in Dead Apple.)

I feel like this is the perfect time to explain a bit about what we know regarding his backstory. He is an incredibly powerful ability user, and incredibly intelligent, as well, predicting people's moves with even more ease than Rampo or Dazai. (Dead Apple makes this scarily obvious.) He is bored with everything: life, death, abilities, etc. One of the few things he couldn't predict was what would happen if he could get an ability that was in direct opposition to his. He was NOT interested in creating and collecting ability gems yet, he just wanted to find his ability's opposite. Like he tells Atsushi near the end of Dead Apple, the opposite ability could possibly show him the strength and tenacity of life, and it would do so by killing him. It was so alive and powerful, that he would enjoy death at its hands. But he wasn't /sure/, because he couldn't find the antithesis of his ability. (This guy is seriously messed up.)

KEEPING ALL THIS IN MIND-

Enter Fyodor. Yes, Fyodor had his hands in it the entire time. You thought Shibusawa was in control? Nooooope. Fyodor is an enigma; he has a lot of agendas going at once, and he's basically on the same intelligence level as Shibusawa. He uses Shibusawa, (a feat in and of itself,) telling him about an ability user locked away in an orphanage. This ability is not fully developed, but incredibly powerful; the rival to Shibusawa. Elated, Shibusawa rushes off to the orphanage. How he manages to torture the abilty user is a mystery - either he snuck him out of the orphanage, or the director of the orphange was just that much of an @#$%^&*!. Regardless, Shibusawa tortured the ability user to try and extract his ability - since it wasn't fully developed, and buried so deep inside the user who had no knowledge that he WAS a user, Shibusawa couldn't separate it with his Dragon's Breath ability, and was forced to use electrocution.

The ability inside the user /was/ the rival to Shibusawa's, and even in it's not-fully-developed state, it activated last-minute to protect its user, turning into a white tiger and slashing through Shibusawa's skull, killing him.

However, Shibusawa's ability was unique. It resided in his skull, and the skull was not destroyed by the white tiger's claws. With a little unexplained Fyodor magic, (seriously, someone explain the many facets of Fyodor's ability already!) Shibusawa was revived, but Fyodor withheld his memories, thereby making it easier for him to continue manipulating Shibusawa without Shibusawa's knowledge. His memories are gone, but Shibusawa does remember his lust for collecting and his boredom with the universe. (He's also basically a spirit in some sort of magical physical body, since his skull was kept separate from him, so he's not going to die conventionally.)

There is a bit of a gap here, as Shibusawa somehow went from being a revived dead spirit dude to being hired by the government, and this is not explained. My guess is Fyodor was involved. Shibusawa was vital to his plan, and this was the perfect time to start putting it in motion. (Fyodor's plan is not important right now, that's for the apple suicide section.) So yeah - let's assume Fyodor somehow got the Special Division to hire Shibusawa. (Asagiri, I know this is not the most important detail, but it would be great if you explained it~)

Fast forward to where we left off with Dragon Head Conflict. We are not sure when in the 88 days of conflict that the government sent out Shibusawa, but it was probably around the middle. During the time he was free to roam the streets, the bloodshed increased. Ability users started dying en masse. Rumors of a "White Dragon" start circulating,

Oda, the mafioso who wouldn't kill anyone and Dazai's friend, went one night to investigate a jewelry store that had been blasted apart. It also doubled as a base of operations for a blackmarket organization known as the Gerhardt Security Services, or GSS. (You'll remember them from the Fifteen Arc.) The place was known to be protected by some extremely dangerous combat ability users. While there, Oda bumps into Shibusawa, who pretends to be investigating the scene of the crime and shows little interest in the deaths of the ability users, saying that people die all the time, especially since there is a war on. (Shibusawa actually was the one who attacked the store himself, stealing the gems for a separate collection of his [normal gems, not ability gems,] and killing all the ability users. His boredom caused him to obsessively collect things, and the loss of his memories amplified it.) Oda asks if he's new here, because the murders make no sense and he /ought/ to be surprised. GSS was one of the few neutral parties in the current feud, and therefore, whoever attacked was a "thrill seeking fool". Oda then speculates that maybe it's the White Dragon's doing, a loose cannon who appeared out of nowhere a few days ago and attacks anyone in any organization, leaving no witnesses. Shibusawa comments that, if there were no witnesses, how would The White Dragon get a name? He then says that if it /is/ the White Dragon's doing, he has no business sticking around. Oda says that he's going to stay because he wants to find out the White Dragon's motive. Shibusawa starts to leave, then says he's going to give Oda a hint to the White Dragon's obvious motive. (Real subtle there, sir.) The answer is pure boredom - perhaps beautiful jewels would awaken feelings inside him. He then leaves, saying that if Oda survives, he'd love to meet up with him again.

Dazai appears shortly afterwards, and Oda tells him what happened. Dazai tells him he is lucky to have survived, since that 'investigator' was the White Dragon himself.

Fast forward to 70 days into the conflict. Chuuya confronts Dazai for napping and subsequently ignoring a call from Mori to attend an important meeting, asking him if he even understands what's going on because this is the biggest gang feud in Yokohama's history. Dazai first teases him, saying he needs to buy a microscope to use on Chuuya because he's so short, then tells him that yes, he does understand. An organization called Strain has had 80% of their members wiped out. Another organization, the Tasake Corps, has had their leader assassinated, sending their gang into chaos. He then rattles off several other organizations who have joined in the bloodshed. Old feuds, paranoia, lust for revenge - the conflict is just an excuse for everyone to lay everything on the table. It will only end with the death of everyone involved. Chuuya yells at him, that he needs to contribute to stopping the death. Dazai comments that rushing headlong into a fight is what everyone else is doing, thereby causing more death and chaos. He says they should leave the strategy of the Port Mafia's part of the war to Mori, the leader of the Port Mafia, and then shifts Chuuya's attention to something else.

Dazai shows him a photo of a corpse of a Port Mafia executive named "The Colonel." Chuuya is in shock that the older man, who had a very powerful ability, could possibly be killed. Dazai tells him it's the White Dragon - the White Dragon's ability is still unknown, but he appears to get stronger with every kill he makes. Chuuya says this war makes the perfect hunting ground to find and kill the White Dragon, and asks Dazai what the plan is to take him down. Dazai says he doesn't plan on hunting him down, and that Chuuya ought to be wondering about who will replace The Colonel as the next executive, especially since they both are potential candidates. Chuuya's temper flares again, and he punches Dazai, telling him he's going after the White Dragon and Dazai can go back to napping until he dies, before storming out. Dazai mumbles "how cruel", but smiles, obviously having more up his sleeve than he let Chuuya on to.

Two days later, Shibusawa is taking a stroll through a ruined section of Yokohama. Despite the bloodshed, a few pedestrians are still around - life must go on. He approaches a street vendor and tries to buy a bouquet of white flowers. The vendor asks him if they're a gift for someone. Shibusawa says yes, that he plans to leave them with his next encounters, as a parting gift. (Seriously, this guy needs to learn the art of SUBTLETY-) The vendor then says she will gift him "this", and pulls out a gun, aiming it at him. The rest of the 'pedestrians' pull out weapons and surround him, much to Shibusawa's surprise. Dazai then appears, telling him that these are the Mafia's best, and he shouldn't resist; this is just the "entertainment before the show". Shibusawa is impressed, and guesses Dazai's identity. Dazai informs Shibusawa that he (Dazai) is "on thin ice" with his partner for "sleeping all the time" and asks Shibusawa to come away with him. Shibusawa asks what will happen if he refuses. Dazai tells him that he was offering to let Shibusawa choose where he dies, but he could just stay there and die right now. He then tells him that he made two miscalculations: First, Shibusawa can't win against Dazai, because Dazai's ability will nullify whatever the White Dragon's ability is. Second, the Port Mafia never works alone - the White Dragon is a One Man Army, and that will always fail.

Shibusawa asks if that's why Dazai joined the mafia, (i.e., being stronger in a group.) Dazai affirms this. Shibusawa tells him that's unfortunate, but Dazai probably feels the same way. He goes on to say that groups are important, likening individuals to threads and a group to a whole cloth. However, if you have one black thread in a white cloth, the cloth is nothing better than ruined trash. (Ouch, much.) Dazai brushes this remark aside, telling him that he will show him no mercy. The White Dragon went too far by killing The Colonel, and Dazai will punish him for it. Shibusawa shrugs, and says that's fine with him, but Dazai will regret it. Dazai denies this with a smirk. But Shibusawa keeps talking.

He tells Dazai that if he kills the White Dragon, the feud will not end. Dazai comments that's a unique way of looking at it. Shibusawa says that only the death of everyone will end the conflict, (echoing Dazai's words to Chuuya two days prior,) unless of course… another feud happens to distract everyone from the original feud. Dazai asks how. Shibusawa tells him that to stop a fire in an oil ring, you set off a bomb.

At that exact moment, an explosion goes off somewhere nearby. Rare shock appears on Dazai's face and he asks where it came from. Shibusawa tells him that no longer is this a feud, but an all-out war, thanks to him. His declaration was just delivered to all the organizations involved. Dazai watches the Mafia Headquarters rise into the sky, confused and still in shock. Shibusawa continues to talk, telling him that he is going to reduce everyone's base to nothing but rubble. Dazai then yells out that no, the mafia headquarters is /falling/. The bomb flew part of the building into the air, and now it's going to crash into the square.

Smug, Shibusawa repeats Dazai's "You made two miscalculations" quote back at him. First, Dazai thought the White Dragon wasn't expecting an ambush. Second, Dazai thought the White Dragon was alone. Supernatural abilities appear out of nowhere, attacking the mafia members in the square.

Dazai's subordinates fall one by one as he watches in horror. Shibusawa casually comments that Dazai was right, superiority in numbers was a splendid idea. He decided to form his own 'group', to help distract him from his boredom.

(What is NOT specified here is if Shibusawa is using his ability, or if he recruited ability users to his side. However, as we know from the beginning of Dead Apple, Shibusawa /did/ have a bunch of people in masks and cloaks and hoods. As to whether he animated them with abilities from deceased ability users, or if they were an extension of his own ability, or if they were a mix of ability users and normal people, is unknown. ASAGIRI, PLS JUST WRITE A WHOLE DANG NOVEL CALLED 'DRAGON HEAD CONFLICT'-)

As he finishes speaking, the rubble of the mafia looms closer to hitting the ground. Dazai mumbles that "who would have thought the White Dragon would be so powerful?" (This comment makes me think that in this instance, Shibusawa /was/ using his ability, and his hired hands were the ones setting off the bombs around Yokohama.) Shibusawa says he's tired of that name: "I am Shibusawa Tatsuhiko, the explosion that will end this war. The bringer of death that will end all of the massacres. This is the grand finale. I hope you leave me yearning for more…" Dazai recovers his composure and says that it's all very interesting, and it's time they had some fun, but at that moment, the headquarters finally hits the square, engulfing Shibusawa and Dazai in rubble and dust.

That day, every organization watched their base be destroyed, and they all learned the name of their common enemy. The Port Mafia sent a search party out to find Dazai, but his body was nowhere to be found, and neither was Shibusawa's.

Fifteen days later, Day 87 of Dragon Head Conflict, Shibusawa is moping in his palace, Draconia. (This is yet another facet of his ability - it is a special place, sort of like Lucy's, except he can make his tangible in the real world. Draconia holds everything he obsessively collects. Draconia is technically the name of his ability, but like I said, his ability is many-faceted, and the novel and movie refers to the palace as Draconia, so that is what I am going to do. He created his collecting palace after he was killed by the tiger ability, in a desperate way to find meaning without his memories - Fyodor briefly mentions this in Dead Apple.)

Fyodor appears and asks Shibusawa what's wrong? He's defeated amazing ability users, his palace is full to the brim with beautiful and priceless things; isn't this what he wanted? Shibusawa looks around at all the treasure and the heads (yes, you read that right, HEADS,) of many very strong ability users who he defeated. He says he's obsessively organized, just like he obsessively collected, but he has some measure of regret. Fyodor says that of course he isn't satisfied; he's told Shibusawa time and again that the pleasures of this world will never fill the deep emptiness he feels. "Not even jewels or war?" Shibusawa asks dejectedly. "No, they will not. As someone who has known you a long time, I can assure you of that." Shibusawa agrees reluctantly, commenting on how he predicted the moves of all his fallen foes and it's just so boring. He likens it to children who look back at old, broken toys and wonder how they ever enjoyed playing with them. What did they hope to get out of it? Eventually, they will just feel hopeless and smash the toy to bits. Fyodor tells him to blame the gods, because that's just how the world was made. Shibusawa asks what he should do, "detest the gods?" Fyodor smiles slyly. "No, there's a far simpler answer. Break your toys and move onto the next." Shibusawa smiles and proclaims this an excellent idea.

This exchange of dialogue is eerily similar to Dazai and Odasaku at the end of the Dark Era arc. However, the parallel is striking: both Dazai and Shibusawa are too smart for their own good, but their friends handle it in different ways. Oda tells Dazai to make his world more beautiful, save people, be a good man. Fyodor, who has his own agenda, advises Shibusawa to basically burn his world to the ground and do whatever he wants. (Fyodor, we hate you.)

Back at the temporary Port Mafia headquarters, Mori is holding a brief meeting between Hirotsu, Chuuya and himself. Mori bewails the fact that Shibusawa is a one man army and so enigmatic. Mori cannot use mathematics and logic and normal strategies and manipulation against an enemy they know nothing about, not even his ability, let alone his motive or whereabouts. "It's like we're fighting the mist itself." He goes on to explain that the top four organizations next to the Port Mafia have been completely annihilated, and many Port Mafia members have gone missing, from new recruits to executive candidates, including Dazai.

Chuuya says they should forget about "that moron" and try to find the others. (Obviously he doesn't think Dazai is dead, and knowing Dazai's crafty ways, he can look out for himself.) Mori comments there's the possibility that the missing people may not even be alive anymore, before asking Hirotsu for an update on the White Dragon.

Hirotsu tells him they don't have much beyond speculation and rumors, and that "the White Dragon's supernatural ability" is "a bizarre power that defies expectations." It appears that any user who encounters him commits suicide in despair. Mori then asks if Dazai left any information behind before his disappearance. Hirotsu says he's investigated everything thoroughly three times and has found nothing but a microscope that Dazai recently purchased, but it doesn't even look used.

Chuuya's eyes widen and he demands to know where the microscope is. Hirotsu says it's still in his room. (From the background pictures of said room, it is evident that Dazai has finally upgraded from his frighteningly isolated and empty storage container. Thanks for that stab, Stormbringer.) Fuming, Chuuya rushes off to the room, Hirotsu in tow. Once there, Hirotsu indicates the microscope, and Chuuya grabs it, promptly smashing it. Hirotsu starts to remonstrate, but is interrupted. Annoyance flashes across Chuuya's face as he holds up a transmitter for a tracking device that had been hidden inside. "That jerk saw this coming and got caught on purpose." Hirotsu says the coordinates are probably where both Dazai /and/ the White Dragon are, and is visibly impressed. "And the fact that he put it in a microscope so only I would notice must mean I have no choice but to go rescue that piece of crap. Damn it, Dazai! You always know how to be as annoying as possible!" He starts to leave, and Hirotsu asks where he's going. Chuuya tells him he's getting his motorcycle, indicating he plans to go after the White Dragon and Dazai. Hirotsu protests that Chuuya can't take on the White Dragon alone. Chuuya's annoyance fades, and he becomes more serious. "Don't worry, I have something for him." Hirotsu can't believe he's serious, (hello, Corruption!) and asks if that's really his plan. Chuuya just leaves, gets on his motorcycle, and zooms off, muttering, "Hold on, Dazai… you damn idiot!"

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

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Alastor: Unofficial Character Profile and Timeline

Character profile

Name: Alastor (meaning Greek spirit of vengeance/tormentor)

Birth: January 24th 1896, New Orleans, Louisiana (VA Edward Bosco’s birthday is January 24, 1986)

Human name: Alastor Roscoe Duvalier Cajun (Roscoe means deer forest and is also an old term for a handgun. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Race: Part White (French-American from his father) part Creole (Native American and African-American from his mother).

Hair color: Brown (red and black in Hell) usually short, sometimes in a small ponytail or brown ends reaching slightly past his ears

Eye color: Brown (red in Hell)

Skin color: Light brown (pale gray in Hell) thin pointed chin, lanky agile body

Clothing: brown/white nice shirts with bow ties, dress coats, hunting boots, wine colored pants, the occasional top hat with voodoo pins sticking from the top.

Items: Hunting rifle given to him by his father, sharp knives, a staff with a microphone on it decorated with small golden antlers curved near the top. (The staff became a red vintage microphone with an eye and magic powers in Hell that became part of him as per the deal he took)

Date of death: 1933

Cause of death: Bitten by dog with rabies, experienced hallucinations, inflamed brain, strange excitement and paranoia. When he sees water, it’s nothing but alligators, leeches and the darkness of an ocean. He ran from police and into the woods at night. The police sent several police dogs after him, appearing to Alastor as werewolves. He encounters Hustle, a deer hunter, yelling in agony, almost caught by police. Hustle alerts the police to his location, saying “Target criminal’s over here!” Alastor grabs the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between the eyes. His body is mauled by the police dogs and the hunter sinks down to his knees in shock and fear.

Demonic life: deer demon, overlord, radio host. His deer-like shadow has a mind of its own and reveals his true feelings.

Likes: cooking, singing, dancing, electro swing, Rosie, Mimzy, Charlie (as a friend), his mother, hunting and skinning deer, being out in nature, people failing, dark coffee, the Picture Show, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, theater, liquor, dad jokes, Jambalaya, epicurean food, making voodoo dolls of the Hazbin characters

Dislikes: being touched, strawberries, post 30’s technology, dogs, anything sweet, frowning, Vox, his father, Angel’s sexual remarks, tea, spray can foods, ketchup

Abilities: supernatural powers, voodoo, radio broadcasting, shadow manipulation, warping space, singing, charm

Kalfu is Alastor’s main voodoo deity, as both are destroyers and dark sorcerers.

Mother:

Loretta Marie Duvalier (last name became Cajun): (named after Loretta Petit, real life American radio personality born in New Orleans. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Speaks French. As a human, she had dark skin, thick black short hair and often wore bonnets, dresses, and on occasion, charms around her neck. She went to Heaven for her selfless actions in comforting Alastor when he was bullied and abused. She was the only source of light in his life before he snapped.

Her voodoo deity is Erzulie, the goddess of beauty, love, femininity and motherhood.

Alastor secretly cuddles with a voodoo doll of his mother every night.

Father:

Louis Francois Cajun: White man and Christian French immigrant, descendant of two French Canadians. He fell in love with Loretta, but bi-racial marriage was frowned upon, so they held it in secret. He is a skilled hunter and taught Alastor to hunt deer and game at a young age. When Alastor was younger, he told him to “beware the gators” in the nearby swamp. As Alastor grew older, he became more abusive to him, even molested him after sleeping with another woman on a Friday the 13th. He died brutally by Alastor in the 1920s/30s.

Louis became an oppressive black deer overlord but was defeated by Alastor a second time.

In Alastor’s vision, Louis is represented by Ogun, god associated with dogs, warriors, hunters, conflict. He’s symbolized by an iron knife and has fondness for pretty women and rum.

Samuel Cajun – Grandfather

Antoinette – Grandmother – Voodoo Priestess and Hoodoo oral practitioner

Racheil: Alastor’s friend and love interest (though he doesn’t want sex or serious romance.) She has short blonde hair and looks similar to Charlie in dapper clothes. She, like Charlie, is nice to him and loves to dance and sing. She tries to help him become a better person but after he snapped, she broke up with him and left him to solve his own problems. She almost got stabbed b him but managed to escape with her wife Agatha (whom she had married in private).

In Alastor’s dream, she appears as Oshun, a goddess connected to beauty, sexuality, wealth, pleasure, and rivers.

Alastor later makes a voodoo doll of Racheil’s similar counterpart, Charlie along with dolls representing the other characters.

Mimzy: Alastor’s friend and temporary love interest (Alastor liked to flirt with her but didn’t want to get intimate nor be tied down). Mimzy likes singing, jazz, desserts and doughnuts. She doesn’t like rock. Confident in her singing, she is the owner of a jazz club, both on Earth and in Hell. She is a short, chubby woman who wears pink/purple flapper dresses, a headband with pink feathers and short blonde hair. Her eyes were blue and her skin white as a human, in Hell her eyes were black with hot pink pupils.

Mimzy and Alastor sing several duets together on stage in both realms and even share a kiss much to the disgust of a jealous (human) Husk. As time went on however, Mimzy started falling head over heels for him, while Alastor wanted to stay friends. (She heard about his radio shows but didn’t suspect he was the killer until later). One night, a love crazed Mimzy (who had also had several drinks) tried to undress him and even reached for his private parts. He shoved her off and threatened to kill her if she assaulted him again. Then she realized in shock that he was the serial killer when he defended himself with a bloodstained knife. She tried to call for help, but he choked her with an insane look in his eyes.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Mimzy in his lair with the straw arms missing.

Rosie: Alastor’s friend, fellow overlord, and associate. Rosie wears dark pink dresses, and a large pink hat with skulls, pink feathers, and black flowers on it in Hell. She has black eyes and sharp teeth. She is the owner of her emporium, after Franklin got eaten by demons.

As a human, Rosie looked similar to Mary Poppins: black hair, white skin, elegant dresses and an umbrella in her hands. She owned an emporium on Earth. Alastor used to sing with her and help her out like a gentleman. However, this was before he became insane. Rosie went to Hell after forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks (It was during a time where people worked their lives away). Like in Hell, she was self-centered and didn’t hesitate to overpower others to fulfill her ends. Hence, she became an overlord due to the impact of her evil actions.

According to Vivziepop, their relationship is similar to Jack and Mary’s relationship from Mary Poppins: both Jack and Alastor help out their lady friends and are polite to them. Like Mary, Rosie is stern, sophisticated, elegant, and a perfectionist. She’s “practically perfect in every way” at least in her opinion. Both Rosie and Alastor love singing, dancing, performing, and killing people. The three of them met up with Mimzy and all sang together.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Rosie in his lair.

However, Rosie, like nearly everyone in Hell, has an agenda of her own: using Alastor to further her status. In fact, she often views those around her as mere friends and servants who purpose is to make her life easy and orderly. She, along with Vox, Valentino, Katie, and Sir Pentious are listed as antagonists.

Niffty: A small cyclops demon with a hot pink skirt and short pink hair with a yellow undertone. She is the maid for the Hazbin Hotel: she cleans the rooms, cooks meals and likes to sew, read and write. She is obsessed with men and was summoned by Alastor. She died in the 1950s as a Japanese-American woman at age 22. She is hyperactive and fast…and also a hopeless romantic who indulges in her own fantasies. Niffty isn’t afraid to use manipulation to get her way. Alastor summoned her from the fireplace but before that, he had charmed her into making a deal with him shortly after she arrived in Hell.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Niffty in his lair.

Husk: A black and white cat demon with red wings with card suits on them. He has long red eyebrows, wears a black hat and wears a large red bow tie. Husk loves drinking, gambling, cards and magic shows. As a human, Husk interacted with Alastor as a broad man with short black hair. He went off to serve in the Vietnam War, gambling and drinking his problems away. He died in the 1970s.

In Hell, Alastor summons the grumpy bad-mouthed Husk to help man the front desk of the hotel for “charity work” and transports him there. Alastor got Husk to make a deal with him by promising him booze, cigars, and drinks spiked with catnip. Husk can speak many languages and is good with children.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Husk in his lair.

Alastor’s ancestor from his father’s side: Marie LaLaurie, (1787-1849) real life New Orleans serial killer, cruel to Creole slaves

Dr. Facilier: distant relative

Alastor’s cousin from his mother’s side: Clementine Barnabet: (1894-1923) real life Louisiana voodoo priestess and serial killer, killed families with an axe.

Real life Axeman of New Orleans serial killer 1918-1919

Killed women and primarily used an axe. Spared those who played jazz in their homes

Albert Fish: serial killer, child rapist and cannibal 1924-1932 crimes, died in 1936

Alastor "Hazbin" Roscoe Cajun/Duvalier born January 24th, 1896 (Edward Bosco's b day Jan 24th 1986) to Francois and Loretta Cajun, born at 3:00AM; Loretta gave birth in the woods on the way to the hospital (born 3 weeks early). Light brown skin, brown eyes, round glasses, short brown hair with reddish tint, pointed chin, thin agile body

1897: Age 1 Things start off normal in New Orleans, infant Alastor plays in his crib and loves the music on the radio.

1898: Age 2 Alastor meets his uncle and aunt and discovers the marvelous outside world

1899: Age 3 Alastor watches musicals on the picture show and falls in love with them. His mother makes him Jambalaya, his favorite food of comfort

1900: Age 4 Reading and preschool, Sunday church goings which Alastor finds boring

1901: Age 5 Kindergarten: Alastor is teased for his freckles and whenever his hair glows a reddish tint in the sunlight

1902: Age 6 First grade: Alastor learns reading, writing, math, and art. He hates gym and loves music and art.

1903: Age 7 Second grade: Alastor's parents get into a fight for the first time in a while; Alastor is sent to his room whenever it happens. After he comes back upset, both his parents say that frowning is weakness. Loretta says "Remember to smile, Alastor, it shows dominance and confidence. You're never fully dressed without one." He takes that lesson to heart for the rest of his life.

Vision 1: Alastor dreams he is a young red deer who performs onstage and receives a standing ovation, representing childhood innocence.

1904: Age 8 Third grade: Alastor discovers his love of theater. He finds joy in attending and watching Mardi Gras parades and the costumes. He says 'Throw me something, mista!" during the parade but the other kids got to get the prizes thrown from the parade instead.

1905: Age 9 Fourth grade: A group of boys start to bully him and even punch him badly. Alastor smiles through it all. He tells his father and mother. While his mother comforts him, his father scolds him for not fighting back.

1906: Age 10 Fifth grade: Alastor gets his brutal revenge by daring the boys to enter into a nearby swamp. One of the bullies gets eaten by a crocodile while Alastor just watches. Alastor gets nicknamed by his father and bullies as "Alastor Hazbin."

1907: Age 11 Sixth grade: Alastor goes hunting with his father and his father shows him how to hunt and skin deer and other game. He becomes skilled over time and loves the meat. He also learns how to cook from his mother...Jambalaya being his favorite to make.

1908: Age 12 Seventh grade: Alastor gets slapped by his father for not participating in sports. Other kids make fun of him for being of mixed race. Loretta begins teaching him about Voodoo and Hoodoo. Alastor connects with Kalfu the deity and learns of his heritage as part French and part Creole. His grandmother was a powerful priestess and was believed to orally pass on stories and display feats of magic. His Grandmother was born in Haiti, moved to France and then to the U.S. His Uncle, Father, and Grandfather were Canadian/French Christians. His aunt was conflict avoidant, unlike his uncle and father. Loretta tells him (though he soon doesn't listen) that Voodoo is not to be used for evil, sacrifices, nor cannibalism and to only resort to cannibalism for survival.

1909: Age 13 Eighth grade: Alastor's father yells at him for not showing interest in girls. One fateful night, his father sleeps with another woman and Alastor notices. A helpless Loretta watches as Francois whips, humiliates and molests him in his room, warning him not to tell or "he'd kill (them) both." Loretta comforts him with hugs and Jambalaya. As he eats, Alastor imagines eating off his father's fingers.

Alastor is diagnosed with anxiety, narcissism and psychopathic tendencies. He is bullied in middle school and is not interested in sex and girls like the other boys. He finds it gross and pointless.

Loretta's Jambalaya nearly kills her when a drunk Loretta (too much Scottish Comfort) puts gunpowder and wasabi into it. Alastor's father makes him memorize Bible passages.

1910: Age 14 Ninth grade: Many girls both in school and outside fall in love, but Alastor isn't interested. A Satanic Ritual book appears after it was dropped by accident by imps. He looks through it with great interest and makes a deal with dark Loas: gain near unlimited power in the afterlife in exchange for his soul and the soul of a loved one.

1911: Age 15 Tenth grade: High school was a nightmare. The bullying was worse and Alastor became more and more withdrawn. During this time, Alastor becomes interested in being a radio host and also reads books on weapons and cannibalism.

Vision 2: Alastor dreams he is a red buck, who runs from hunters representing the elite white people. He evades a crocodile, resembling his father and his mother appears as the Voodoo goddess of beauty and motherhood.

1912: Age 16 Eleventh grade: Alastor applies to be an apprentice for a local radio station several times, but doesn't get in. His father and uncle berate him everyday and his mother is busy at secretary work, and Voodoo rituals every month.

1913: Age 17 Grade 12 Alastor graduates and applies again. He starts at the bottom, but rapidly moves his way up. He starts by telling dad jokes, then wants to talk about murder and crimes "far more interesting than the weather and social events."

1914: Age 18 After experiencing harsh critiques from mainstream stations, Alastor is fired. However, he soon decides to pursue his goals on his own. His makes radios from scratch and starts his own shows, with a few private listeners at first.

World War One begins! Alastor uses this opportunity to broadcast on a private station news of deaths in the war in graphic detail. More people start listening and his soon starts making money. Alastor makes his first kill when a man assaulted him and beat him up for him being "Black and outspoken." He was able to get away and he wondered what it'd be like to do it again on the ignorant folks.

1915: Age 19 Alastor promotes war efforts through announcements and songs, including his ending song "You're Never Fully Dressed." However, he still describes brutal murders for the sinister folks.

1916: Age 20 Alastor meets Husk and Mimzy at a jazz bar and club for the first time. He dances and sings with Mimzy, loving her confidence and sexy looks. (Though he doesn't like to be touched by anyone other than his mother, due to fatherly past trauma).

1917: Age 21 Alastor meets Racheil (alternate form of Charlie) and they become fast friends. He learns of the Axeman, a fellow serial killer and learns to be careful.

1918: Age 22 Spanish Flu Pandemic occurs! Sadly, Alastor's mother becomes gravely ill and passes away. Alastor smiles even as he cries. Alastor's father doesn't seem to care. Alastor gets raped again and his father abandons him. Alastor's mother goes to Heaven and Alastor, not knowing what else to do, eats her remains.

1919: Age 23 Alastor becomes depressed (and even suicidal for a while). He doesn't eat much. Alastor eventually snaps and begins his life as a serial killer. After his mother’s death, Alastor lost his remaining traits of humanity…succumbing to his demonic nature. At that point, he didn’t care who he ate and/or killed…it was the last think he could do to keep himself sane along with drinking liquor, coffee, sewing voodoo dolls, and broadcasting the murders by himself.

1920: Age 24 Roaring Twenties and Jazz Age. Alastor becomes known (though no one suspected it was him) by several names "Bayou Butcher," "Deer Devil" "Louisiana Lunatic" among others. Alastor revels in his fame and becomes richer and more materialistic. He buys himself suits, and a cane with deer antlers on it. One of his disturbing hobbies was using his gentleman charm to lure women into his home where he would lie them in the basement and kill them while broadcasting their screams.

Alastor plays in a jazz band and enjoys watching musicians play while smoking and drinking liquor. He often cries in private and makes straw dolls. He drinks dark coffee every morning.

1921: Age 25 Mimzy falls in love with Alastor and touches him inappropriately. He threatens her with a knife and she discovers he's the serial killer. She rushes to call for help but Alastor takes her into an alleyway and stabs and chokes her to death. Feeling slight remorse, he takes her home for his meal.

1922: Age 26 Racheil breaks up with him after being concerned about his sanity. Worried he might be caught, Alastor lays low for a while before starting up again. After Alastor's father comes back, he decides to get his revenge. He ties him to a tree and tortures him during the night. The predator becomes the prey. Alastor tracks him down to a local bar. (Although he usually doesn’t stalk or chase his victims as it breaks his moral code, but his dad is an exception. Also following others/sneaking toward them are often required to kill others.) His father had been secretly afraid that Alastor would be stronger and would want to kill him, thus proving his son more dominant than himself. He had weapons ready, but Alastor had set up several traps in advance. Though Alastor was physically weaker than his father, he was very clever. He had packed a backpack of all his weapons, rope and essential tools. His father says “You and your heathen mother deserve to die” only for Alastor to respond, “Nobody talks about my mama that way.” Seeing his father knocked out, Alastor raises his knife to kill him but stops. That would merely be too easy. He supports him by the shoulders, pretending to be concerned for him as onlookers watched in shock, “It’s okay sir, you just fainted from the heat. Let’s go for a walk in the woods.” He takes him deep in the forest and chuckles darkly.

Alastor knocks him out and ties him to a tree in a forest, waiting until he wakes up. He starts (smiling the whole time) by slicing off his father’s dick among his father’s cussing (“when you screwed me once”), inserting a hot knife inside his father’s privates (“when you screwed me again”) then slicing off his ears (“this is for all the times when you wouldn’t listen to me”), shoving his own severed penis down his throat (“When you shoved your macho beliefs down my throat”) he whips him, then slowly cuts deep down his chest with a chainsaw, organs revealed (“this is for mama”) and finally shots him in the heart (“and this is for me, you heartless bastard.”) He eats his father’s flesh over jambalaya and it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

1923: Age 27 He kills his victims in various ways: some hanging from trees with their organs spilled out, some buttered and eaten, others buried alive, some people shot and stabbed when he doesn’t feel like dragging it out. He’ll often poison other’s food/drinks and watch their reactions with a grin on his face. He enjoys tricking others into corners/tight spots so he doesn’t have to run after them. He’s found of pranks, especially deadly ones done on others. He saves brutal killings for racist men and women and those who think ill of him and his show. He becomes known as the “Deer Devil Dealer of New Orleans.” He only started killing people and animals at random after his mother died and he lost his mind.

1924: Age 28 Vision 3: : He has nightmares about a demonic skeletal deer covered with maggots and sores with chunks of meat over bone and one eye hanging loose running after him. He finds himself in a dark snowy forest, a fierce biting wind. After it seemed like he had been defeated by the monster, Alastor looks into a puddle and sees another, far worse monster, a demonic wendigo reflection staring back at him…Alastor sees a horned face and malnourished skeletal body, ripped red pinstriped dress coat, four clawed hands, red and black hair and red eyes, sharp teeth, large black antlers…the wendigo form resembling his current demonic form in Hell. After killing the alligator representing his father, the wendigo Alastor look-alike shadow appears and says “This is who you really are,” before Alastor wakes up.

1925: Age 29

1926: Age 30

1927: Age 31

1928: Age 32

1929: Age 33 Alastor enjoys the Stock Market Crash and uses the opportunity to enjoy watching orphans suffer. It helps remind him that he's far better off than many, besides the fact that kids were annoying to him. Alastor makes an "Axeman letter:"

"Hell, 1929 Stock Market Crash Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Deer Devil/Bayous Butcher/Louisiana Lunatic/Hazbin of Hell

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the sound waves that surround your earth. I am not a human being, but a demon and overlord from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians call the Deer Devil. Down here, I’m the inevitable Radio Demon.

When I see fit, I shall appear and claim other victims as I see fit. I alone know whom they shall be. No clues will be left behind, save for what you might hear on the next broadcast. Tell the police and the racist, elite scum of the world to beware. Let them try not to discover who I am, for it’d be better for them not to have been born than to incur the wrath of the Deer Devil. You’ll have a deer in the headlights look and won’t have any idea what hit you until after it’s too late. Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a monster and murderer. But if I wanted to hurt anyone else here, I would have done so already. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. I could kill every one of your best and worst citizens, for I am in a close relationship with the Shadows of the Other Side. At 6:06 pm next Friday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans and then visit those in Hell. I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, electro swing, and jambalaya. I swear by all the Loas and deities that I will spare those who can provide me with some great entertainment when I visit. Word of warning, I can read you people like a book, and see into your very souls. Anyone foolish enough to challenge me will have their corpses consumed and their screams muffled by the lovely sound of jazz bands jamming the night away. I have been, am, and will be, the worst spirit that ever existed in fact, fantasy, or realm of Hazbins. Smile and stay tuned! ~Deer Devil (Alastor)"

1930: Age 34 Great Depression occurs!

The event hits Alastor and many others hard...he runs low on food so he eats others and hunts more and more to survive. Now Alastor kills at random instead of focusing on the racist mean people.

1931: Age 35

1932: Age 36

1933: Age 37 Alastor's Death

The police eventually track Alastor down with the help of Racheil and Chasseur, a fellow deer hunter whose daughter had been killed by Alastor. Not too long before the police discover where he is, Alastor gets bitten by a rabies infested dog. For the next several hours, Alastor experiences hallucinations, paranoia, brain inflammation and a fear of water. In water, all he sees is leeches and alligators. In his hallucinations, he is being watched by a wendigo. The police chase Alastor though the dark woods, police dogs hot on the trail. A local deer hunter, Hustle, joins in on the chase. Alastor navigates the woods, trying to find a place to hide. The hunter accidentally shoots him in the back as he ran, thinking Alastor was a deer.

Alastor experiences extreme agony when the deer hunter spots him, pointing a rifle at him. The hunter announces his location to the police. Seeing no other way out other than pain and imprisonment, Alastor takes the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between his eyes. The police dogs maul his dead body and the hunter sinks to his knees in shock and terror. Strangely enough, Alastor dies with a creepy smile on his face, the mark of Kalfu appearing behind his cold neck, unnoticed by anyone.

1933: After death: Alastor's old body falls away as the deal with the Loas takes fruit. The shadows give him his immense powers in the shadow world and he transforms into his demon form in Hell. He gets his microphone staff, which enables him to broadcast his murders and victories. He is known as the Radio Demon. He conquers several areas of Hell, eventually getting the attention of the overlords who know to stay wary of him.

Alastor befriends Mimzy and overlord Rosie and they sing, dance, talk and murder other demons for fun. Alastor treats them both with respect and knows not to piss off Rosie as she's stern, violent, and "practically perfect in every way."

Every year when the Exterminators appear, Alastor broadcasts the chaos during the 24 hour period, and will go out and kill the angels too.

1950s: Alastor makes a deal with Niffty who becomes obsessed with him and men. She becomes his servant/slave/associate and cooks and cleans for him.

1970s: Alastor makes a deal with Husk and Husk becomes his servant/slave/associate after Alastor promised him a better life with money and booze and the promise of " finding love."

2019: Alastor sees Charlie on TV and decides to help her with the hotel (for his own enjoyment, of course.) He dances and befriends Charlie, forming plans to use her to dig deeper into the royal family and eventually take the throne and rule Hell. He hopes that with a shadow army and more possessed members, he can invade Hell, Heaven and even Earth to spread his chaos. He defeats Sir Pentious and changes the name to Hazbin Hotel, his formerly mocking nickname he embraced.

Future: Alastor helps Charlie and the others protect the hotel from Sir Pentious, Vox, Valentino, Velvet and other villains.

Other non canon versions of Alastor:

Stalaros (commonly known as 2p Alastor). Alastor with opposite colors and personality: he wears white and blue and cries a lot. He is one of the clients at the Haven Hotel run by Caoline Egnam, Heaven's princess. Stalaros is gay and horny like Angel Dust.

Lavender/Purple Alastor: Peaceful and confident, an OC made by fans.

Radiodust Alastor: An Alastor that loves Angel Dust. Popular with fans.

Charlastor Alastor: An Alastor that loves Charlie romantically. Popular with fans.

Redeemed Alastor: Appears as a man with a deer head and human-like traits in Heaven. In this universe, he reunites with his mother.

FHE (“For His Entertainment”) Alastor: Alastor in his truly evil form: he takes over all of Hell and possesses the demons. His shadow can turn into a monster wendigo. This Alastor has a hole between his eyes from a bullet wound, and antlers stained with blood.

#hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel theory #alastor #human alastor #alastor lair

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project-rebirth · 3 years

Text

Bio: NAMELESS

Name: NAMELESS Kamijou Touma

Status: Alive (Resurrected)

Nationality: Japanese

Age: 45 (Physically 25, Immortal)

Gender: Male

Height: 6'2

Family: Index (First Wife, Deceased) Claves Regni Caelorum (Eldest Son) MIsaka Mikoto (Ex Wife) Kamijou Makoto (Second Son) Kamijou Tsuyu (Daughter) KAMI (Creation/Clone)

Description

Nameless, formerly known as Kamijou Touma, as a potential antagonist for A Certain Magical Index: Rebirth Testament IV. He is a twisted version of Touma that came from a point in the future where he had lost everything, leading him down the path where he became the embodiment of Death itself.

Appearance

Nameless appears partly mutilated and wearing a symbiotic type armor that is covering the mutilated parts of his body. Nameless also appears to have black tattered angel wings, white hair, and soulless looking eyes. He also appears to be covered in blood.

History

After the Global Conflict with HYDRA and the Romefeller Alliance, everything appeared to be at peace in the world, as the Grand HYDRA Empire had decided to stay away from Earth Prime, and world order being restored. Several small scale incidents happened here and there in Academy City which Touma had gotten caught up in and resolved per usual. Eventually, Touma finished up school and set off to travel with Index, Miyu, and Othinus. They enroll in the Magic Association an there, Touma, with the help of INdex and several others, find a way for him to use Magic without Imagine Breaker interfering or getting injured due to his nature as an esper, thus becoming the first successful magician/Esper Hybrid in history.

Some time later, The Kamijou Family left the Association and returned to japan, with Touma and Index deciding to get married. Shortly after the marriage, the two had a child who was named Claves Regni Caelorum. All seemed to be well for them, however, everything seemed to go downhill when Isaac Rosenthal, a foe that had been previously dealt with by Accelerator several years before, had implanted a fragment of his soul in a scroll that Index found during a mission she and Touma were on for the Association. Rosenthal was then able to posses Index this time his power much greater than the time he possessed Hirumi Hishigata do to being able to use the grimoires at will, becoming a huge threat to the world. Touma and Accelerator were teamed up once again and tried to save Index,, however they failed and as a result, the two were forced to forced to kill Index.

The death of Index left Touma extremely heartbroken, as he had not only failed to save someone in front of him, but that person being someone he loved dearly. He debated on committing suicide, but was reminded by Othinus, Miyu and Mikoto that he had a child to live for. A year later, he had fallen in love with Mikoto and married her, giving birth to two children, Makoto and Tsuyu. All seemed to be well again, but it was not until two years later that another threat had presented itself to the world: Lesser Abyssals created by the Grand HYDRA Empire had invaded, particularly Japan, causing mass devastation to the country, Academy City and world order. The war was violent and brutal as Touma had watched several others die before him: Frejya, the mysterious girl he met years ago dying after her ability goes beyond its limits, killing her. among others that he knew at the time dying. The biggest casualty for him was his Understander: Othinus. In a battle, she was crushed to death by a large piece of rubble, the sight of her crushed remains sending him into a blind rage. In that instance, he killed the leader of the invasion, snapping their neck.

It was here that Touma had undergone a huge shift in his personality, he became colder, more violent, and dismissive of others. The change was shocking to those that knew him, even Accelerator was genuinely surprised and disturbed by what Touma had become. Touma made a vow that he would kill anyone that stood in his way, and would kill the remaining Abyssals in the Meta Universe. Shocked, Misaka Mikoto could not approve of his new ways and took both Claves and the other children and fled Academy City, going into hiding. Touma became enraged when he found out about this, however, he did not choose to go after them and hurt them. Instead, he fell into despair once more, deciding to commit suicide, as he was disgusted at what he became, and felt as if he truly lost everything.

Touma successfully commits suicide, however this makes things worse for him,, as he finds that he broke an oath that he had made a long time ago that he could not take his own life. As a result, he could not enter Heaven or hell but instead in Limbo where he was mocked by Death himself. Death laughed at him, mocking him for all of Touma’s failures in life. This caused him to attack Death in fit of rage, which resulted in Touma losing all of his limbs, getting badly mutilated, and was forced to relive all of his worst moments over and over again for the next two decades. It drove him insane to the point where he broke free of his infinite loop, learning Death’s weakness, that he had no true soul and that it was artificial. Touma goads Death by convincing him to use his body as a host if he were truly the incarnation of Death. Taking the bluff, Death attempted to do so, but instead what happens is Death losing himself and ending up resurrecting Touma in his mutilated and rotting body.

Following Touma’s resurrection, his body takes on a completely different appearance and gains all of the knowledge and abilities that Death had as a result. After returning to the physical world, he creates a Magic cabal known as NECRO and seeks out the floating abandoned city of Apollon. NECRO causes great destruction and chaos all over the world,, guiding them under the belief that they are saving the world through destruction. However, Touma, who abandoned his name and calls himself the Nameless, had the intention of using the Phase Between Worlds to travel 30 years back into the past in order to kill himself. He believes by doing this, he will cease to exist, and thus will be saved from his pain.

#Kinoverse Lore #Character Info

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

High Expectations - Ch7

You know those 1 minute doodles people do? Well this is pretty much the digital equivalent. As soon as I sat down I had a kid perched on each knee and a constant refrain of ‘Can I go on the magic drawing pad?’ which made doing anything just a little tricky. I would love to have half a day to sit down uninterrupted and get to grips with even the basics of digital drawing but that’s not going to happen any time soon. Instead you have to make do with what I could manage around two small humans (literally - I had one tucked into each arm).

More thanks to @willow-salix who has put up with my ramblings every step of the way.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Seven

Gordon was awake long before Virgil the following day. He quietly flicked through the TV channels, the volume down low, until he heard his brother moving around in the bedroom. Experience had taught him not to disturb Virgil’s slumber unless he fancied being in close proximity to a grumpy bear.

As Virgil stumbled through his morning routine Gordon made himself useful fixing breakfast. He searched through cupboards and the fridge and was relieved to see that Virgil kept the apartment well stocked. Both brothers had a voracious appetite and a fast metabolism. By the time Virgil had finished his shower the eggs were in the pan and the coffee was brewing. When he emerged from his bedroom wearing yet another red checked shirt Gordon was just plating up.

“Hey, you can stay more often.” The appreciation was mumbled around a slice of toast from the large stack in the middle of the table. The portions were generous and the eggs were light and fluffy with just the right amount of seasoning. “When did you learn to cook?”

“Right around the time you and John moved out and me and Alan got shipped to the coast. Dad wasn’t often back in time for dinner.”

Virgil could sense there was a story to tell there but knew better than to press the issue, especially before he had had a second cup of coffee. During his own visit back home he had taken on the cooking without even thinking about it and hadn’t given a second thought as to who normally kept the household fed.

“I’ll cook tonight if you want” Gordon said, tucking into his own pile of eggs. “If you want pizza though you’ll have to ask Alan next time you’re back. That kid has a knack for dough. Just don’t touch his pasta, I’ve never known someone find simple boiling so hard.”

“Sounds great, you can show me what you can do. Maybe you’ll end up at catering college.”

Virgil’s joke fell flat as he sensed the shields rising up around Gordon. It seemed any mention of the future made his brother touchy as hell. He made a mental note to avoid all talk of future plans for the rest of Gordon’s stay, even if they were only made in jest. Unfortunately he still had his own work to do, troubled brother or not.

“So Gordon, I’ve got a lab slot today. I was going to take you in and show you around but perhaps engineering isn’t really your thing.”

Gordon shook his head gently.

“Hey, there’s a pool a couple of blocks over, it should be pretty quiet at the moment. How about you put yourself through your paces this morning then we can hang out in the afternoon once I’ve got back from campus.”

This sounded infinitely preferable to Gordon. The routine of swimming was ingrained now and he had thrown his kit into his bag as a matter of habit. The idea of watching Virgil doing…whatever it was Virgil did was not appealing, especially now knowing of his father’s ulterior motive for suggesting he spend time with one of his college based brothers.

With breakfast over and the dishes carefully washed the brothers departed and headed their separate ways; Gordon heading to the pool while Virgil made his way onto campus.

Just a few short minutes later Gordon was stood, bag in hand, outside the pool building. It was shut. A noticed taped to the door proclaimed the apologies of the management for unscheduled maintenance and the assertion that the facilities should be open again the following day.

Gordon dug out his phone and tried to call Virgil but the line connected straight through to voicemail. Virgil had warned him that there was a policy of no phones in the labs and workshops and it looked like he had already missed the opportunity to get hold of his sibling. He didn’t have a key to the apartment either. Apparently the spare set was with the letting agent, whoever that was, but even if he could find the right place there is no way they would just hand over the keys to him even if he did have the right surname. Instead of a morning burning off his frustrations in the water he was faced with the prospect of being stuck in a strange city, alone for the next few hours until Virgil resurfaced from his project.

He wandered back past the apartment and towards campus with the vague hope that he might bump into Virgil but deep down he knew that hope was futile. Shopping didn’t appeal and galleries and museums had never been his thing. He was destined for a boring morning.

His footsteps led him to a small square and he flopped down onto one of the hard, metal benches that lined the perimeter. He may as well wait here as anywhere. The wind was picking up and the enclosed space gave him some protection from the chill air that felt like it was blowing straight off the surrounding mountains. The clouds above looked dark and stormy and the day had turned unseasonably cold. The turbulent sky matched his mood. It felt like the entire world was conspiring to stop him from swimming.

The first rain drops soon began to fall. Heavy, penetrating globules of water that hit the ground with force before bouncing back up again several inches. Within seconds the drops had turned into a raging downpour; the sort of rain that obscures your vision and soaks everything in an instant. The drumming sound of rain hitting concrete and roof slates filled Gordon’s ears with white noise as though attempting to drown out his very thoughts. He sat there as the stinging rain beat against his body, turning the exposed skin of his cheeks a raw pink. In some perverse way the discomfort was enjoyable. A penance for being the sole aquatic element in a family that revolved around the sky and the stars.

A hand landed on Gordon’s shoulder and broke through his reverie. He spun round on the bench to be confronted by a young man in military uniform gesturing to the store front behind him. He didn’t have much choice but to follow as the man picked up his bag and dashed back to the cover of the building.

As the door slammed shut behind him the noise of the storm became muted. Two men were in the room, one sat behind a desk while Gordon’s assailant and bag thief was shaking water off his cap. Both looked to be about 25 and were in contrasting uniforms.

“So, were you aiming on hypothermia or just trying to drown yourself out there?” his attacker come rescuer asked.

Gordon just shook his head mutely. His hair was slicked down against his head and the action caused trickles of water to drip down his cheeks. He unzipped his kit bag, pulled out a towel, and scruffed his hair back to some semblance of dryness.

“I was meant to go swimming but the pool was closed.”

“And swimming in that downpour looked like a better idea than going home?”

“I’m just visiting. I’m locked out until my brother gets back from class.”

“So how long do you need to wait?”

Gordon looked at his watch. “He’ll probably be another couple of hours.”

“Well you can’t go back out in that, you’re already shivering.”

This was true. Stood there with his clothes plastered to his skin Gordon became uncomfortably aware of just how cold and wet his was. He tensed his core muscles in an attempt to still the shivers that made his body tremble.

The man behind the desk stood up and headed over to a coffee pot that was set up in the corner of the room. He called over his shoulder to his companion. “Kid’s not getting ill on my watch. I’ll make some coffee and you can take him upstairs and stick his clothes in the dryer.”

Gordon felt like he had little choice but to follow the man through a door at the back of the office and up a narrow set of stairs. They were right about one thing; he couldn’t sit out in the rain for hours.

The upstairs of the building was converted into a tiny flat and the two military personnel evidently lived up there, despite their conflicting services. There was a small living area with kitchenette built along one wall and a couple of extra doors that Gordon assumed led to a bathroom and bedrooms. Gordon soon found himself kitted out in a pair of dry sweatpants and a hoodie while his own sopping wet clothes were put through a drying cycle.

Back downstairs, with borrowed clothes and a hot coffee warming him through, Gordon began to take more notice of his surroundings and his temporary companions. Emblems of the World Security Patrol and its four component parts adorned the walls. Badges of the World Space Patrol, World Navy, World Army Air Force and Universal Secret Service all had their place.

With nothing else to do until his clothes had finished drying Gordon settled in to make the best of it. The two staff seemed personable enough. One wore the uniform of the World Army while the other was clad in the WASP insignia of World Aquanaut Security Patrol, the submarine service of the World Navy. The pair were good natured with a touch of friendly inter-service rivalry. Coming from a military family himself Gordon was well versed in the different factions although he was more familiar with the United States Air Force that the various world forces on display.

“What is this place?”

“Joint Services Recruitment Office” came the response. “The World Security Patrol has offices all over the place. Good engineers are like gold dust which is why this office is so close to the campus. The different services staff it on rotation, two at a time.”

“So how did the pair of you end up here?” Gordon asked.

“Random allocation for me” answered the World Army representative, who Gordon soon learned was called Daniels.

“I’d just got back from an extended submarine tour and my C.O. thought I could do with some sunshine. Not much of that today though; I stayed drier under water” laughed Green, the WASP who had pulled him in from the storm. “It’s not too bad though, except for the land snails.”

“Hey!” Daniels launched a promotional stress ball at Green. “Less of the land snail you jumped up sardine. Thank goodness I’ve only got to put up with you for another eight weeks.”

The two men evidently got on well together. The traded insults were laced with laughter. It was a far cry from the attitude his eldest brother displayed while in uniform. Maybe it was the lack of officers to keep them in check or maybe Scott just didn’t have a sense of humour any more that accounted for the difference; the pair in front of him certainly weren’t dour or serious.

“I can’t see Scott being happy getting sent to one of these places.”

“Scott?”

“Eldest brother. He’s Air Force. He’s not happy unless he breaks mach three at least twice a week.”

This description was greeted by a double eye roll, evidently WASP and World Army were prepared to unite against a common enemy.

“That’s flyboys for you. I guess this isn’t the brother who locked you out?”

“Nope, Virgil’s here doing his postgrad at the moment. Some sort of engineering project. I’m only here for a few days while Dad is out of town.”

“So you like to swim, huh? Think you can swim 200 meters in under three minutes?”

“Stop trying to recruit the kid, Green.”

“Hey! It’s my job at the moment, of course I’m going to have a try.”

A competitive glint appeared in Gordon’s eye.

“Think I can do it in under three minutes?” he mused, cocking his head as though seriously considering the question. “I know I can do it in one, forty-four point two.”

“Like hell you can. Jeez, that’s gotta be some kind of record.”

Gordon just smirked. Out of the pool and with clothes on he wasn’t particularly recognisable, his father’s policy of minimal contact with the media had seen to that. The pair in the recruiting office only knew his first name and had nothing to go on to connect him to the Olympics. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit boastful at the chance to show off his achievement.

“Yup. Butterfly. Set it out at the Games a few weeks back.”

“Wait? You’re Gordon Tracy?”

Gordon nodded.

“Bloody hell. The guys back at base aren’t gonna believe I had you in my recruiting office.”

Green was now actively goggling at him and even the more reserved Daniels was looking slightly thunderstruck.

“Told you to stop with the recruitment spiel. He’s got better things to do than mess about in your tin cans.”

“Those tin cans are highly specialised submarines I’ll have you know.”

The pair were back to the ribbing that seemed to characterise their working relationship. Gordon looked on enviously at the obvious camaraderie that existed despite their differing career paths. It showed a team spirit that he yearned for and the idea of locking himself away from his family at the bottom of the ocean was sounding pretty good at the moment.

Before his brain had fully caught up with his mouth he blurted out “So what would I have to do other than swim to get my hands on one of those subs?”

Gordon left the recruitment office a few hours later with more than just dry clothes. Stuffed in the bottom of his kit bag was a print out of the scores from the aptitude and reaction tests he had sat there which showed he more than met the standard required for WASP. On top of these Green had placed an application form which, if submitted alongside the test results, would earn Gordon an invitation to a selection week.

He had no real plans and sitting the tests had more been something to do to pass the time until Virgil was back. The military was Scott’s thing, not his, but Green had been animated and engaging in his description of the submarine service giving Gordon much food for thought. The picture he painted of service life was very different to the stories Scott brought home. Perhaps it was because WASP was a peacekeeping entity rather the aggressive environment of Scott’s fighter unit or perhaps it was the idea of exploring the oceans that appealed but something made him keep the forms.

Gordon shoved the whole idea to the back of his mind, burying it as deep as the paperwork that was hidden at the bottom of his kit bag.

xoxoxox

By the time Gordon made it back to the apartment Virgil was there to let him in.

“Good swim?” A mug of the ever-present coffee was placed in front of him before Virgil returned to the kitchen. Gordon picked up the mug and wandered over, leaning against the door frame to watch as his brother made a start on lunch.

“Pool was shut. Should be ok tomorrow though.”

“Shut? You found something else to do, right?” Virgil looked up from where he was buttering a stack of bread for sandwiches, feeling a gnawing guilt at his little brother being left alone in a strange city. The concern was clearly evident in his voice.

“It was fine. Even without a pool I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself for a few hours.”

“I know you are. Do you want tomatoes in with your ham? Or I’ve got mustard if you prefer.”

“Tomatoes please. You got any cheese?”

“Sure just grab the block out the fridge for me and I’ll add some in.”

The pair manoeuvred round each other in the small space, passing ingredients back and forth until a sizeable stack of sandwiches had been created. They carried them over to the table and settled down to eat.

“I’ve rearranged my lab slots so I don’t have to go back to campus for a few days” Virgil mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “I’ll still have to fit in some work here but it means you won’t be on your own so much.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I don’t need babysitting.”

“I didn’t do it because I think you need babysitting, I did it so we can actually spend some time together. Maybe watch some movies. You know, catch up a bit.”

Gordon looked for signs of an ulterior motive but instead saw only genuine honesty in Virgil’s expression. Now it was his turn to feel guilty for second guessing his brother’s intentions. Since when had he got so suspicious of everything? Probably since he found out this trip was yet another attempt by his father to mould him into the narrow ideals of what a good son should look like.

“Sorry. I guess I’m still a bit on edge. Even half a continent away I still feel like Dad is watching and keeping an eye on me.”

Virgil swallowed his mouthful, all too aware that Jeff was rather more than half a continent away. At that very moment he knew their father was somewhere in the South Pacific making sure the island that had been chosen as the future family home was just right before completing the purchase.

“So, this afternoon?”

“Films sound good, just none of that art house stuff.” After his soaking he didn’t fancy heading out anywhere again that day but he also wasn’t in the mood for some high-brow foreign language film or any of Virgil’s other niche preferences. “You sure you don’t need to do any more work today.”

“Maybe just half an hour or so to transfer my notes from the lab but I can always do that later.”

“How about you get that done while I clean up from lunch and fix us some snacks for the film. I think I spotted some corn kernels when I was looking for the salt earlier. Can’t have a film without popcorn.”

“If you’re sure? Kernels are in the top cupboard. I don’t have a popcorn maker here so you’ll have to use the stove, are you ok with that?”

Gordon’s only response was to roll his eyes; of course he would be fine making popcorn on the stove. He started to clear the plates.

Virgil, free of chores, headed over to his desk. He rummaged through his bag and dug out the smart moleskin notebook that he liked to use for rough notes, he found it easier to doodle down sketches on paper than on his tablet. Soon he was completely engrossed in transposing figures and observations into his main files and cross referencing against the work he had done previously.

He was snapped back to the present by the arrival of Gordon on his elbow with a cup of coffee. Once he was in the zone he could completely lose track of his surroundings, he had almost forgotten his brother was even there.

“We can save the films until tomorrow if you want to carry on.”

“No, it’s fine.�� Just give me a couple more minutes, I’m nearly done.”

Gordon picked up a file that was half covering a coaster to make space for the mug. One or two loose pages slipped free and made a bid for freedom. He carefully put down coffee then dived under the desk to retrieve the pages.

“Oh, sorry”, he took a look at the pages as he straightened up. “I didn’t realise your project was in aviation. That thing doesn’t look like it should be able to fly though, it’s like a bumble bee with those stupid stubby wings.”

Virgil flustered slightly and snatched the pages out of Gordon’s hand with a little more force than was strictly necessary, hurriedly stuffing them back in the folder before shutting the whole bundle away in a drawer.

“Um, it’s not. I mean, that’s not my project. That’s just something I’m working on for, um, after. Please, I’d uh, appreciate it if you didn’t tell Dad what you’ve seen.”

Gordon quirked an eyebrow in surprise. Whatever Virgil was working on it looked like their dad was unlikely to approve, or at least that’s how it came across from Virgil’s reaction. The last time he had seen Virgil acting so guilty was when he tried to deny eating Scott’s Easter chocolate while still having the remnants smeared as evidence across his face.

“Chill, Dad and I don’t exactly have a ‘chats over dinner’ type relationship. So what’s the big deal? I thought I was the only one not toeing the parental line about future plans. Is he pressuring you to go into the Air Force like him and Scott?”

“It’s nothing like that. And anyway, I’m a pacifist, remember? I think Dad knows me better than to suggest the military of all things”

“Well at least he knows what one of us likes. So, is this some PhD topic you’re thinking of? Cos if it’s to do with planes I’m sure Dad will be fine with it. Unless you’re thinking of setting up solo as a competitor to Tracy Aviation, now that would make him pissed.”

“Look, can you just drop it, please?”

Gordon was slightly taken aback by the abruptness, it normally took a lot to get their gentle giant riled up. It was almost impossible to have a fight with Virgil because it just wasn’t in his nature to be argumentative. That wasn’t to say that Virgil didn’t have strong opinions, it was just that he was normally so uncontroversial that it was hard to disagree with him. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure to conform with their father’s ideals.

“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t tell Dad but, whatever it is you’re working on, don’t let him put you off. I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it but don’t let him dictate your life. No point both of us being miserable.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Virgil felt guilty leaving Gordon with the wrong impression but it was easier to let him believe that Jeff disapproved of his future plans than try and explain away what was really on the cards. He made a mental note to take better care of the notes he had made. Of course it would all be much easier if the whole family knew what was going on but Jeff had been adamant; no sharing anything with anyone he hadn’t personally brought into the scheme, and that included younger brothers.

By mutual consent the brothers treated the future as a banned topic of conversation and by the time Gordon was due to return to Los Angeles he was in a much calmer frame of mind. A few days without the burden of responsibilities or parental scrutiny had soothed his soul and left him feeling lighter and more relaxed than he had for a long time.

Unfortunately all good things had to come to an end; he couldn’t hide out in Denver forever, tempting as it may be. As the plane headed back west Gordon found his mood sinking like the setting sun he was heading towards.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #my art #high expectations #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #future plans #career choices #keeping secrets

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livlepretre · 3 years

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ok wait i have some thoughts about acotar that you may or may not agree with... but basically i loved acotar/acomaf but hated acowar and i didn't even try to read acofas. there was a lot i hated about acowar but basically it sums up to 1) hated how sjm tried to retcon rhys into being this perfect amazing flawless person kind of destroying everything that was interesting about him in the first couple books. 2) THE EXTREMELY GRATUITOUS AND NUMEROUS SEX SCENES IN THE MIDDLE OF A WAR. LIKE ??? oh god especially that one scene where feyre wakes rhys up by... yeah. 3) king of hybern fell so flat as a villain i was expecting to get more backstory or smthg on him but no he was just... there. and evil. for no real reason. and then they killed him. like... ok. 4) TAMLIN WAS SO OOC. AND I HATE HOW SHE VILLAINIZED HIM. i also find the whole fandoms take on tamlin to be very bland and ridiculous. like yeah he obviously was not the right person for feyre and he made some serious mistakes for which he should be held accountable, but he was traumatized too! he was a very flawed character but he's not a villain!!! that scene where he's like making rude sexual comments about feyre in front of everyone felt so ooc for him. hated it. 4) mor's coming out storyline was... very bizarrely handled, and frankly i just found it hard to believe that mor's sexuality was something sjm had planned from the start of the series. as a bi woman that whole plot just rubbed me the wrong way. anyway. ya those are my thoughts but i'm curious to know what u think about this series lolol

Oof complicated question.

I think in general I come down positively on ACOTAR based mostly on the strength of the first 2 novels? I read ACOTAR and ACOMAF back to back right after ACOMAF came out, and let me tell you: I was obsessed. I was devastated. I was enthralled. It filled some very particular requirements for what I really wanted-- it was gorgeous and atmospheric and really frightening and romantic. I thought the characters were well developed, and I just thoroughly enjoyed the world-building with vicious alien faeries and the real sense of danger, as well as the magic and the breathtaking imagery. As a painter myself, I LOVED reading about painting in a way that felt so true to the actual experience of what it’s like-- so much rarer and harder to actually find than one would think-- ACOTAR and An Enchantment of Ravens are the only two novels I can think of that even grasp the experience. I loved Feyre as a human, loved loved loved the trials, and I loved how even after she became High Fae, there was an element to it that was incredibly disturbing-- the idea of having a human soul in a fae body, which meant that things that sort of roll off of the fae around her-- like violence and killing-- profoundly disturb her and wreck her soul. I loved that. (at least, that was how I interpreted the “be glad for your human heart” thing, and also why I assumed she didn’t recognize the mating bond... that maybe, as a human soul in a fae body, it would be lost in translation for her until it was actually consummated).

One of the things I also really loved about ACOMAF was that it took everything in ACOTAR and subtly turned it on its side. At that point, I was used to 1st love = true love, so actually reading a narrative where a heroine could change partners was really refreshing, and I liked all the ways that, looking back, we could realize that Tamlin wasn’t it-- that he didn’t try to free her from Under the Mountain (wow that should have been obvious) or how he never offered to teach her to read in the 1st book. I also really liked Feyre’s observation that she needed to feel protected in the 1st book because of where she was coming from then, but that by the 2nd book, because of the trauma of her imprisonment, she felt smothered and trapped. I thought the 2nd book did a good job of showing how Tamlin and Feyre could be really trying to make their pieces fit together the way they once did, but they had both been too changed by their experiences to work and had in fact become poison for each other. They both had PTSD, and I felt that was clear in the narrative. And I was happy for Feyre to leave, I loved the exploration of her depression and her slow recovery, and I was okay with how Tamlin was presented in that way because there is a way in which he really was as helpless as her-- yes, his actions were abusive, but I didn’t think that came from having an abuser’s personality. The tragedy was in the fact that he was also suffering and screwed up, and that meant that Feyre had to leave for her own sake, and that Rhysand ended up being what she needed.

I’ll put my problems with the series under the cut.

My problems started in ACOWAR, and it was primarily a characterization problem with Feyre that bothered me. To be honest, SJ Maas has this thing where she makes her main characters (male and female) just the most extraordinary over the top horrendous bitches out of the blue and it’s just like what the fuck. I think she does it for drama, and while I love a cold bitch (NESTA IS MY QUEEN)... that’s not Feyre. Her actions in the Spring Court were so much crueler than I would have anticipated. And it bothered me the way that those actions hurt everyone there, which was wild to me, as it was her home once, and that’s not Feyre. She’s the girl so empathetic that she gave those water faeries her bracelet to use as tribute. That she mourned so hard it nearly broke her for those faeries she killed in her third task. The whole point of the 1st novel was that she started with hate in her heart, but that she’s naturally so empathetic when given a chance to think about anything other than bare survival that love comes rushing in. So, I really disliked Feyre being a bitch for the sake of being a bitch. She felt unrecognizable to me. I realized recently that part of this is that Feyre actually completes her character arc in the 2nd book-- at that point, she’s figured out who she is, gained peace, happiness, and empowerment through it, and found a home. She’s answered all of the conflict within herself, so there’s just not really anywhere for her character to go in the 3rd book, which is part of why she feels so weird as a pov character.

There were other things of course. Rhys had lost that edge I loved in him so much. (what was the point of that prologue, btw?) This is a little thing but giving Lucien a last name really wrecked a lot of the wonderful strangeness of the world building and I resent it. Especially since no one else has a last name. Sarah was on the right track when she gave Rowan the last name “Whitethorn.” THAT is a faerie last name. I don’t know what this Vanserra stuff is. What else. Hybern was supes whatever. Feyre making bargains was pretty much what we’d seen before. I didn’t mind the sex scenes because that’s just what you can expect from an SJM novel, and I don’t really have any comments on Mor’s coming out story. I also suspect that she was originally written as straight in ACOMAF, but then SJM changed her mind while working on ACOWAR. I’m not going to fault her for attempting to write more inclusively and more diversely (which, as we know, is already not something she excels at). I did find the hook up with Lucien’s dad real awkward though for everyone involved though. YIKES. TOGAS. YIKES. SJM also does this thing in her finales where too much of the books tend to be about the battles and the actual war, and that’s not nearly as interesting as the character moments that might occur because of the war.

So, that leaves my primary complaint, which is Tamlin. I kind of think that it’s not even a matter of him being OOC, so much as Feyre being completely hateful toward him. Like, I remember thinking he was wildly OOC when he was siding with Hybern, a human hater, as he had specifically said in the 1st book that he would always fight against that. I remember being THRILLED when it turned out that he was playing Hybern, and how disappointed he was in Feyre for ever thinking him capable of actually siding with Hybern and bringing up that conversation they had in ACOTAR. I also loved it when he helped her escape the POW camp, and when he told her to be happy at the end. But honestly, after Feyre fucked him over SO! HARD! in the beginning of the novel, not at all surprised that he showed up at that meeting ready to talk smack. I was on his side during that whole thing, because by that point, I was like, get wreckt Feyre. (Which KILLS ME because I LOVED Feyre in the first 2 books, I think SJM really does mistake just horrendous bitchiness with confidence or something? It just horrified and embarrassed me the whole novel). I really do hope that Tamlin gets some sort of arc going forward. I was so depressed by our visit in him in ACOFAS-- sitting alone in that crumbling manor. I think he actually does deserve a “redemption” arc, although I don’t think he actually has to be redeemed.

On the subject of bitchy Feyre: I do NOT like the way she treats Nesta in ACOFAS. I guess we see that Feyre has an empathy problem in ACOTAR in that she totally misreads her sisters in the first few chapters and thinks of them in the most uncharitable light possible, and of course, once she decides she’s done with Tamlin, she always assumes the worst of him, but wow. The way she handles things with Nesta just horrifies me. I just can’t imagine treating my siblings like that, or extending them so little empathy.

And ACOFAS made me think about building snowmen and other horrible fluffy things and it was not my favorite.

But all this being said I know myself and I am definitely going to read A Court of Silver Flames. I think it might be really good, actually.

#acotar

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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How did you come up w/ the worldbuilding of By Lost Ways? Cause going by chapter 1 and your posts on the deck, it's fascinating and super well thought out!

LOL thanks! And yes I will be getting back to that now that I can like....actually enjoy feedback/comments from stuff I post instead of just posting and two seconds later be in crisis mode and completely forgetting I even just did that lol.

But in answer to your question, you know how there are novels like Fifty Shades of Grey and City of Bones that are basically fanfic with the serial numbers filed off, as some people call that? This is basically just the exact opposite. It was an original novel that was part of a bigger shared fantasy universe of mine called the Citadel, that I ended up not doing anything with because it had too many (superficial) similarities to another novel of mine, even though the latter was a sci-fi project. They actually werent that similar, just used a lot of the same aesthetics and tropes, like both had airships, etc, it was one of those things where they just FELT too similar when writing them, and that was causing complications in doing anything further with them so I decided to just let one go, and it happened to be the fantasy one, since I had a bunch of other projects in that same universe that I could shepherd various characters and elements over into.

But one thing I couldn’t ever really relocate was the idea of the Regents’ Deck, which was always a fave concept of mine, and then awhile back it occurred to me that the Batfam was actually really really easy to structure into the already existing framework of the Regents’ Deck and the overall world I’d built around it, and so I was like hey, Im not doing anything else with it, why not just make it a Batfam fanfic. So the story that resulted was a new thing, its not like I just swapped the names around, the plot of Hypotheticals of Being just didn’t work for a Batfam fic, at least not in any way that really engaged me, but it kinda just.....it was almost more like writing a crossover fusion of two fandoms, just one of them happened to be wholly of my own making, lolol. But basically like, the actual fanfic was just sorta like me writing another story in this same setting/lore that I’d already written one novel in, just with the Batfam characters instead.

As for the worldbuilding itself, in the initial form, like, worldbuilding is literally my favorite thing in the world lol, and also I happen to view as probably my biggest strength as a writer, so if there’s interest, I’d be down to do a post walking through kinda my whole ‘process’ there or whatever. Since I do have a certain approach I apply to pretty much everything I write, from fanfic to original projects, its just so ingrained its hard to kinda break it down into clear steps. But give me three things to use as a start point, and I’d be happy to kinda like, do a post ‘showing my work’ as I worldbuild around them.

The three things thing is kinda key for me, as I dont know entirely where it comes from or why I started doing it, I just noticed somewhere along the line that every fully formed project or world I create that I’m actually happy with, like....can always be traced back to three initial ideas I threw together. I’m not exactly sure why three is the magic number for me, it just kinda is.

For example, the world and initial story for this one grew out of these three seeds: Mother Sky, a Tarot Deck, and airships. Those were the three elements that popped into my head as wanting to do something with, and that I combined to come up with this world. (Mother Sky being like.....so I was thinking about all the various takes we have on Mother Earth, and I was wondering what would a world look like that viewed the Sky in the same way, like potentially if it was a fantasy sky-set civilization instead of land-bound).

So the basics of the world all grew out of just those three ideas, and then it was easy enough to flesh out by leaning on a lot of already existing worldbuilding for my broader Citadel mythology, to create the exact specifics of the plot/conflict. Not really relevant to the fanfic version now, as the focus on that stuff is most of what was cut when adapting it to Batfam, since I still have lots of Citadel stuff not related to this one particular project.

Like the basic idea behind the Citadel is that in this fantasy universe, the universe itself has a kind of rudimentary sentience, that constantly seeks out a kind of partner or symbiosis with sentient beings to kinda...drive its power. Like, its aware enough to know that it wants to grow and change and evolve, but relies on the imagination and creativity of sentient beings to do that. So it centralizes its powers of creation in a form that appears to most sentient beings as a kind of fortress or citadel, a seat of power, and anyone who enters it and assumes control over it, in effect becomes god. Able to reshape the universe and create anew according to their whims. And sometimes there’s just one person who stumbles across the Citadel, sometimes a pair or a trio, sometimes a full pantheon, with various individuals assuming sovereignty over set Rooms within the Citadel, and the forces those Rooms command (like gaining the Armory makes one a god of war, the Library a god of knowledge, etc, etc).

But for all their power, the various residents of the Citadel rarely ever glean on to the fact that the Citadel is kinda ‘alive’ in and of itself, and the true power behind all the power they wield. And the one thing the Citadel detests is stagnancy. So whenever a god or gods or pantheon becomes complacent, stops USING the power of the Citadel as a force for change, stop driving the engines of creation to beget something new and instead just become content to kinda enjoy what they’ve made or reshaped things INTO.....that’s when the Citadel basically takes back its power and reappears as a temptation on the horizon for new seekers to find and ascend to godhood.

Anyway, the point being there’s been an endless cycle of the Citadel changing hands and everything that comes with it, up until what’s basically the beginning of this broader universe.....the ‘last’ residents of the Citadel are a full-fledged pantheon who were so destructive in their attempts to seize more and more control of the Citadel for just themselves or their allies, that they were basically destroying their entire world without any single one of them having control of enough of the Citadel that they could prevent this. Until one of them, Seshan, finally gained control of the Throne Room, the heart of creation, and using its power she basically locked all the other gods in their respective Rooms and broke the entire Citadel into pieces, flinging the others away into the void of uncreation. So for the thousands upon thousands of years since then, the various other gods have been able to create using just the power of their own Rooms, and move between each others’ various worlds, but are denied access to the Throne Room or the world it rests on, the world of their own creation.....and without it, none of them can put the Citadel back together and assume full control of it.

Or, y’know, restart the cycle of creation and destruction. Something the Citadel itself, unbeknowst to any of them, is really not happy about.

So you’ve got some gods who are content with things the way they are and happy being the only god in town in their respective worlds, you have others who are trying to use their worlds to one by one conquer the others’ and thus gain control of their Rooms, trying to gather enough power to kinda just force their way back through the locked doors to the Throne Room, and then you’ve got others who basically have been using eternity to settle old scores and grudges.

The latter happened to be the backstory for the setting for what became By Lost Ways - hence why it wasn’t too hard to pull these particular elements out and shift them to other settings. The original Mother Sky, the creator of this world, is in the Citadel-verse named Eriu, and she’s the supreme nature goddess of earth, sea and sky, being one of the most powerful of the deities with control of three separate Rooms. She used the Aviary to make this particular world, hence its magic being connected to and stemming from feathers, etc. The Dark One, the original Joker of the Regents’ Deck, is Dian, who controls the Pit and the Locked Room, and as such is the God of Temptation and Emptiness, Hunger and Corruption.

(Dian’s machinations back during the Holy Wars basically shattered the mind of Eriu’s lover, Indech, as Dian tried to manipulate him into gaining control of one of the most dangerous Rooms in the Citadel and use him as a proxy without risking himself. It half worked, as Indech gained control of the Room that made him the new God of Chaos, but in the process turned from the somewhat naive, gullible scholar Dian had been counting on him being, to someone just completely detached from anything other than his own interests - which were now fueled by the primal powers of chaos and his new worldview/conviction that nothing he did mattered and thus he could do anything free of consequence. Indech’s as distant and unreachable to Eriu as anyone else, and she’s had a vendetta against Dian ever since....which often takes the form of a merciless nature goddess rampaging through the worlds of Dian’s creation, heedless of the damage she leaves in her wake, as the more millennia pass, the more disassociated the gods become from their own origins. Some have even bought into their own hype and forgotten that they aren’t the only gods out there or even the first).

But anyway, that’s the story of how the worldbuilding for By Lost Ways came to be, lol, though for specifics on like, the actual process as opposed to the big picture stuff, just send me three things and I’ll walk through things from the start to whatever results.

For the record, I want to make clear I’ve been writing stuff in my Citadel ‘verse since I was fifteen, so any similarities to Brandon Sanderson’s shared universe are not incidental, but they’re also not me ripping him off - rather, I’m fairly certain we were both influenced in our worldbuilding/big picture stuff by the same novels when we were growing up. Like, its not that I’m above ripping other people off, its just that I want credit to go where its due. I ripped off Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman and a little Michael Moorcock and some Zelazny. LOLOL.

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speaksfel · 4 years

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OSCAR ISAAC? No, that’s actually FELIX SPEAKMAN JR. from universe 2. You know, the child of FELIX SPEAKMAN SR. and MARY ROSE TORRES ? Only 34 years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as a REPORTER FOR THE DAILY PROPHET. HE identifies as CIS-MAN and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be BRASH, DOGMATIC, and CYNICAL but also ENERGETIC, ETHICAL, and METICULOUS. — &&. ( CAMI, GMT+1, SHE/HER, 20. )

“ this is why you should never, ever, get your hopes up. this is why you should see the glass as half empty. so when the whole thing spills, you aren’t as devastated. “

death tw, parental death tw, alcohol tw

BEFORE

felix speakman sr. didn’t come from wealth, nor from a strictly “pure” bloodline, but he used to take pride in his status anyway. an hogwarts drop out, he had nothing to show but a few poor OWL results and a knack for trouble, something he claims he inherited from his father before him. when luck didn’t seem to come by him in the wizarding world, he set his eyes on the muggles, spending most of his fast-ending youth doing odd jobs to stay afloat and learning bits about the world he found so alien. everything changed when he, at age nineteen, met mary rose in a run down club he’d been bartending at.

a perfectly normal girl from town. mary rose finished school and took up a job at a supermarket in the city centre, unaware that the following year her life would look completely different. she met a funny guy with a loud mouth and a tendency to pick fights, and decided to give him a shot for a few months. felix would have been just a shitty short-lived boyfriend buried deep in her memories, had she not discovered she was pregnant shortly after the breakup.

the wizard was never meant for a structured life, a child and wife and a stable job. they were on and off throughout the pregnancy, speakman doing more harm then good with the stress he put her under and the emotional and financial instability. a week and a half after the birth, it was clear that he did not wish to raise a kid or get his act together so mary rose made it clear she’d do her damned best to do it instead. anticipating the storm that might come later, he gave her one final surprise by showing her magic ( she always repeated that story - she had to be shown, because felix speakman telling her he was a wizard was so preposterous it must certainly be one of his ploys for attention ). armed with nothing but some kernels of knowledge she shook out of the man, mary rose started the task of raising a boy just as fiery and just as destructive as his namesake, and with little understand of how to control his own magic.

mary rose didn’t want to name him felix, anything but that really. her first choice, benjamin, became his middle name as the father pleaded with her over some tradition given how he come from a “very important and ancient family of wizards”. it was all an exaggeration, she later suspected, and after enrolling at hogwarts, her son certainly confirmed to her that the speakman were not of any relevance at all. not good and not bad, purely existent. alas, named after his father and his father before him, felix speakman was brought into a very muggle world at the heart of manchester.

magic only really paid a part when his father came to pick him up for the occasional weekend or when something broke without reason, although rambunctious as he was, magic wasn’t necessary for chaos.

when his father appeared and dragged him along for a few days, the boy took that as an opportunity to analyse the world around him, absorbing every bit of knowledge he could and asking too many questions. sitting on a bar stool at the leaky cauldron. wandering through the corridors of a broom factory. trying to finish maths homework inside a moving knight bus. his father came and left often, and when he was present he was usually busy with the many jobs he couldn’t seem to keep, or fully unaware of what to do with a child or teen, let alone what to do with felix himself - what did he like? what was he up to? half hearted attempts at small talk made for very dull weekends if it wasn’t for felix’s inquisitive mind and his ease at starting conversations with strangers. “your boy’s got a big mouth!” they’d say as he drilled them with questions and began chatting up a storm, trying carefully to blend in to a world he was half foreign to.

going to hogwarts was like whiplash, the warm and epic castle worlds away from his barely livable life in a crummy manchester neighborhood. it was there that he found quite a lot of happiness though - hogwarts was the bit of stability he was missing in his life, something constant he could hold onto - especially his beloved house, GRYFFINDOR. it was there that he learned of the unimaginable prejudice within that magical society though, and it was there that a higher sense of justice developed in him. felix had lived through injustice, watching his mother cry at the notion that their rent was once again overdue, watching kids in his neighbourhood go to school with holed backpacks, watching more and more of his peers give into pointless futures they had been aimed at. but the philosophy that his mother was part of an epidemic, that he had tainted blood, that his muggle-born friends had somehow warranted exile or death? felix wanted to do something about it. it was appalling to him when he questioned his peers on the sources of their beliefs and no one answer with logic he deemed acceptable.

while hogwarts as a location was one of happiness, the school came hand in hand with a formal education, something he’d rebelled against even in muggle school. felix is smart and ambitious, but not a studious person and in the middle of fourth year decided to drop out. his plan was paper thin, as he didn’t really expect to return to muggle education either, just get any job and be done with it. for a fourteen year old, there was quite a lot of bitterness in his tone when he claimed that it had worked for his father. however, teachers convinced him to stay, reminding him that he could go further than anyone in his family ever had at hogwarts, and that there was potential in him. felix tried to leave a few more times before graduation, but they always pulled him back, his head of house especially, and he is incredibly grateful for it. having people who’d accomplished something say he could do the same, and caring so damn much truly changed the course of his life, and even at the time, felix knew he owed an awful lot to them.

after graduating with some reasonable to good NEWTs, he got an internship at the daily prophet, and soon a proper job offer. REPORTER. his defense against the dark arts professor had suggested it after reading an essay by felix and for the rest of 7th year, felix paid closer attention to the way he formulated questions in class, to every word he wrote, to the newspapers that laid on the tables during breakfast. soon after scoring the job he moved out, all the way to london - impossibly far for his mother but a wave of a wand for him. every morning he stopped by with a copy of the confusing newspaper in which pictures moved and pieces spoke of events and people she did not know, but she’d read it carefully anyway. he did it to show her that he was doing something REAL, even when his pieces didn’t make it into the print. he had something solid. he’d gotten so much further than what any of them expected.

although he began studying at hogwarts after the death eaters had been run out of the ministry, he went to a school that was in many ways still rebuilding. the injustices that made his blood boil in first year were very much alive and had deadly consequences as he was growing up. all of his life in the wizarding world was tainted by conflict, or the threat of conflict, or the aftermath of conflict - an uncertainty that made wizards all over hold their breaths. one of his first assignments for the daily prophet was to report of a burned down shop and its missing owners, common place in the times he lived. but the on and off tragedy came with other angry souls who demanded change and were ready to take it by their own hands - shortly after leaving hogwarts, felix was recruited into the order of the phoenix. he came armed with the fresh knowledge of a reporter and a big mouth ready to ask questions until he gets answers. and, above all, a lot of fight left in him.

NOW

felix was always very sure of every word he said, even when he shouldn’t. that certainty spilled into his actions, and he always made sure that whatever he was about to do, he could back it up in the future too, and thus his moral compass became rather strict. he knows what he believes in, he knows what for him are accepted plans of action and just how much he’s willing to sacrifice, and he doesn’t allow anything to try and move the lines that delimitate him. he adheres to this conduct to this day at the order, despite how much on and off war has jaded them all, and his reluctance about crossing his lines has cost him leadership roles many times.

he had his big break in 2019 after cornering a minister assistant into confessing collusion with notoriously death-eater assigned families, confirming bits of evidence he’d dug up, and uncovering how they’d been slowly attempting to make their way into power once more. for weeks, updates on the massive story with his name on it were on the first page as one by one he unveiled cases of such corruption within the ministry. ever since then, he’s been trying to achieve that level of notoriety again. he’s the up and coming man who burned very fast and has yet to prove that wasn’t just luck, even if just to himself.

DEATH TW, PARENTAL DEATH TW

that was also the year his mother passed away. after a few weeks of being bedridden at the hospital, which came as the climax of months of health issues surrounding faulty kidneys, mary rose was celebrated in a nearly empty funeral. felix’s coping method ranges from pretending like it didn’t happen and drinking to forget that it did.

TW OVER

ever since he was a teenager, felix had found a companion in a good drink. as he started working and living on his own, what used to be a purely social activity started happening behind closed doors as well, as a way to loosen up after work or after a hard day with the order. he grew to have favourite bars, bars with his face in drunken pictures on the walls, bars where he was no longer allowed to come in. his struggles with alcohol abuse have grown over the years and his body, no longer of a 22 year old, is barely managing to keep up. however, it’s not something he’s ready to admit to anyone for now, and that is possibly the only lie ever honest felix is able to tell with a straight face.

his father has come and gone, in and out of his life. lately he’s been somewhat of a leech, aware of his son’s stable employment, constantly visiting just to ask for money. which felix has given, despite his best judgement - he is indeed known to give everyone far more than what he can give.

felix has no real concept of boundaries. or of the notions that others might be a bit too much for him, or a bit too demanding, or a burden. if he believes he might be needed, he won’t wait for a call, he’ll be banging at your door. no concept of giving someone any space. what’s the point of having any closeness if he can’t pour himself at your feet, let you pick apart what you need for your fixing and then help you put it together?

the joining of realities was met with much skepticism by felix at first and a sense of urgency that belongs to those at war: they did not have time to fool around with this (he very quickly started showing up at spots that in v2 are order hq or safehouses in hopes that they are locations of interest for versions of the order in other realities and that they’ll all fuse together). a certain bitterness rolled around too, not just due to having to apartment hunt ONCE AGAIN but the thought that maybe everyone else had it easy, peaceful, and his reality was doomed to on and off conflict. however, the more he dug in and discovered about other existences, felix took hope from it too. he simply didn’t know a reality in which the wizarding world around him wasn’t at war and yet it came with such ease to many others - would he believe in the future better if he’d always pictured himself having one?

felix truly believes that he can change the world if he pushes for more ethical and honest reporting. his goal is to be the editor-in-chief of the daily prophet! but at this point he might even just try to start something new tbh

when felix started earning a proper salary, he had no clue what to do with it. he’d been brought up with so little and expected to have so little in the future as well, that even a modest salary like his was a shock and you bet he bought his mum a nice dinner and himself a good tie.

after breaking the big exposé on the ministry, felix was offered a book deal to cash in on his notoriety, which he turned down REALLY fast with a lot of confusion. ‘what am i, oscar wilde?’

while he prides himself in having held down this job rather well, the same cannot be said for other aspects of his life. felix is of an argumentative LOUD nature, and enjoys fleeing from his problems, all ingredients that turn friendships and relationships into disasters. his drinking became a problem in some too, but he won’t mention that.

he is incredibly persistent, to the point of EXTREME annoyance, like a dog with a bone

there’s a lot of 20 something left in felix that he’s yet to shake off. he has a lot of maturing to do.

loves powerpoint so much?? will use it for anything. even at work, he WILL force his editor to let him show a powerpoint presentation on his laptop. will use it casually too to prove a point.

has so much energy. can jump off from place to place at all times. you can feel it radiating from him. speaks absurdly fast and LOUD, is always fidgety - he’s that dude at the order HQ throwing a tennis ball at the wall and back to him. starts conversations with “catch this”. twirls his wand between his fingers. probably plays with knives while drunk, way too close to his own fingers, because why not

walks the line between charming and nuisance

texts with ALL the abbreviations and might even make some up. he has better shit to do than text long properly written texts!!

doesn’t really care about what others think of him, as he thinks very poorly of himself most of the time anyway

if he believes he’s right, he’ll be mean and cynical and brutal. felix speaks his mind and often that comes with lots of hard edges

dresses in lots of layers and long jackets, but always with a tie on because that’s his professional attire. ALWAYS has a satchell on him, filled with notepads and muggle pens ( and a little flask ).

always looks like he needs both a haircut and a comb. maybe a beard trim too.

big communist, no joke, fuck yeah

felix, leaning a bit too far on a chair at hq, throwing a tennis ball at the wall: we are all doomed u guys

really wishes he could be more optimistic most days :/

replies to way too many things with “hot.” and sometimes doesn’t cathc himself before throwing it as a reply to shit like ‘yeah and then we went to check the witnesses on that broom accident, awful’

he’s a very gestural person. speaking for felix means moving around, big physical gestures, arms flailing, a proper demonstration at times

has the messiest desk in the history of messy desks, and his colleagues just have to deal with it.

some stats, which you can find HERE.

click HERE for a bad pinterest board.

some character parallels: steven crain (thohh), karen page (marvel), greg serrano (cegf), elijah bradley (marvel), jake peralta (b99), alexander hamilton (musical), mike ross (suits), luke banjole (handmaid’s tale), rose tyler (doctor who), theodora crain (thohh), wes gibbins (htgawm), jessica jones (marvel), diego hargreeves (umbrella academy), lois lane (dv), jeff winger (community), meredith grey (grey's anatomy), shane madej (buzzfeed unsolved), nick miller (new girl), mike warren (graceland), clint barton (marvel COMICS pls), terry jeffords (b99), siobhan sadler (orphan black), poe dameron (star wars).

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

class of 2009/2010: or not! felix was very noticeable at hogwarts. he didn’t do any extracurriculars or play quidditch, got average to bad grades, tried to keep his head down and avoid trouble, but had a big mouth! once there was a single opening, he just started rolling and good luck shutting him up! vaguely gossipy even oops. so from 2003 to 2010 he was around being a nuisance, which could have been taken very nicely or not

and they were roommates: after graduating, felix moved out to london but he was certainly too broke to live by himself. some poor people had to put up with him for a few years before he finally started living alone - his early twenties were times of real intense going out and partying; and odd hours working in the living room; and also going back home with freshly healed injuries from warring with the order. he was certainly not a tidy or quiet roommate, but he’d always offer a glass of whatever he was having

the recruiter: felix joined the order as soon as he was out of hogwarts. not only did he have skin in the game, but he’s never known the wizard world properly without war and he’d do anything to many sure he and many others felt safer. there’s something that truly disgusts him in a visceral away about pureblood violence and bigotry, has since age eleven, and he has enough fight in him to get out there, hand and fists ready. since it didn’t take much convincing and he probably sought them out himself, this is someone who vouched for him and due to that, someone he always came back to whenever he had personal issues with how things were being ran, which was OFTEN.

family in arms: he joined the order very young, as did many, and in a way they finished growing up there. for over a decade he’s fought with these people on and off, lost a few as well - this sort of shared trauma shared experience sort of thing :(

someone kick him out: being annoying around hq and loudly argumentative at meetings definitely lead to some people being done with him, even if they all fight for the same cause. who in the order is truly over his face??

spent youth: who partied hard with him during their late teens/early 20s and now is like wtf man why are u still going this hard why are u up drinking gin stop

drinking buddies: felix is a loyal man and can often be found at the same bar, so who’s chilling there with him? could be with good intentions, just pals,,,,, or Using Him in a drunker state to get some info he’d probably not divulge sober @ de

exiting: felix is notoriously bad at holding down relationships, do who dumped him??

dog with a bone: once felix feels like there’s something to dig, he will keep on digging and there’s little that can stop him. dangerously annoying, he can be up on multiple people’s businesses and this whole cat and mouse dynamic is what he lives off of

you again?: there’s certain people that, due to their jobs or connections, would be very alluring sources for him so catch him being a common nuisance

main contact: someone let him break news. someone call him first.

potential enemies: based off the DE he knows or suspects in his own reality, he’s got an eye out for people from other verses. he follows ‘innocent until proven guilty’ but that doesn’t mean lack of caution and there’s just so much distrust for people whose names or surnames he recognizes. rightful or not!

investigation buddy: who is with him trying to find out who is wrong and who’s right in all these worlds combined!! a very much on the down low sort of investigation into potential DE or war criminals but also into whatever the fuck is going on and who they can place blame onto. who’s sleuthing?

#❛ iv . | when i’m facing death i’ll grab its throat — “ how does it hurt ? “ ; headcanons .#icb how short this one is tbh he's the oldest and has the shortest intro?? sounds fake i must correct this some day #felix vc: im a simple man #clonesintro

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vincedeangelo · 4 years

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At a glance he may look like Grant Gustin but in reality they’re just 213 year old Vince De’Angelo, a witch here in Barton Hallow. They are a lone witch. They work as a professor of Horticulture and Biological Sciences here in town and are known for being energetic and distracted. I’d watch my back if I were you..

[History]

Saying that life has been complicated for Vince is a bit of an understatement. It didn’t start that way, but it didn’t start easily either. Being born at the middle of the 18th century in Europe to a distinctly Bohemian traveling family, his parents were already well aware of a long vein of magic running through the family tree, his several siblings and half siblings could attest to that much, but most of that magic was rooted into nature. Vince grew up in comfortable chaos, happy enough for the most part, within the shelter of a large family who looked after each other and, while facing a great deal of downward glances from the rest of society, were themselves excellent at thriving and enjoying life with very little in hand.

It was what, in later times, might be compared more to the lifestyle of a hippie commune once the family did finally settle in an area of Britain and became, more or less, the farming, earth-worshiping sorts. Which was all well and good, that slow pace wasn’t as appealing to Vince’s teenage self though and he sort of laments that he did take off when he had to see more of the world; the things he saw weren’t exactly pleasant. It did very little to unsettle his excitable, eager personality but more than a few times he made a mess of his efforts out in the world.

It wasn’t until his twenties that he began to test his magic more, at that point much of his time was spend engrossed in the the developing underbelly of London and how strangely different it was than his own upbringing. It was there that he met the person, or rather the vampire, who became his best friend in very short order. Unconventional, yes, but the two spent more than their fair share of time discussing philosophy, life and the world around them. They were inseparable. At such a pivotal point in his life Vince directed his studies towards darker magic, seeing no fear in exploring the limits of them at the urging of the vampire. It was the start of his studies as a necromancer, and one of the point of his life he still looks back very fondly on.

It seemed almost impossible to imagine but as close as they were, as much adoration Vince had for his dearest friend and companion, but that bond became strained when the prospects of relocating became as necessity. The world, again, was changing drastically, and becoming less kind to those who were not human but especially the undead in London. A few murders in the area had suspicions heavy and Vince saw it as the chance to finally leave Europe to see the States, but his friend wanted nothing to do with the idea. The xenophobia of walking into a seemingly new and hostile place was too much, the arguments spiked and eventually they split paths; Vince hopeful to change their mind later but left the argument unresolved.

Always far too trusting a soul, and lonely, Vince became involved shortly after in a particularly determined coven under the name of the Children of the Silent Voice; a group of witches who were mostly like himself and held necromantic or otherwise ‘dark’ magic as their most honed abilities. He believed that magic wasn’t evil in any form, that like anything it held a place in the balance. They recruited him under the guise of crafting a safe haven for those like themselves and Vince devoted years to helping them find other witches via communication with spirits. The breaking point came when the coven was attacked by Hunters, forcing Vince’s hand with the situation, giving him little choice but to step outside the realms of peace and right into bloodshed. He thought his intentions were good, thought his efforts held purpose in helping those like himself who suffered the cruelty of humans' fear of magic.

Something was deeply wrong though, and it began his reign as second to the High Priestess of the coven; the bloodiest time in his life. It built around him a reputation that still lingers now; he was a destructive force, the constant tip of power. After all, winning was easy when the fallen were your’s to reanimate and command against your enemies. He existed as a figure of terror, caught up in the fog that was those confusing years.

It was all for nothing, in the end. During one of his attacks on a village that had, supposedly, destroyed several witches, Vince picked up a particularly stubborn spirit that wouldn’t leave him alone. She persisted, a nightmare that haunted him in ways that others hadn’t managed, a lost child who perished before her time. Her misery broke that daze, finally, and forced him to take a step back and view what he had been doing, the horrible things that had left stains on his hands. His mind had been twisted by those he followed, and he finally saw that truth. When he approached the Priestess with his doubts she dismissed him as a traitor, banished him from their ranks and he was almost relieved to flee. His last act before leaving Europe behind was to urge the spirit who had followed him to move on, and once she had he decided it was time for him to do the same.

Living through the 19th century in the States was certainly an experience, one he absolutely would not have traded for anything else. Seeing both the best and the worst of what people were capable of was an eye-opening view of the world, and he naturally developed a certain fondness for the eighties and its’ flower-child mentality that reminded him so much at home. He bounced around, joined a cult or two out of curiosity, wandered off when he grew tired of it, even played a few lighthearted attempts at using his power to help people communicate with their lost loved ones but mostly maintained a human image as the growing uneasiness with the supernatural turned from tension to a sudden war.

One Vince wanted no part in, purposely avoiding to take sides on the matter and acting under the ideal that it was never going to solve anything. Having known real horror and being the cause of it before, he was approached time and again to join the ranks of various covens and groups but refused each time, no longer willing to be a part of such things. He expected it to settle down in a few years but they never did and the battles just kept hitting too close for comfort and sending him darting off to the next spot in search in peace. It never lasted long enough, but he just kept trying, looking for the silver lining and the end of that conflict that never seemed to come.

When rumors of Barton Hollow stirred up they caught his interest, the possibility of a new start in a place where he wouldn’t be constantly accosted for involvement in the bloodshed sounded wonderful. It was an easy choice and he quickly set off to what he hoped would be his new home for a while; in short order setting himself up as a professor at the college thanks to his handful of degrees earned over time and making himself useful to the local magic using community with his flair for cultivating wickedly dangerous plants and herbs.

Vince can be a bit much at times. He’s excitable, not at all reserved, and tends to ramble. That rambling may turn a million different directions in one conversation; he’s quite a mess about it. But he adores people; living, dead, human or otherwise. He’s very quickly becoming a relatively well known figure around the Hollow for his cheerful presence and willingness to engage people around him. It’s a sharp contrast to the history written in such bloody terms, but he doesn’t hide it. He’s open enough about his mistakes, but he certainly hopes that people understand that the past isn’t the measure of what a person is but who they were before they knew better.

As for that past, by all accounts Vince is considered one of the stronger necromancers left in the world, and one who has practiced dark magic for a very long time. Plenty of people seek him out for those skills and he does lend them to causes he thinks are going to do some positive change, but by the large his power is only used in small ways anymore. He can reanimate the dead but has learned the agony of what it costs to both himself and the poor soul, can communicate with the dead and does so when he needs information, and he knows an unsettling but rather effective way of stealing the last sights and few moments of death from a corpse's eyes. Not something to witness if you have a weak stomach. Of course he can also destroy life with a shocking amount of ease. But as someone who values life a great deal and knows the worth of it, he is far more careful in his practices these days.

While it really has very little to do with his abilities as a witch, he is known around town by the covens and the lone witches alike as the person who has an impressive garden of plants and herbs that are fairly lethal. He carefully tends to plants that are highly toxic, have properties that are considered dangerous and drug-like, and those that other witches use in spell craft but cannot access very easily because of their dangerous nature. He willingly offers this rare and deadly flora to those in need of it regardless of coven association, if he’s sure their intentions aren’t to use them in a malicious way. Just don’t try to steal his plants, that hits a nerve you don’t want to rub too thin.

Much of his gift for, and interest in, gardening and plants comes from growing up helping his mother and grandmother raise their garden in his earliest years. Those fond memories fuel his care in that work, but of course his magic influences much of his life so it seems like his real talent in the area is with those deadly species more than their mundane counterparts.

He has a pet cactus named Jared that makes the trek between his classroom on campus and his home in the downtown region of the Hollow daily; Jared is very well looked after and is a standard sort of his species. Nothing all too extraordinary to Jared, but Vince does enjoy putting little hats and costumes on him for various holidays and events the same way most people would dress up a pet. Jared has the distinction of being carried to and from home every day, Vince insists it would be cruel to just leave the poor thing all alone in the classroom at night.

Vince is demisexual, polyamorous; he's fairly unbiased to the gender of his partners though he tends to favor men a bit more, it certainly doesn't sway his interests too much from the rest of the gender spectrum. He’s had an interesting go with relationships in life but nothing ever stuck for long. His list of ex’s run the range but for the most part the breakups were civil, if awkward on his part, ones. He still maintains friendships with a few of them without much drama, still the occasional night spent in their company, but for the most part he’s been solitary for a good twenty or so years by his own choice. Having spent that time burying himself in education and the fascinating scientific world that has surged in the 20th century that took up most of his time. He’s very friendly but painfully awkward at the basic ability to recognize that people are interested in him, and equally bad at making his own interests known because by the large he doesn’t view intimate situations as solely outside the lines of friendships and his tendency to blur the two has made for some amusingly skewed situations in the past.

He is intensely afraid of small spaces; graves absolutely terrify him and any enclosed space causes him to panic. The reasoning lies in some of his conditioning early on in his necromatic practices when he accidentally managed to get himself trapped during the exploration of an older graveyard; the underground tunnels beneath it at one point collapsed and he was unable to escape. He was lucky that another witch who was mentoring him at the time found him but it instilled lifelong terror in him.

Vince loves to read, he’s been around a long while, he absolutely is enamored with knowledge and the creativity of people. It doesn’t matter what; from the most coveted early century tome to the most hilariously badly written new trashy romance novel; he reads with the sort of determined fervor that keeps him constantly hunting for new books. The internet, for that reason, is something else he loves; there’s always endless distraction on there.

He’s not the typical image for a necromancer but he hardly thinks that’s a bad thing. His students in particular he has a soft spot for, generally willing to go out of his way to do what he can if they need help. But really that extends to most people; he’s just a cheerful, upbeat sort who tries not to dwell too much on the bad. He’s also horribly clumsy at it though, but he’s good at laughing at his mistakes.

Vince misses being part of a coven, but even with the urging of those in the Hollow he hasn’t agree to join any of them. The past has made him wary of the intentions of leaders, and he doesn’t want to be a pawn once more. He’s toyed with the idea of starting his own but dismissed the possibility with the certainty that even as acting as second to someone he trusted as fully as he would have to another Priestess it’s unlikely anyone would be comfortable with someone with his power in that role, especially not with the shape the world in in with the ongoing war.

[Wanted Connections] To be vastly expanded on later, but to give a jumping off point for plotting:

Vampire he used to be best friends with.

Someone older than himself (213), was in Europe/London in those early years, and would have had a very close friendship with Vince. Basically the person he considered his companion and other half of sorts; he misses them very much but hasn’t seen them in a long time. They had a bit of a falling out over Vince’s involvement in the Silent Voice Coven back in the day and after the dust settled with all of that Vince went to the states and lost all contact with his friend. This person would know a great deal about Vince, would have been about as close as anyone could be, and very much needs to be back in Vince’s life again.

Siblings/Half Siblings

Vince had a large family, several of whom were witches themselves. He may have younger or older siblings or half siblings around, or could have werewolf or vampire siblings now depending on if they were human to begin with and were turned. He’s lost track of family over time but would remember them, this is very open to ideas and different sorts of sibling relationships. He was always an odd one in the family.

Witches looking to recruit him for various reasons.

The war, past or present tense, the covens, just in general. Vince has a lot of power, an unsettling amount in fact, but he’s actively avoided involvement with the covens aside from his supplying them with various plants and herbs since he’s moved to Barton when it first was established. Good intentions or bad; people who put that pressure on him to join them.

Someone human he can ‘adopt’.

Really Vince has a soft spot for humans, he finds them fascinating really and admires their drive in what amounts to such short lives. Someone he’s grown fond of in a brotherly sort of way and keeps an eye on, helps, and basically just tries to keep out of trouble. Bonus points if they are in fact a lot of trouble to deal with.

People who know his past too well.

There’s nothing all that hidden about Vince’s past and how bloody it was, but he’s put it mostly behind him. Some people haven’t, and some people like to give him grief over the idea that people can’t change. This person is an ongoing source of exhaustion for him but he’s toughing it out, trying to make them see the good; but it’s not easy.

Someone who knows his worst secret

Lots of witches use magic to lengthen their lives, but for those with necromanic abilities the spells are particularity gruesome. Vince did something a long time past that he isn’t too eager for others to know, for the sake of keeping his own life thriving well past his mortal years, but this person, somehow, has managed to get that knowledge. With that comes a degree of power over him, for the sake of keeping that secret. A dark fae he traded a favor to ensure his life never ended naturally, another witch he sought out for a spell that he never should have; I'm open to ideas on this one.

Hunters

Vince is a necromancer, a rather well known one. Over time he's come across people who have wanted to destroy him but has managed to evade them well enough. But this one is out for blood, maybe because of a contract, maybe his actions in the past did something to harm their family line, maybe they just really can't stand dark magic. Whatever the case it's a hard situation for Vince, not wanting to kill again but also very resolute on the idea of not dying.

#bartonintro #vince:intro

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rykhafirehand · 4 years

Text

A Fallow Sun

A sense of emptiness, familiar by now, washed over Kaldreth Felmist as he pushed open the gates to his family residence. The creak of the rusted hinge was almost welcome; just about anything would be, as long as it dissipated the oppressive silence of the Ghostlands.

The garden had clearly not been tended in a while. The wild overgrowth was in full bloom, though there was a strange sickliness to the petals, no doubt a lingering effect of the corruption that had swept over the land after the Fall. Slowly, gently, he snapped a rose from the enormous bush that was even now threatening to engulf the only entrance to the grounds. It smelled sweet, despite its… distorted appearance. Though he could only see it by his spectral sight, Kaldreth believed it would appear ashen grey to those who yet possess their vision. He tucked the flower inside a pouch. He would confirm his assumption next time he was in Silvermoon.

So many memories. Every step felt like an adventure to the past, some light-hearted and whimsical, others heavy and traumatic. Each memory tinged with regret, a wish to go back and re-live his life, do it all over again. What if I had never said that? What if I had listened then? What if, what if, what if. There was a bitter taste on his tongue. No matter what he wanted, no matter how many what-ifs he built in his mind, the cold facts were obvious. He was alone, the last heir of a fallen house, a disgraced and disowned child whose accomplishments could never redeem the family he had sacrificed.

Few had even survived the Fall. He remembered the day well, his mother’s sister dragging herself to the estate with her two remaining children, her cloak in tatters. They had failed, she told them. All had failed, and death marched upon the High Kingdom. Runners were sent out, but none returned, and Kaldreth’s aunt passed away delirious and screaming, her wounds putrefying despite the medics’ best attempts. Her youngest, Dalyr, followed her a short while after. The shock of the Sunwell’s corruption, felt by all quel’dorei, caused the child to fall to the ground, trembling and pale. He never wailed or spoke or made a sound as the filth ate away at him from within. His light was snuffed out in the night, leaving behind nothing but a small, shrivelled husk.

Marnos and Valdria were both adults by then, or as close as made no difference. Kaldreth stuck with them, embittered even then by the monumental loss of life he was forced to witness. They joined their Prince together, fought the Scourge and the Legion together, and only parted ways when Kaldreth’s mind broke. During a particularly gruesome assault against a Legion stronghold, his father, Naelis Starmist, was cut off from the rest of their forces. Kaldreth fought viciously to reach him, only to be knocked aside by a barrage of Legion projectiles. He watched helplessly as his father was impaled by the weapons of the enemy, and in a moment of irrational, mindless grief, he drew upon the demonic magic surrounding him. Unprepared as he was, the influx of fel energy scarred him, body and soul.

He could not recall what happened next, only that he had been dragged far from the front lines and to the halls of the Black Temple, howling and raving all the while. There, under heavy supervision, he was taught control; not only of the magics he had unleashed, but of his mind as well. Eventually, he was allowed to join the Illidari and went through the ritual that would forever mark him as a demon hunter.

He never did learn what became of his cousins, whether they had defected or perished with their Prince. All he knew was they had been slain in one of the many conflicts between then and the most recent squabble between the Alliance and Horde, leaving only his mother Arenia to carry the Starmist name. After Sargeras’ imprisonment, he debated whether he should reveal himself to her, attempt to reconnect after all this time. Would she accept him? Would she even recognise her only child?

That choice was snatched away from him. A new conflict engulfed Azeroth almost immediately, and he lost her as well, to Windrunner’s damned war.

Some might say that had pushed him over the edge, and he found it hard to blame them. He began loudly advocating for the Illidari to step in and use their considerable might to pressure the Horde and Alliance into respecting their newfound peace in perpetuity. Some had listened. Many more shook their heads. Eventually, he was politely requested to leave the Fel Hammer and take care of his inheritance.

And now here he was, with the keys to the grounds in his pocket, heir to nothing but a broken house and bitter memories.

***

He ran his thumb over the third key. Neither of the first two would fit the lock to the mansion proper. He swore under his breath when this one too failed to open the door. Same with the fourth and fifth. Finally, with the sixth attempt, he heard a satisfying click.

Kaldreth flicked an ear. There had been another, smaller sound, nearly masked by that of the lock. And now, an ongoing whirring…

He slammed the door open with a swift jab and threw himself to the side, narrowly evading the blast of disruptive magic that scorched the entryway as it passed through exactly where he would have been standing had he been less careful. Fel power surged through him, toughening his skin, and he barrelled through the entrance to smash the contraption that had fired upon him. Some sort of portable Legion cannon, he thought, rigged to release at whoever opened that door. Upon second glance, he noticed some peculiar modifications. He rummaged through the machine’s insides and pulled out what should have been its fel power core. The crystal he found instead was smaller, a deep emerald hue rather than the bright, sickly green of Legion magic. Kaldreth growled deep in his throat. He could recognise the spellwork immediately. Him and his fellow Illidari had been forced to watch nothing but this for years, trapped in a nightmarish stasis and left to contend with only their inner demons. A Warden containment crystal. Whoever set this up must have known-

His enhanced senses screamed at him and in an instant, his warglaives were out. Something had appeared at the top of the stairwell. He could still perceive its trail. His nostrils flared as he caught the familiar scent of demon. He rushed after it, leaping at the last second to avoid triggering a tripwire. He landed atop some elaborate symbol and swiftly rolled aside, bracing for another trap to spring.

Nothing happened.

It took him a moment to recognise what he was looking at. It was not some mystical sigil as he had feared; it was a word, scrawled in Thalassian runes and inked in demonic blood. FAILURE. He glanced down the hallway and saw the walls had been similarly defaced. ABOMINATION. MURDERER. BETRAYER. DEMON.

Kaldreth stalked along the accusing scrawls, carefully rounding a corner. Here, the walls appeared to have been slashed wildly by some great beast, leaving deep gashes in the marble. The door to his parents’ old bedroom was ajar, with a full sentence seared into the pale wood in a blasphemous form of Eredun. COME AND SEE.

The stench of demonic flesh wafted from the room. He took a slow step forward. Then another. Suddenly, he pivoted, bringing his glaive around in a strike that should have split the creature attempting to sneak up on him.

Instead, his strike was parried by a short, wicked-looking blade. His would-be assailant was massive, clad in simple armour and with a tattered leather cloak wrapped around its broad shoulders. Demonic spikes tore through the material and accentuated its sheer bulk. Worst was the face, a skull-like rictus crowned with a pair of short horns and sporting long, razor-sharp teeth.

It’s a mask, he realised while they exchanged several swift blows. And those weapons, the tattoos-

“Who are you?” Kaldreth snarled at the other demon hunter. In response, he received a flurry of wild slashes. “Who are you?” he repeated, matching the barrage of attacks with his own. “WHO ARE YOU???”

His voice grew deeper midway through the inquiry. Dark energies danced along his muscles, wrapping him in shadows. His empty eye sockets blazed with fel. He launched himself forward, pushing the other combatant to the wall. In the fierce struggle he managed to hook both his opponent’s glaives with his own and launched both sets at the wall where they stuck. His hand shot out like a snake, grabbing the other demon hunter by the throat and slamming them against the wall where they remained suspended from their own back spikes. “WHO… ARE… YOU???” he screamed and tore off the metal mask.

The shadows retreated off his form. Kaldreth withdrew his hand like he’d been burned. “I… know you…” he muttered. He could hardly believe it. She had been a willowy, waifish thing once, a servant in the Starmist household and later his father’s personal retainer. The ritual that reforged her into a demon huntress had also leached all colour from her face and hair, turning her bright, copper-red locks to a silvery white. She flexed her muscles, struggling against the spikes holding her in place. “You… served us. Served my father. Your name… I can’t quite…” The hulking figure finally managed to dislodge herself, falling hard to her knees. Her back bled where two of the outgrowths had been torn from her flesh. “Iblys,” she spat. Kaldreth tilted his head. “No, that was not it.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah! Eryn-”

She lunged in a blur. He barely managed to restrain her as she kept snapping at his neck like a rabid lynx, again and again, her sharp teeth coming within inches of ripping out his artery. He held her by the throat with one hand and firmly squeezed her right wrist with the other. Only too late did he realise she had not employed her left arm in the attack. A streak of unbearable pain ran across his ribs and he screamed, his voice echoed by another. His assailant leapt off him and offered a mirthless, savage grin. In her left hand she held a set of wicked fanned knives, the same weapon that had torn his side and-

My tattoos.

She had struck with surgical precision, knowing exactly how to perfectly disrupt the arcane bindings keeping his inner demon in check. He could feel the creature awakening, writhing within him, clawing its way into the forefront of his… their… consciousness. “Now we see who you really are,” she said. “What… what have you done? Eryn’thala! TRAITOR!” His muscles rippled as the bound felguard vied for control over their shared vessel. A scrabbling, shuffling, sniffing noise grabbed his attention. Eryn’thala bared her teeth at him. “Oh, don’t mind that. The felhunter has been trained to track out-of-control filth.” Something heavy thudded against the door. Kaldreth’s head snapped around madly, finally focussing on the demon huntress who gave a hollow laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be respectful with your remains. Eventually.”

Demon hunter and demon both screamed simultaneously. Their body threw itself forward with reckless abandon, vaulting over their enemy, reaching for their warglaives…

She never bothered with finesse. The moment she felt Kaldreth’s weight upon her back, she slammed backwards against the wall, pinning the demon hunter between her demonic spikes. She felt them break as she turned. The desperate creature’s hand was just barely grazing the edge of his weapon, nearly there, nearly, nearly…

Iblys ran her fingers through her erstwhile lord’s hair and pulled roughly. He snarled, blood and spittle flying from between his clenched teeth. There was barely anything of the elf left in his features. “We made you who you are, ungrateful bitch!” he spat. Her face remained impassive. “You would have been dead without us! Maybe you should have been dead!”

She sighed and gripped him by the throat. “Still as much of an idiot as you ever were, Kaldreth. This? This isn’t personal.”

With one swift motion, she broke his neck.

***

He floated. For how long, he could not tell. Time, space, none of it meant anything in this place. There was only pain, the sheer, exquisite agony of his body reforming from the primordial matter of the Twisting Nether. Every sting and every searing moment he used to fuel his hatred, his unending thirst for vengeance against the one who had sent him here.

He could envision her face, as it had been, melting into what it had become. The weak, sickly child turned bitter, broken creature. It would be a mercy, relieving her of that burden. When he came back, he would show her that mercy, the mercy of cracking bones and gushing viscera, he could even imagine her voice as it screamed, screamed, screamed his name in her final moments…

Kaldreth. Ergranthar. Kaldreth. Ergranthar.

He would make her speak his names. He would-

No, this was not his imagination. He could hear her voice. Cold realisation struck as he felt first a tug, then a tormenting sensation of being dragged through the Nether, through every jagged, fragmented planetoid and every flaming core. It all paled before the pain of being torn from one plane to another, and once that agonising moment was over…

I have been here before.

His soul screamed in silence. The crystal! The thrice-damned containment crystal! He could not see anything outside its sheer, polished walls. She knew! Of course she did, she must have been captured with the other Illidari. She knew intimately the unbearable strain of pure stasis.

He suddenly felt something touch the crystal. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Five claws, arrayed around its edges. A gigantic face, outlined beyond the crystal’s surface. Her face.

She gave him an appraising look, communicated even through the veil she wore to hide her eyelessness. Say it, he thought, tell me why you did all this. He felt a strange sensation, as of infinite pressure slowly building up. A crack ran across the smooth surface. SAY IT! TELL ME WHY!

Without a word, Iblys shattered the containment crystal.

***

It was at best a fragment of a world, long lost to the Legion. Above it hung a small, pale yellow orb, barely warm enough to be called a sun. There were a few creatures still skulking about beneath the jagged, rocky surface, but they had long ago learned to leave Iblys and her abode alone.

A loud meow greeted her as she entered the Ashen Spire. Iblys turned her head and smiled with genuine warmth. “Jinx!” she called to the saber cub. It stared at her with huge, fel-green eyes. She picked it up and dusted off its coat, paying close attention to the bright, glowing markings. “Look, you have to keep yourself groomed, or the sigils will stop working. You daftie,” she chided. Jinx purred and pawed gently at her face, then leapt from her arms to nest between her back spikes.

The demon huntress clicked her claws and the braziers lit up with a pallid, sickly glow. She grunted, then peered at the feline cradled along her shoulders. “Well, we do still have an hour or two of sunlight left… and we don’t really have anything better to do, do we?” Jinx responded with a little mrow noise.

Presently, an elf and her pet saber are watching the cold, fallow sun as it sets upon the demon-haunted ruins they call ‘home’.

#World of Warcraft #Ryk being artsy #Ryk being writesy #Ryk's OCs #Iblys Fallowsun

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rottenheartedchild · 5 years

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RWBY OC: EDELWEISS HOLT

It took quite a while to design him and his team members (life stuff and all that jazz), but it’s finally over. Up first is my dramatic crow son and team leader of ELDR. I created him and his teammates for an AU where magic actually exists, and there are mythical beings galore, so yeah.

Full name is Edelweiss Holt but has various nicknames from friends and family like Eddie, Snowdrop, Birdie, Snow King and etc.

Leader of team ELDR, which is named after the elderflower and its association with witchcraft.

His parents are Aydan Holt, an Atlesian Specialist who went into hiding and became an author under the alias of Leander Eikenboom and Nur Cempaka Silveira, a retired Mistrali mercenary who pursue the art of music by becoming an actress of a local theatre group.

A man with a kind heart, unbridled imagination, sharp tongue, iron will, discerning intellect and a passionate sense of justice. He has quite a vicious temper though rarely shows it in front of people and much instead cool off somewhere secluded as to not lash out on any innocent bystanders. Only when he’s passed his limit that all hopes of negotiation are thrown out of the window due to him losing any reason to listen.

Lives a peaceful life with his parents in a quaint cottage not too far from the coastal town where his grandparents, Lucio, a capybara Faunus, and Guntur, an eagle Faunus, reside.

Loves animals and often leaves them snacks or leftovers whenever he explores nearby forests, enjoys playing with them and study their behaviors.

Often brings his journal along to record his findings and secrets before proudly showing it off to his amused parents. Lately, he’s been recording about Grimm and their secrets to understand them better.

Every time he stays with his grandparents for a week whenever his parents are away on a business trip, Edelweiss eagerly help the townsfolk with anything he can do from babysitting a working baker’s children to doing the laundry for a tired inventor for free. The townsfolk are always grateful to him and often give him treats or small gifts as their way of saying thanks.

Music plays a massive part in his life as it reminds him of his parents whether his mother singing while doing her chores or his father listening to a tune on an old gramophone. It also reminds him of his grandparents and their secret little dances while they serenaded to each other and his best friend, a boar Faunus named Margaret who happily sings along to his song every time they play together or to the animals that he sings for whenever he feels too overwhelmed and needed a quiet place to recharge. But the most crucial part is that reminded him how beautiful and peaceful the world can be despite the everpresent dangers and perils.

He has two pets of his own which are Malphas, a male crow that he nursed back to health who became attached to him and Princess Buttercup, a female pitbull that he rescued from the street.

Often get called around as the mediator for any disputes due to his just opinion for the subject of the conflict and always offered solutions that would benefit all sides.

When he reached the ripe age of 12, Aydan and Cempaka decided to train him with the skills of their former lives to ensure that Edelweiss could survive should the time comes when they will not be there to protect him anymore. Lucio and Guntur contributed as well with his training, sparing him no mercy as they deliver every punch, blows, kick, jabs, throws and stabs to Edelweiss, letting him learn each move and learn from it before adapting it to his advantage. He whined a lot during the first few training but soon realized he could use what he learns to protect his loved ones.

He also received various tips from the townsfolk, some more dubious than the rest but Edelweiss memorized it nonetheless, believing it’ll be useful in the future.

Lost his parents when he was 15 due to his parents’ connection to their past came to punish them and was left traumatized when he witnessed their mangled corpses on the ground. Lucio, Guntur and some of the townspeople buried their bodies, and Edelweiss shut down emotionally and mentally from it. He still vividly remembers how the assailants murdered his pregnant mother while he only watched from his hiding spot helplessly with tears in his frightened eyes.

It took a long time for him to recover as he always blamed himself for not staying at his parents’ side and protect them. He recovered slowly with the help of his grandparents, Margaret and the townsfolk who patiently help him get through the trauma and guilt.

His Aura is light grey in color, and he unlocked his semblance when Edelweiss saw Margaret being beaten up by a stranger who dragged her unconscious mother by the hair, anger filling his head as he subconsciously summoned a ghostly bear and mauled the attacker. Once he realized what just happened, he broke down and muttered apologies to them only to be hugged by the frightened faunus, who thanked him for saving her and her mother.

Enrolled in Beacon Academy and partnered up with Lupine, an owl faunus from Vacuo and formed a team with the Valean twins, Delphinium and Rhododendrum. He bonded with them quickly and hang out together, often sharing juicy gossips and tell each other stories of their hometown.

A skilled fighter and a competent leader, he often listens to his teammates’ suggestions and never dismiss their opinions. The team formed a band and always performed at bars for extra money every weekend.

Extremely good at cooking and house chores, he often cooks meals for his teammates, and his favorite dishes are lemang, oyster omelet, stamppot, and egg tarts.

Super enthusiastic around new places, new people, fresh food, new animals, and new experiences.

A big shipper and he always gets giddy whenever he sensed someone has a crush. Cries hard at weddings, including his own when he happily married both Margaret and Lupine.

Was blessed with 5 children, a pair of twins, Nerine and Gladiolus, from Lupine, and Esther, Purnama, and Sorin, from Margaret.

Is a transgender man who received his surgeries at the age of 18, courtesy of his grandparents.

His weapons are hand-me-downs from his late parents that he upgraded for more efficient transformation and smooth execution.

His Multi-Form Scissor Blade (MFSB), Phlegeton and Styx, is a scissor sword with three transformations, a standard scissor sword, a double-headed spear, and a pair of rifles. Whereas his Multi Dust Chain Sycthe (MDCS), Rangda, is used for various purposes including binding Grimm with Dust infused ribbon chain.

His semblance is basically creating living constructs with a certain degree of sentience using actual animals and mythical beings as reference. The downside for this is that he will receive the same damage his creations received and it drains his Aura the more complex his constructs get. Fortunately for him, he came from a family with an impressively large Aura reserve.

A fulltime Huntsman with theatre actor as his side job. He loves performing in front of people as he dazzles the audience with his talent.

His faunus trait is his wings though he lost one of them after the Fall of Beacon due to a confrontation with one of the White Fang soldiers.

He had recurring dreams of a woman draped in ice and fur, not knowing the significance behind it though it made his late parents worried, not wanting to let him know what it truly meant.

Still kept his raggedy clown doll as his safety blanket every time he feels too overwhelmed or down.

#rwby oc #rwby #edelweiss holt #edelweiss #ed

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ofevercfters · 5 years

Text

— intro

wooowwwweeeee i have no self control. here is my newest character SAGE. or as she as known in the land without magic, MOTHER NATURE. here is more info on her than you could ever want or need, but i have none-the-less provided.

here is some quick info:

gabriella wilde, 24, female, she/her, fae | did you see the look on SAGE LOANDERYN’S face ? they know as well as anyone that a war is coming. i’ve heard they’re a neutral good guardian of the forest with a reputation for being rather - docile, - insecure as well as + nurturing, + forgiving. no wonder they’re known as THE PHOENIX. they hail from the kingdom of the seasonal realm and are a noble. i’ve heard that in the land without magic, their fable is called FANTASIA. let’s see how long they’ll last.

Pls like or message me to plot! if you have a particular dynamic in mind, message me or note them on this post.

ABOUT THE CHARACTER

gender & pronouns: female, she/her

sexual orientation: pansexual

siding with: no one (for now)

character label: the phoenix

species: fae

place of birth: Villeneuve

headcanons

• Sage is the bastard child of a high ranking noble in the Spring branch of the seelie court. Her father already having a wife and two children, she was not welcome to live in her father’s household for many years.

• Sage’s mother was a human peasant from the Villeneuve countryside who worked in an orchard picking fruit and tending to massive stretches of gardens. It was hard labor, but Sage’s mother was never one to complain. She met Sage’s father during a local spring festival and they spent the entirety of the warm seasons together. It was during this time that Sage was conceived.

• Sage’s father left before her mother even knew she was pregnant. Although her father broke off the relationship with her mother before leaving, in the small cottage where Sage lived with her mother, there was an enchanted flower kept in a crystal vase that sat on the windowsill. It never wilted and whenever Sage asked about it, her mother would reply with a small smile, “a gift from your father,” lifting the small girl on her hip to see the blossom better. “Precious… but not nearly as precious as you.”

• Sage lived on the orchard with her mother and several other families who tended the fields. She was used to a humble life driven by bitter work, but in spite of her hardship, was a happy (albeit a bit quiet) child.

• From a young age, Sage had an affinity for magic involving nature, specifically plants, growth and healing. She wonders if she may also have some power over the weather, but it doesn’t come naturally to her, and this inclination only seems to arise during the spring and summer seasons

• She often had to style her hair to hide the pointed tips of her fae ears, and therefore she has always worn it long and loose or carefully braided.

• When Sage was about 8 years old her mother became grievously ill. Her sickness grew more severe as the weeks passed. Only as her mother’s condition began to decline did the flower begin to also wilt.

• Sage was keeling at her mother’s deathbed the first time she saw her father. She did not recognize him, and although he seemed shocked to see her, he quickly seemed to recognize her. The two waited at her mother’s side as she slowly gave into fever. Sage and her father buried her at the edge of the woods near the base of a large and beautiful tree. Using magic she had never seen before, her father transformed the tree to take on her mother’s shape and promised Sage that the tree would never die or be felled.

• He then took Sage by the hand and brought her into the seasonal realm where she would live for several years with her step mother and step siblings

• Court life did not suit Sage. She was far too sweet and lacked the stamina to keep up with the political subtleties of court. Furthermore, her position as a half-fae bastard child made her the subject of much gossip. In addition, her relationship with her step-mother and step-sister was contentious at best. However, she does have a tender relationship with her step-brother.

• Because of her unhappiness at court and trouble with her father’s family, the two negotiated that she would leave his house and, due to her affinity for plant life and nature, become a guardian of the forests surrounding the seasonal realms (although she has found that, in one way or another, all forests seem to end up linking together and often wanders from forest to forest, fostering its growth and tenderly caring for it. However, she does have a deep attachment to the forests surrounding the spring court and spends much of her time there. She left her father’s house at around age 15 to care for the forests.

• As a result, she has been very sheltered due to focusing on her duty as a guardian and her near complete isolation. Her friends tend to be creatures of the forest.

• Recently, a fire broke out in the forests surrounding the spring court and despite Sage’s desperate efforts to protect it, the woods were consumed by the flames and reduced to ash and bare skeletons of trees. It is unclear if humans or fae or any other creature caused the fires, but the loss of her most beloved forest has left Sage emotionally devastated and grievously injured (as the forests she cares for have, in many ways, become an extension of herself. The forests surrounding the spring court being the greatest example of this).

• The only reason she survived the fires at all was because The King of the Forest found her before the flames could consume her, too weak to save herself, and carried her to safety.

are they aware of the land without magic ? no

residency status: she wanders from forest to forest, although she has a special connection with the forests enclosing the spring court and occasionally visits her father (but his house never feels like home)

quirks:

• Her clothes are often sparse and constructed out of plants. She has been known to have skirts made of petals or scalloped leaves. She is regularly seen with butterflies, flowers, and sometimes birds nestled in her hair

• She never wears shoes. She feels like it creates a barrier between herself and the earth and such distance feels unnatural to her.

• She is often in the company of other animals typical of the area she happens to be in

• Having spent so much of her life alone, Sage isn’t used to talking to or being around other people. When she interacts with them, she typically finds herself stumbling over her words, feeling quite shy or anxious and prone to blushing. That being said, she deeply desires companionship, especially friendship, which she has gone most of her life without.

• She has a high, airy, lovely voice, which when heard from a distance has been mistaken for the sound of the wind

• Living for so long in the wild, Sage’s awareness of social boundaries is limited. She doesn’t understand why people feel shy about nudity etc. because Sage believes it to be a natural and beautiful thing (although she is very likely to feel shy or flustered if people touch her, even in a casual manner).

• Sage’s knowledge of plants, herbs, and need for self-sufficiency in the wilderness have made her quite adept at medicines/healing practices. However, all her methods are homeopathic or magical in nature.

any additional notes / thoughts ? if not, you’re free to delete this part.

I know I refer to Sage as a ‘guardian,’ but she’s not like a guardian as detailed in rise of the guardians. She acts like one in many ways, but she isn’t part of that group. More than anything, she’s become a wandering spirit and protector of nature.

QUESTIONNAIRE

this is simply another quick way for you to get to know your character better and flesh them out more. all we ask is that you answer at least three of these questions and do so with at least one full paragraph.

how does your character feel about the uprising of the villains ?

sage feels concerned for the wellbeing of all who would be impacted by a war or fight. Having lived as long as she has in isolation, Sage is still fairly naïve to the actions of villains and how heinous they can be, so I think she’s more sympathetic to their experience than she might otherwise be. More than anything, Sage just wants people to get along and hopes that the uprising of villains will result in a truce where the issues can be worked out peacefully.

how does your character feel about magic ?

Sage values magic and sees it as an integral aspect of who she is. To Sage, magic is just as much a part of who she is as her hair or limbs. It connects her to the earth, which she has an exceptionally symbiotic relationship with. I don’t think she’s been exposed to the true power magic has or the threat it can pose if wielded in the wrong hands. She, naively, sees magic as infallibly good and pure, as well as a solution to most problems.

what side is your character taking in the foreseeable war ? why ?

I don’t think sage wants to have to pick a side. To sage, picking a side means the guarantee of war and thus the loss of life and the cause of great suffering. In this sense, Sage doesn’t see any right sides, just a conflict that will result in bloodshed. The only side she could ever be convinced to take would result from finding out who burned down her forest. Even so, it would be a decision fraught with conflict for her and she believes the attack on the forest must have resulted from the growing tension between heroes and villains.

#tales.intro #| musings ; sage |

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

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Murder on the Air!

Art by Alfred https://altried.tumblr.com/post/190010451473/my-take-on-human-alastor-i-like-to-think-he-is

Character profile

Name: Alastor (meaning Greek spirit of vengeance/tormentor)

Birth: January 24th 1896, New Orleans, Louisiana (VA Edward Bosco’s birthday is January 24, 1986)

Human name: Alastor Roscoe Duvalier Cajun (Roscoe means deer forest and is also an old term for a handgun. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Race: Part White (French-American from his father) part Creole (Native American and African-American from his mother).

Hair color: Brown (red and black in Hell) usually short, sometimes in a small ponytail or brown ends reaching slightly past his ears

Eye color: Brown (red in Hell)

Skin color: Light brown (pale gray in Hell) thin pointed chin, lanky agile body

Clothing: brown/white nice shirts with bow ties, dress coats, hunting boots, wine colored pants, the occasional top hat with voodoo pins sticking from the top.

Date of death: 1933

Demonic life: deer demon, overlord, radio host. His deer-like shadow has a mind of its own and reveals his true feelings.

Dislikes: being touched, strawberries, post 30’s technology, dogs, anything sweet, frowning, Vox, his father, Angel’s sexual remarks, tea, spray can foods, ketchup

Abilities: supernatural powers, voodoo, radio broadcasting, shadow manipulation, warping space, singing, charm

Kalfu is Alastor’s main voodoo deity, as both are destroyers and dark sorcerers.

Mother:

Loretta Marie Duvalier (last name became Cajun): (named after Loretta Petit, real life American radio personality born in New Orleans. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Her voodoo deity is Erzulie, the goddess of beauty, love, femininity and motherhood.

Alastor secretly cuddles with a voodoo doll of his mother every night.

Father:

Louis became an oppressive black deer overlord but was defeated by Alastor a second time.

In Alastor’s vision, Louis is represented by Ogun, god associated with dogs, warriors, hunters, conflict. He’s symbolized by an iron knife and has fondness for pretty women and rum.

In Alastor’s dream, she appears as Oshun, a goddess connected to beauty, sexuality, wealth, pleasure, and rivers.

Alastor later makes a voodoo doll of Racheil’s similar counterpart, Charlie along with dolls representing the other characters.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Mimzy in his lair with the straw arms missing.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Rosie in his lair.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Niffty in his lair.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Husk in his lair.

Alastor’s ancestor from his father’s side: Marie LaLaurie, (1787-1849) real life New Orleans serial killer, cruel to Creole slaves

Dr. Facilier: distant relative

Alastor’s cousin from his mother’s side: Clementine Barnabet: (1894-1923) real life Louisiana voodoo priestess and serial killer, killed families with an axe.

Real life Axeman of New Orleans serial killer 1918-1919

Killed women and primarily used an axe. Spared those who played jazz in their homes

Albert Fish: serial killer, child rapist and cannibal 1924-1932 crimes, died in 1936

Chapter 1: “Down in New Orleans”

Alastor’s mother gives birth to him at 3:00am. It was an early birth and she almost died in the process. He was also born premature (3 weeks early) via C-section. Everything else starts off perfectly normal, with baby and kid Alastor loving his parents and enjoying music at every turn. During this time, Alastor is oblivious to discrimination.

Both his father and mother tell him “you’re never fully dressed without a smile,” a message that would impact him for the rest of his life. “Frowning shows weakness,” according to his father and his mother says that “be happy and people will like you more.”

One of his favorite memories was listening to music on the radio in the car with his parents.

Family members and friends say “Mais cher!” (Glad to see you).

Alastor and his mother carry gris-gris amulets for good luck.

Chapter 2: “Theatrical Geek”

1900: age 5

Alastor discovers his love of theater at school and his mother’s jambalaya. He discovers his intense love of cooking and learns how to make jambalaya and other Creole foods. He brags that his mother’s cooking is the best and hopes that he can do an even better job. The elementary school kids pick on him for being awkward, bi racial, thin looking and a nerd. (The bullying gets worse when he goes into middle and high school, when he doesn’t display an interest in girls.) His dad slaps him for the first time for not getting into sports and bringing mud from his shoes into the house.

Francois: “You can’t kick a ball, you do bad at school, I bet you couldn’t even lift up an axe with those puny muscles.”

When Alastor’s father watches football in person, he yells “Who tat!” after the team scores, while a young Alastor is bored.

Alastor says “I hate noodle juice!” after trying tea.

Alastor is considered black based on the one drop rule. Alastor has light brown skin but not as dark as his mother’s nor pale white like his father’s.

Alastor’s favorite classes are music, theater, and French. (he never was much of a math person).

Alastor and several kids go into a swamp on a dare. Alastor’s dad told him to “beware the gators.” They got separated and one of the kids got eaten by one. The other kid screamed but Alastor, though shocked at first, just watched in fascination. “So that’s what happens when people are eaten, they scream and flail, and a whole bunch of blood squirts everywhere. How painful would it be to have those teeth tear through your flesh and fell yourself getting swallowed…glad that’s not me.” It was akin to him watching an animal documentary on an old TV.

Dream 1: Alastor frequently dreams he is an innocent carefree light red young deer who dresses in extravagant costumes and sings while everyone cheers him on. They call him “The Radio Deerman.”

Dream 2: Alastor evades an alligator who represents his dad, but soon gets eaten and wakes up.

Chapter 3: “Deer Hunting and Mardi Gras”

1903: age 8

Alastor’s father takes him deer hunting and teaches him how to skin a deer for venison and fur. The young boy is sacred at first, but soon finds the process fascinating.

Alastor gets beaten up by his drunken father, while his mother is too sacred to do anything.

Alastor is also introduced to Voodoo via his mother, and he finds the concept of animal sacrifices both horrifying and interesting. But his mother also tells him to not listen to the negative stereotypes placed on the Creole and to decide for himself what’s good or bad. His Christian father brushes it off as nonsense.

The family also celebrates Mardi Gras and goes to Antonnie’s Restaurant. At Mardi Gras, Alastor finds joy in singing, dancing, and the elaborate costumes and music…letting out his theatrical side. However, the other kids from school are mean to Alastor, not even letting him near the front of the Mardi Gras float. They yell “Throw me something, Mista!” and manage to catch beads, cups and fake gems, leaving Alastor catching nothing.

Alastor and his family frequently chant “laissez les bon temps rouler” (let the good times roll”

After being bullied and beaten by two mean brothers, Alastor sneaks into their yard and kills their dog using his gun. He is grounded for several weeks by his mother and made to read/memorize Bible passages by his father.

Chapter 4: “Freak Show”

1907: age 12

Alastor is diagnosed with anxiety, narcissism and psychopathic tendencies. He is bullied in middle school and is not interested in sex and girls like the other boys. He finds it gross and pointless.

Francois: “Why did I ever agree to raise such a sissy? That boy’s probably running off with other boys like a deranged faggot! I’ve told you before, Loretta, that he’s been influenced by the Devil from the start…”

Loretta: “Tell it to Sweeney! Bushwa! That be foolish nonsense! He’s our son, let ‘im live his life! You call ‘im a “pussy” but I bet he’d be more of a man than you, sometimes!”

Francois: (lands a bruise on her shoulder) “Don’t you forget who the head of this house is. My house, my rules to follow.”

Loretta: “You be drinkin’ too much again. I’m not gonna make life easy for you if you keep badmouthing about Alastor!”

Francois: “He’s not normal. He’s weak, antisocial, and a mixed creep. I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Loretta: “Despite his…quirks, I know he’s an independent, and amazing young man. Despite being busy, I’ve been blessed to watch Alastor grow up. Heh, he’s an even better cook than I am now.”

Francois: “No. There’s something wrong with him. You’ve been lecturing him about hoodoo and voodoo too much. He’s obsessed with the supernatural and Satanism. I don’t know why I was briefly curious about voodoo when I was a young adult.”

Loretta: “You wouldn’t have met me, otherwise. You say somethin’ wrong with ‘im? (points at his chest) Who might be da influence of that?”

Francois: “Lo, we have to put a stop to his erratic behavior. If religious training won’t work…”

Loretta: “…then just waitin’ and letting life take its course, will.”

Alastor has fun with his parents at a circus. A fortune teller reveals his Tarot cards to him: the Fool for his childhood (innocence and exploration) Hermit for his teenage years (isolation) Justice for his adulthood (adding to karma) and the Devil for his years past 30.

One traumatic day, Alastor’s father sleeps with other women behind his wife’s back, and Alastor witnesses the act, terrified. His father finds out and proceeds to kick him, to molest him and rape him from behind, penis shoved in and out of him, Alastor feeling helpless. The father even calls him a homosexual bitch and to “teach him a lesson.” After it’s too late, his mother runs in to comfort him after his father leaves.

It is at this point that Alastor wonders what it’d feel like to kill/eat a human being. Because of his father, he hates sex and being touched.

Chapter 5: “Deal with the Other Side”

1910: age 15

Alastor finds a Satanic ritual book that a group of imps called K.I.L.L. accidentally left behind. He makes a deal with some evil Loas: gain unlimited power in the afterlife at the cost of a loved one’s life and his own.

Unbeknownst to him, a wendigo shadow version of himself is conceived inside his head after he reads a spell, later manifesting itself as his darkest thoughts and primitive urges…furthering his decent into madness.

He practices using a gun, ax, and knife, quickly mastering them. He also creates voodoo dolls in secret.

Alastor kills his first human with a knife after a white man insults him for being Creole and of mixed race (part white from his European father, part Creole/African/Native American from his brown-skinned mother).

For the first time, Alastor feels powerful as well as shocked. He was worried that he would get caught. When he didn’t…he wondered what it’d be like to do it again.

Though Alastor’s mother let’s Alastor do what he wants, she also warns him to be careful with the dark Loas. Both his parents encourage Alastor to continue hunting and defending himself. (Though both aren’t aware of the murder).

Chapter 6: “Radio Host”

1911: age 16

Alastor starts his job as a radio host and DJ, earning more money to support his family. (Though his father still verbally insults him every day and his mother is often working.) He discovers dad jokes and electro swing, getting back into his love of theater and dance. He loved dark coffee and drank liquor at Mardi Gras, where he danced with Mimzy at a jazz club and met Racheil.

“Hello sheba!” Alastor and Husk think when they see Mimzy, a sexually desirable woman.

Mimzy is short and plump, with a feathered hat, large thighs, white skin and short white hair. Her dress is magenta and she wears a headband with a large magenta feather. She also wears a necklace with a round pink gem. She and Alastor share several kisses. Husk gets jealous and tries to flirt with Mimzy, to no avail.

Mimzy orders sinkers (doughnuts) every day “I’d like three sinkers, por favor!” she says.

Racheil, Husk, Mimzy and Alastor greet each other with “Mais cher!”

Husk drinks “giggle water” (liquor) and is “dissafied” (drunk)

Alastor calls Mimzy a “doll” and “dame” (both mean beautiful women

Chapter 7: “Radio Career”

1920: age 25

Alastor now has his own radio show and studio. Alastor meets Mimzy (owner of a jazz club) and they sing several duets at a jazz concert. Both his parents slightly suspect that he’s the Deer Devil serial killer but, of course, don’t say anything. He meets Husk as well (and later makes a deal with him in Hell). He also does dad jokes and sometimes performs in a band, much to the delight of Mimzy and Rachiel. Mimzy, Husk, and Racheil become his only three friends.

Dream 2: Alastor dreams he is a grown red buck, enjoying life but running from hunters, who represent the elite, and a demonic alligator, representing his father. His mother appears as an angelic Voodoo priestess with eagle wings creating Thunder.

Racheil asks Alastor to marry her, while Mimzy falls deeper in love with him. Alastor is affectionate with them, but doesn’t want to be tied down in marriage. Racheil orders a snowball (snowcone) and becomes suspicious of her lover/best friend.

Alastor refers to Mimzy (and sometimes Racheil) as “bearcats”: women with fiery streaks. Both Mimzy and Alastor are swanky (use their wealth/knowledge/skill to impress others) while performing.

Chapter 8: “Stock Market Crash”

1929: age 34

Hell, March 13, 1919 1929 Stock Market Crash

Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Axeman The Deer Devil

When I see fit, I shall appear and claim other victims as I see fit. I alone know whom they shall be. No clues will be left behind, save for what you might hear on the next broadcast.

Tell the police and the racist, elite scum of the world to beware. Let them try not to discover who I am, for it’d be better for them not to have been born than to incur the wrath of the Deer Devil. You’ll have a deer in the headlights look and won’t have any idea what hit you until after it’s too late.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a monster and murderer. But if I wanted to hurt anyone else here, I would have done so already. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. I could kill every one of your best and worst citizens, for I am in a close relationship with the Shadows of the Other Side.

At 6:06 pm next Friday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans and then visit those in Hell. I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:

I am very fond of jazz music, electro swing, and jambalaya. I swear by all the Loas and deities that I will spare those who can provide me with some great entertainment when I visit. Word of warning, I can read you people like a book, and see into your very souls. Anyone foolish enough to challenge me will have their corpses consumed and their screams muffled by the lovely sound of jazz bands jamming the night away.

I have been, am, and will be, the worst spirit that ever existed in fact, fantasy, or realm of Hazbins.

Smile and stay tuned!

~Deer Devil (Alastor)

Racheil breaks up with him after growing tired of Alastor being self-centered and hungry for money, and his indifference to the murders. She thought he could be a good person, but left and told him he had to redeem himself on his own. She calls him a “grifter” (con man) after discovering he sometimes made deals.

Husk remarks to others that Alastor got the “icy mitt” (meaning he got rejected.) He tries to flirt with Racheil but she claims she has to go. Fortunately, Alastor doesn’t hear him or pay attention.

At this point, Mimzy grows suspicious of Alastor and soon finds out that he’s the serial killer. He sees her and dances with her one last time. He describes how joyful it is to kill cruel racist people. Mimzy says she’s worried about him and reaches toward the old rotary phone on a counter. Thinking that she’d call the police, Alastor chokes and kills her in a frenzy before sadly holding her dead body.

Alastor was sad after her death but once in Hell (1933), he met up with her again at her jazz club, singing and dancing with her, even giving her a hug during the time of his conquests. He made deals with Niffty, Husk, Mimzy, and Rosie, with only Husk and Niffty being under his control to an extent.

Alastor becomes the most well-known radio show-host in New Orleans. He thrives in money and material things (good food, wine, radios, cigarettes, a new staff with a circular microphone and miniature antlers made from gold around it. and outfits) But no one else except his parents knows that he is the infamous “Deer Devil” serial killer. Now he enjoys seeing orphans and children in misery, reminding him that he was better off than many. He makes shady deals, announcements on various murders and tells dad jokes as electro swing music plays.

Alastor also eats pig meat, deer meat and human meat, along with jambalaya and a jorum of skee (hard liquor) that he stole from Husk. He announces the murders on the air in detail, all with a cheerful tone.

He kills his victims in various ways: some hanging from trees with their organs spilled out, some buttered and eaten, others buried alive, some people shot and stabbed when he doesn’t feel like dragging it out. He’ll often poison other’s food/drinks and watch their reactions with a grin on his face. He enjoys tricking others into corners/tight spots so he doesn’t have to run after them. He’s found of pranks, especially deadly ones done on others. He saves brutal killings for racist men and women and those who think ill of him and his show. He becomes known as the “Deer Devil Dealer of New Orleans.” He only started killing people and animals at random after his mother died and he lost his mind.

Both his parents eventually figure out that Alastor is a serial killer and practices Voodoo (though his mother knew about him doing Voodoo all along but was upset that he turned to the dark side). His father threatens to kill him or send him away to jail but his mother looks at him sadly, still loving him. “Go to Hell!” his father says, “…and may the Devil have no mercy on your already tainted soul.” Alastor is kicked out of the house by his father, but Alastor promises to visit his mother in secret.

Chapter 9: “A Great Depression”

1930: age 35

The event hits the family hard, and Alastor’s mother is out of a job. Only cans of food and the occasional game are enough to sustain them. Alastor kills and eats people, those who were racist, rich, or looked upon him in disgust. He then saw others as nothing more than prey to be played with.

His family is mocked by others as dewdroppers (lazy and unemployed)

Husk and Alastor part ways, both sharing their troubles (Husk going to the Vietnam War in the future, gambling and drinking his life away.)

Alastor’s father drinks alcohol, does drugs and sleeps with other women. When Alastor visits again, he gets whipped by his father and raped yet again for “being a pussy and not being a proper man.” Again, Alastor’s mother doesn’t do anything to stop him because she’s too scared.

Worse, yet, Alastor’s mother falls gravely ill due to the flu and stress and the family can’t afford medication to help her. (or more accurately, medications aren’t being offered to families of color/mixed race. Francois considers this God’s punishment on Loretta and Alastor for their occupations (ignoring his own sins).

Alastor’s mother gets badly beaten and shot in the stomach by her husband. The father is later arrested outside (due to a neighbor calling the police). Alastor cries in agony as his mother dies in front of him. He later says grace over dinner and eats her remains on top of jambalaya. He cries hard for the rest of the day, cuts himself, and doesn’t eat anything for days…spiraling into a great depression.

After his mother’s death, Alastor lost his remaining traits of humanity…succumbing to his demonic nature. At that point, he didn’t care who he ate and/or killed…it was the last think he could do to keep himself sane along with drinking liquor, coffee, sewing voodoo dolls, and broadcasting the murders by himself.

Dream 3: He has nightmares about a demonic skeletal deer covered with maggots and sores with chunks of meat over bone and one eye hanging loose running after him. He finds himself in a dark snowy forest, a fierce biting wind. After it seemed like he had been defeated by the monster, Alastor looks into a puddle and sees another, far worse monster, a demonic wendigo reflection staring back at him…Alastor sees a horned face and malnourished skeletal body, ripped red pinstriped dress coat, four clawed hands, red and black hair and red eyes, sharp teeth, large black antlers…the wendigo form resembling his current demonic form in Hell. After killing the alligator representing his father, the wendigo Alastor look-alike shadow appears and says “This is who you really are,” before Alastor wakes up.

Two days later, his father is set free with only a slap on the wrist. Alastor tracks him down to a local bar. (Although he usually doesn’t stalk or chase his victims as it breaks his moral code, but his dad is an exception. Also following others/sneaking toward them are often required to kill others.) His father had been secretly afraid that Alastor would be stronger and would want to kill him, thus proving his son more dominant than himself. He had weapons ready, but Alastor had set up several traps in advance. Though Alastor was physically weaker than his father, he was very clever. He had packed a backpack of all his weapons, rope and essential tools. His father says “You and your heathen mother deserve to die” only for Alastor to respond, “Nobody talks about my mama that way.” Seeing his father knocked out, Alastor raises his knife to kill him but stops. That would merely be too easy. He supports him by the shoulders, pretending to be concerned for him as onlookers watched in shock, “It’s okay sir, you just fainted from the heat. Let’s go for a walk in the woods.” He takes him deep in the forest and chuckles darkly.

Chapter 10: “Death by Dogs”

1933 age 38.

Alastor is eventually tracked down when he accidentally laughs too much when describing his father’s death on the radio.

Additionally, Racheil finds out about Alastor’s killings back at his house, as she walked with her new wife Agatha. Seeing stuffed deer around the house and Alastor holding a bloody knife, she knew at that moment he was the Deer Devil. She screams for help, alerting the neighbors who call the police. Agatha kicks Alastor in the groin, allowing her and Racheil to escape. Knowing that he had finally been discovered, Alastor fled.

Death:

Not too long before the police discover where he is, Alastor gets bitten by a rabies infested dog. For the next several hours, Alastor experiences hallucinations, paranoia, brain inflammation and a fear of water. In water, all he sees is leeches and alligators. In his hallucinations, he is being watched by a wendigo. The police chase Alastor though the dark woods, police dogs hot on the trail. A local deer hunter, Hustle, joins in on the chase. Alastor navigates the woods, trying to find a place to hide. He experiences extreme agony when the deer hunter spots him, pointing a rifle at him. The hunter announces his location to the police. Seeing no other way out other than pain and imprisonment, Alastor takes the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between his eyes. The police dogs maul his dead body and the hunter sinks to his knees in shock and terror. Strangely enough, Alastor dies with a creepy smile on his face, the mark of Kalfu appearing behind his cold neck, unnoticed by anyone.

1920s slang:

Cancelled stamp - a shy, lonely female, the type one would describe as a “wallflower”

Pachuca - Female Mexican living in America

Berries - Something that is good, desirable or pleasing

Ringers - Fake Dumb Dora - Unintelligent woman Gasper - Cigarette Big House - Jail Can - Jail Hitting on all eights - Go well Hoods - Criminals Palookas - Men, probably not very smart Phonus Balonus - Nonsense Hombres – Men

Quilt - Alcohol that warms you up Boob - An idiot Broad - Lady Chippy - Woman of easy virtue (loose woman) Egg - Man Duck soup - Easy Kale - Money Big Sleep - Death Hooches - Boot-legged liquor Wise head - Smart Fuzz - Police Butter and egg men - Men with the bankroll Zozzled - Drunk (shitfaced) Dishes - Pretty women Jam - Trouble/ Tight spot Bee's Knee's - Extraordinary Giggle juice - Alcohol Chin music - Punch to the jaw Screwy - Crazy Clean sneak - An escape with no clues left behind

What's eating you? - What's wrong? Crumb - Hopeless Behind the eight ball - Down on one's luck Doozy - Problem Flophouse - A cheap transient hotel where a lot of men sleep in large rooms Twenty large - $20,000 Egg - Man Mazuma - Money Dumb Dora - Unintelligent woman Dusting out - Disappearing Juice - Debt Trouble boys - Gangsters Swell - Good

Rubes - Unsophisticated people Ethel - Effeminate man Scram out - Get lost Socked - Punched Kittens - Young girls Big shot - Important individual Greens - Cash Flophouse - A cheap transient hotel where a lot of men sleep in large rooms Wop - Racial slur for Italian (A/N: It's been confirmed by Vivziepop that Angel is Italian!) Dincher - Half-smoked cigarette Lam off - Run away Hinky - Suspicious Broad - Woman Butt - Cigarette Foot juice - Cheap alcohol Owl - Someone who stays out late at night Necking - Kisses on the neck Gowed-up - High Balled-up - Messed up Four-flushing - Feigning wealth while mooching off others Dewdropping - Sleeps all day and doesn't have a job Dope fiend - Drug addict Slay - Make one laugh Gin mill - Bar Grummy - Depressed Jam - A tight spot What's eating her? - What's wrong with her? Zozzled - Drunk (shitfaced) Bearcat - A fiery and vivacious woman Beef - Problem Sap - Useless person Bull - Bullshit Crepe hanger - Reformer Goof - Idiot Swanky - High-class Bird – Person

Ankle - Walk Poke - Bankroll Break it up - Stop that, quit the nonsense Potty - Slightly crazy, insane Breeze - Easy Beat one's gums - Idle chatter Fuzz - Police Heebie-Jeebies - The jitters, anxiety Capers - Crimes Cut dead - Ostracised Razz - To make fun of or take the piss out of, heckle High-hat – Snub

Dincher - Half-smoked cigarette Cut down - Murdered Wet - Stupid Sheba - Woman with sex appeal Quiff - Cheap prostitute Mac - Man Bull Session - Male talkfest, gossip, stories of sexual exploits Beeswax - Business Croak - Kill Alderman - Pot belly Steam up - Get angry Nookie - Sex Twist - Woman Make whoopee - Have sex Got lathered - Got mad Dogs - Feet Nudnik - Stupid man Bim - Girl Whisper Sister - Female proprietor of a speakeasy Moneybags - Testicles Jive - Unpleasant talk

Soupbone - Penis Cheaters - Glasses Socked - Punched Twist - Girl Make whoopee - Have sex John - Toilet Bum-rushed - ejection by force from an establishment Chivved - Cut Crackjob - Psychopath Palooka - Stupid man Skirt - Woman Over the edge - Crazy, insane Hot dog - Penis Deck of Luckies - Pack of cigarettes

Crumb - Hopeless Square - Honest Chicago lightning - Gunfire Greens - Money Copper - Police Bushwa - Bullshit Big Cheeses - Someone of importance and influence Cats - Men Weak sister - Pushover Bump gum's - To talk about nothing worthwhile Chinning - Talking Downer - Depressing feeling Bearcat - Very fiery and vivacious girl Gayly – Happily

Hoods - Criminals Get a wiggle on - To make a move Pachuca - Female Mexican living in America (A/N: Not correct as Vaggie is Salvadoran!) Bird - Person Paste - Punch Take the air - Get lost Bruno - Tough guy Dangle - Leave Rubes - Unsophisticated people Big Six - Tough guy Broads - Women Dumbbell - Idiot Bug-Eyed Betty - Unattractive woman Get in a lather - Throw a fuss Bluenose - Prude Jake - Great Sheik - A man with sex appeal

Jam - Tight spot Button - Nose Gas - Joke Pos-i-lute-ly - Affirmative Dogs - Feet Ankled - Walked Ms Grundy - Boring and uninteresting woman

Ankling - Walking Wet blanket - A killjoy Bozos - A stupid or foolish person Hombre - Man Kisser - Punch Schnozzle - Nose Cast a kitten - Throw a fuss Lather - Fuss Left - Wrong Over the edge - Crazy Crackers - Insane Go jump in a lake - You're crazy Joe Brooks - Smart and well-dressed man Looker - Attractive Flat tire - Bore/ Boring Nerts - Crazy Mustard plaster - Unwelcome guy who sticks around Butter and egg men - Money men Ankle - Walk Swell - Good Cat's Meow - Something splendid or stylish; similar to bee's knees; The best or greatest

Lammed off - Ran off Boiler - Car Sap - A dumb guy Broad - Woman Big One - Death Hoeey - Nonsense/ Bullshit Gumshoe - Detective Peeper - Detective Gas - Joke Bozo - Stupid or foolish person

Frau - Wife Frail - Woman Dry-gulched - Knock out, hit on head after ambushing Hombres - Men Jive - Unpleasant talk Wherewithal - Money or other means needed for a particular purpose Bull - Nonsense In the soup - In trouble Elephant ear's - The police Bootless - Hopeless Barbering - Talking Plugs - People Dumb Dora - Unintelligent woman Loggerheads - To strongly disagree Attagirl: Well done Mazuma - Money Call copper - Police informant Clip - Shot Hooch - Liquor Trouble boys - Gangsters Pinching - Arresting/ Capturing

Tip a few - Have a few drinks Earful - Warning Zotzing - Killings And how - I agree Beeswax - Business Egg - Man Don't take any wooden nickels - Don't do anything stupid Zozzled - Drunk/ Shitfaced Rubes - Unsophisticated men Buddy Roe - A threatening form of address for a male in the South Beef - Problem Dry-gulched - Knock out, hit on head after ambushing Glaum - Steal Spifflicated - Drunk, intoxicated Kisses - Punches Jobbie - Boy Yahoos - Clumsy, unsophisticated people Conking – Hitting

Socking - Punch Sap - Pitiful person Trap - Mouth Mitts - Hands Pipe - Throat Dormy - Dormant Snowbird - Cocaine addict Nose-candy - Cocaine Hightail - Hurry Elbows - Police Crummy - Lousy Hayburner - Gas-guzzling vehicle Frau - Wife Egg - Man Big Shot - Important person Off the track - Become insanely violent Browbeaten - Intimidated Corn – Bourbon

Dame - Lady Baloney - Nonsense Cooled - Knocked out Jingle-brained - Addled Gashoused - Roughed up Chiv - Sharp weapon That's the crop - That's all to it Put the screws on - Question Looker - Attractive person Get a slant - Take a look

Steamed up - Angry Noodle juice - Tea Earful - Warning Bumping off - Killing Dive - A low-down, cheap sort of place Bug-eyed - Wide-eyed with astonishment Cheaters - Glasses Ing-bing - Fit Tearjerker - Sentimental story Tight corner - Dilemma Numbers - People Crumb - Hopeless Keen - Attractive Swell - Wonderful Rate - Count for something Bangtail - Racehorse Balled up – Confused

Noodle juice - Tea Java - Coffee Dingle dangler - Someone who insists on telephoning Blower - Telephone Blaah - Not so good Closed her head - Shut up Behind the eight ball - In a difficult position, in a tight spot Sap - Hopeless person Hot diggity dog! - Great! Cat's Pajamas - A very good thing Screaming-meemies - The shakes On the level - Honest Wrong number - Not a good fellow Pill - Unfavourable person Pipe - Notice All wet - Wrong Whoop-de-doo - Exclamation of joy Palookas - Stupid men Ms Grundys - Boring women Cancelled stamp – Wallflower

Gasper – Cigarette Redhots - Criminals Capers – Crime Malarkey – Nonsense Mug – Face Rank - Observed, watched, given the once-over Heebie-jeebies – The jitters / Anxiety Ball up – Mess up Ear muffs – Headset Spiffy – Presentable Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed - alert and lively. Boocoos – A lot Bit – Prison sentence You slay me! – That’s funny! Horse feathers – Nonsense Bunny - Term that conveys sympathy and endearment for lost or confused person Ya follow? – Do you understand? Hotsy-totsy – Pleasing

Copacetic – Ok, Alright Off your rocker – Mad, crazy Whangdoodle – Jazz number Canary – Female singer Gams – Legs Chinese angle – Strange twist Chassis – The female figure Tin Pan Alley - The music industry in New York, located between 48th and 52nd street Joint – Establishment Giggle water – Liquor And how – I agree Insured – To be engaged to marry On the up and up – To be honest Carry a torch – Have an unrequited love Skirt – Girl Duck soup – Easy Weak sister – Pushover Crumb – Hopeless Noodle – Head Corked – Intoxicated

Buzzed – Come to a person’s door Cat’s Pyjamas – Anything that’s good Boozehound – Drunkard Breeze off - Hurry Butt me – Give me a cigarette Deck - Pack Chilled off – Killed Barlow - Girl Having a snoot full – Being drunk Line – Insincere flattery Beeswax - Business Know your onions – Know what you are talking about Not so good – Disapproving Peepers – Detectives Mug – Face Honcho - Boss Berry patch – A man’s particular interest in a girl Beat it – Leave Urban set – New gown Razzing – Teasing Bushwa – Bullshit Hinky – Suspicious Says you! – An expression of disbelief Heel – Scoundrel

Ankle – Walk Three-spot – Three-year jail sentence Di mi – My goodness Cat’s pajamas – Best thing Break it up – Stop that, Quit the nonsense Dusting out – Leaving Everything’s Jake! – Everything’s good! Grifter – Con artist Chisel – Swindle Not taking any wooden nickels – Not doing anything stupid Phony – Fake Hooey - Nonsense Chump - Person marked for a con or a gullible person.

Gandering - In the process of dudding up Hip to the jive – Trendy Swankiest - Stylishly luxurious and expensive Spiffy - Smart in appearance Get-up - A style or arrangement of dress, especially an elaborate or unusual one. Brooksy - Classy dresser Looker – Attractive person Tomato – Pretty woman Flivver – A Ford automobile Lousy with it – To have lots of Glad rags – Fancy clothes Blow – Wild party Crasher – Uninvited person Cancelled stamps – Wallflowers Goofs – Boyfriends Mug – Face

Made – Recognised That’s the bunk – That’s untrue Egg - Man Hooch – Liquor Hooker – A strong drink of liquor Frau – Wife Nibbling one – Having a drink Drifted – Leave Gee – Guy Peep show - an erotic or pornographic film viewed from a coin-operated booth. Greens - Money Darb – Remarkable Talkies – The picture show Lug – Dumb guy Go climb up his thumb - Go stick a thumb up his ass Trap - Mouth Gave them the door – Tell them to leave Gasper – Cigarette Bean-shooter – Gun Spill - Talk Given the third – Interrogated Heat - Gun Have the curse on someone – Wanting to see someone killed

Bright young thing – Socialite Giving some burn power – Fire a gun What’s the grift? – What are you trying to pull? Trouble boys – Gangsters Boocoos – Lots of Birds – Interesting characters Nailed – Getting caught by the police Bumps – Kills Don’t gum every play I make – Don’t interfere with my plans Hatchet Man – Hired killer Jerking a nod - Nodding Chinning – Talking Nudniks – An irritating person Pan - Face Flat tire – Stupid girl Sweetie – A term for someone a girl doesn’t like Jive – Unpleasant talk Bushwa - Bullshit Weasel – A sleaze who tries to take another’s girl Swell – Good Gams – Legs

Blow – Leave Balled Up – Confusing Dip the bill – Have a drink Tipping a few – Have a few drinks Scofflawing - Chugging down Togged to the bricks – Dressed to the nines Button - Face Lalapazaza - Good sport Conk - Head Ish kabibble - No worries Ducky – Approving Bloused – Leave from Whangdoodle – Jazz number Fag – A smoke Drink from the same bottle – Close friends Bunny – A term of endearment applied to the lost, disoriented Bluenose - Killjoy Lather - Tantrum Broad – Girl Grungy - Envious Canary – Female singer Dry Up – Shut Up baby vamp - a pretty or popular female Edge – A buzz Dizzy with a dame – In love

Chippy - Woman of easy virtue Jingle-brained - Addled Spifflicated - Drunk Cut down – Killed

Out on the roof – To drink a lot, to be drunk Can House – Bordello Beat his gums – Engage in idle chatter Yap – Mouth Close your heads – Shut up Half-screwed – Somewhat drunk Put down - Drink Pop – Kill Hookers – Drinks Clotheslines – Neighbourhood gossips

Cajun slangs:

Enchanté – Delighted to meet you Cher – Dear Come see - Come here Weh – Yes De’pouille – Anything or anyone who is a mess Podna – Friend Honte – Embarassed Kagou – Oh no Juju – Energy Ahnvee – Hunger Envie - Craving

Hazbin Hotel and characters belong to Vivziepop, no copyright intended

List of references and artists who inspired this work

“A Beginning” by DrowningInFandoms208

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713248/chapters/51792883

(44,737 word fanfiction that goes into detail on Alastor’s past, his hunter father, and his abusive behavior)

“Alastor’s Despair” by AwkwardKaminari

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240174/chapters/53104108 (symptoms and Alastor’s diagnosis)

“Dressed” by Escarno

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555379

(Alastor’s mother’s advice)

“He’s A Mama’s Boy” by Legally bi 20

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568032 (French language and Alastor’s mothers’ similar appearance in Hell descriptions)

“It’s Never Enough” by SydneyArtstuff https://www.instagram.com/sydney_artstuff/ (final Mimzy scene)

“Making Jambalaya With Your Father” by MajorMasterD

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22949809 (mother dying and cannibalism)

“Momma’s Boy” by Dear Husker

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782773/chapters/51976258

(Alastor’s father killing the mother and list of the years)

“Remembrance” by ornithia

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787732

(Alastor losing humanity after his mother’s death)

“Sewing” by another–athena

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800410

(Alastor’s love of sewing voodoo dolls of Hazbin characters. Ideas from this later used in an Alastor fic: “Hidden Hazbin Sins”)

“The Devil of New Orleans” by WritingAndSmiting

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003890/chapters/55000696 (language, Alastor’s similar name that other’s call him, and a few cultural aspects)

“This is for all that you put me through, you piece of shit”

by VillanousBakugou13

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874986?view_full_work=true

(Alastor getting raped by his father and then getting his revenge)

BlueRaven666 Alastor rabies death theory

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RE27sNOcDMk

#hazbin hotel #alastor

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lovingsiriusoswald · 5 years

Text

Damned

Part 1 | 2 | 3

Fallen Angel!Sirius AU

Heavily inspired by: Fallen by Lauren Kate

Disclaimer: The first few parts will be based from the Prologue from the game, credits to Cybird for that! If the "series" gets too long, go to the "Damned - Sirius" tag for easy navigating!

************

Me and Ray started to discuss that what if MC was the next Alice. He had mentioned that she would be necessary for fending off the Red Army. Internally, I was against the idea of using a precious lady as a tool for war, but I nodded to him instead.

"If she joins the Black Army, we could withstand the magical forces of the Red Army."

A bright light from beyond the hedges to where MC had run off to had caught our attention. That's where the Red Army Generals' meeting had taken place. I hope she didn't get hurt by that light.

"Call in Luka and Seth, she's surely held captive by the Red Army now."

We immediately rushed back to the Black Army Headquarters and I called in Luka and Seth. They got a little too excited to hear that Alice had finally arrived in Cradle. Fenrir had overheard the orders and immediately volunteered to be back up in case of an emergency.

"All you need to do is spy on the Red Army barracks and see what they plan to do with MC. Do not engage a fight them. We will then meet up at the Central Quarters by sunrise. Understood?" I bellowed. I was worried that she would get scared if a fight broke out so suddenly.

"Yes sir!" They rushed to their horses and took off. I started to call the soldiers of the army, Ray had wanted to meet them before dawn by the courtyard. Once everyone was ready, I turned to Ray and he stood in front of them.

"Soldiers!" He shouts and the army stood upright then saluted. "A few hours ago, Alice had arrived in Cradle named as MC. She is currently held captive by the Red Army and no one knows what they plan to do with her. She could either be used as a weapon against us, or our greatest defense. " I flinched subtly at his last sentence. "We are at the verge of war and MC can help us resolve our conflicting issues if she joins our side. For the protection of Cradle nd its people, we must protect and keep watch over her. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" The soldiers respond in unison.

"Freedom soars on Raven wings!" Ray shouts.

"Freedom soars on Raven wings!" The soldiers yell back. Ray scans the soldiers and I start to worry more, it was bad timing that MC had arrived at a time like this. Her safety is something that I need to prioritize, but being the Queen of Spades, it was difficult to do so.

A raven messenger had arrived with a piece of paper tied around its neck. Ray immediately opens and reads the letter. His eyes grew wide and turned to us again. "Go to the Central Quarters quickly! Luka, Seth, and Fenrir are under fire!"

I rush to the carriage and the carriage takes off immediately. I looked up at the sky that was starting to glow a crimson light. The first rays of sunlight after a long eventful night had reached through the leaves of the trees and grass. I watched the landscape transition from the Black Army Headquarters, to the dewy fields and quiet town of the Black Territory, to the cobblestone streets and buildings of the Central Quarters quickly. My worry for MC was starting to grow -- what if she decides to join the Red Army? That means I would never be able to see her. Worse, I might just watch her fall in love with someone else.

The carriage stops and I quickly stepped out, I stood next to Ray and faced West, where the Red Army Territory was located. Three horses was seen at the distance and they were charging in fast.

"They're safe!" A Black Army soldier cheered. I squint to try and see the extra figure in Luka's arms. MC was with them!

They halt when they neared us and got off their horses. Luka helps MC off and I stare in shock. She didn't take their side, she's here!

"Glad you're back in one piece. But why did you bring MC back with you?" These weren't the words I wanted to say.

"Nice to see you again so soon, MC." Ray grins at her. She lets out a breath and smiles widely at us, her eyes squinting and her cheeks tinted with a light dash of pink. Despite being up all night, she looked like she was glowing against the sun's rays.

"Ray! Sirius! You have no idea how relieved I am to be back here!" She remarks happily to us. I could already see the imaginary flowers blooming around her and the cute little sparkles. She was absolutely adorable.

"MC, you already know our king and queen? Talk about a small world, huh?" Fenrir chips in. She inhales a sharp breath as she turns to look at us, I guess we forgot to tell her our roles.

"You're really good at popping up at the worst possible time." Ray softly smiles at her. It was very true, in her previous lives, she would always burst in at the most unconventional time. During her life as a 17th century Victorian noblewoman, she would suddenly enter at Security Meetings held at the Grand Hall, without really intending to. She would often use me as an excuse, which was both annoying and life saving. Another event was during the gladiator match in Greece, she fell from the balcony by accident, making me push the man I was fighting with so far away from me that he travelled across the arena and I quickly ran to save her from her fall.

"That's not my intention, but--" MC tries to explain before Luka had cut her off.

"We can chat later, the enemy is approaching." We turn our gazes up and see the four generals were leading a perfectly synchronized battalion of soldiers clad in red and white.

I see MC, tensed that something big was gonna happen.

"What the heck is this about?" Ray frowns as he watches the Red Army march towards us.

"Well, you see, we had a little run-in, so to speak, with the Red Army at the gates to their barracks." Seth explains.

"Seriously? Do I need to send you all back to school for Recon 101?" I frown at him. It wasn't necessary to put MC in danger like this.

"There you go again with that salty face. I don't know why you're so upset!" He smiles as if a fight wasn't brewing. "If you really thought that nothing was going to happen, then why did you bring so many men?" He glows as he grins, eyes so deceiving that you'd never think he wants to fight for a war.

"The Reds have been waiting for 500 years for an excuse to strike, and they've finally found their reason." Ray frowns as the Red Army's march had stopped. We faced against our opposing side.

"I'm quite impressed, I wasn't expecting the Black Army to send its leaders out to welcome us." Edgar smiles, unbefitting to the situation at hand.

"You took that girl, who was under our care, and then had the audacity to attack. Explain yourselves." Jonah's icy amber eyes pierces through us, the way he says it makes it look like he was playing the victim card.

"You almost had me fooled into thinking you were a victim there for a minute. Twist the truth too much and your face might end up that way too." I couldn't hold back my tongue from talking as I smirked at him, his eyebrows furrowing further.

"Say that once more and you'll rue the day you were born!" He says through gritted teeth.

"How dare you insult our Queen!" A red soldier retorts, I almost laugh at their pointless aggressiveness. The Red Army's growls and hate starts to grow louder until a loud voice booms from behind.

"Silence!" Lance bellows as the soldiers part in half to give way to his entrance. He looked powerful as always. His head was held high, with a cold emotionless gaze that had seemed the only expression he ever had since he became the King of Hearts.

"Bow down to the King of Hearts, Lancelot! May glory run crimson through our veins!" A soldier yells.

"May glory run crimson through our veins." His eyes were fixated on MC as she stares back, her body slightly shaking from tension. He knows. "My proud men, there is no need to draw your swords." His eyes glowed red as he waved his hand. Our weapons were lifted to the air and had suddenly vanished. A dirty player as always.

"There goes our boss again, overdoing it with the magic." Kyle sighs as his shoulders slightly slump down, making it known that he was uninterested with the whole fiasco.

"It looks like we skipped over the "threaten the enemy" stage." Seth declares as if this was a casual process.

"You think that's all it takes to stop us? Come on! We've been waiting for this battle for 500 years!" Fenrir's eyes held excitement and manic, he clenched his fists tightly as he smiles widely.

"He's right. Leaders of the past may had put this battle off, but the time has come for us to fight." Zero declares. He was a good soldier, his courage and strength made him the perfect Ace for the Red Army. He was always in a firm stance, always ready to fight.

"An excellent summation, Zero. Well done!" Edgar remarks out of nowhere, earning a pained look from him.

"If you're thinking of surrendering, now is the time. I hope you heard that Luka. " Jonah's face softens as he glances at his beloved younger brother, who in turn, looked away with a frown.

"Did somebody say something? Because all I heard was a gust of hot air." He rolls his eyes and Jonah sighs softly from across us.

I glance over at MC again and see her look back and forth the two sides worriedly, completely caught in the middle of a brewing war.

"Lance, call this off!" I call out to him, hoping that our friendship could reach through his heart and withdraw the fight.

"Don't speak as if we're friends, Queen of Spades." He looks at me with cold sharp eyes, his expression never faltering, then his voice lowered a pitch. "I have a message for the Black Army -- from this day forth, you have been absored into the Red Army."

"I have a message for the Red Army -- quit spouting nonsense." Ray replies, the two Kings glare sharply at each other.

"In that case, I'll just have to dissolve every last one of you." His eyes glowed crimson again as his hands start to illuminate with magic. Before he could raise it towards us, MC quickly reaches her hands out, in between the two Kings.

"Please! Stop!" She cries as a barrier of light appears in front of her. Lance's spell dissolves into nothing as the light fades away. He looks at her again, his frown softening back to his usual empty expression. "So Jonah's report was true." He looks at her from head to toe, "Alice the Second really has appeared." He walks towards MC and looks down at her, making his voice loud and clear for her to hear very clearly. "Just be warned, Alice -- I consider anybody who gets in my way an enemy." My blood boils at his threat, he didn't have to frighten her more, she's already confused and tired at everything being thrown at her all at once. You're not like this, what happened? Before I could open my mouth to speak, Ray had stepped forward.

"Stop making stuff up as you go!" He walks towards Lance and MC, shielding her away from the King of Hearts' gaze. "Her name is MC, not Alice."

A carriage violently pulled up before us, taking the attention of all the soldiers and Generals. "That'll do, gentlemen." Blanc steps out of the carriage, along with Oliver. He walks towards the two Kings, who then parted from each other. He smiles softly at MC, calming her worries little by little.

"I don't know what you're thinking, pulling a stunt like this so early in the morning. Don't you know people live here?" Oliver frowns at MC, who looked more confused than ever.

"The Central Quarter is a neutral zone. Any and all forms of combat are strictly prohibited here." He yells loud enough for everyone to hear. "The entire country of Cradle will be at great risk if you destroy its economic and political center."

You always knew how to break up a fight at the right time, thank you, Blanc.

After a long moment of silence, Lance finally speaks, anger and annoyance evident in his voice. "Let it be known, this is the only time I will humor the request of a record keeper. Troops, fall back!" MC sighs as Lance takes his leave, along with his entourage of soldiers.

"I can't leave you without something to fret over, Alice." Jonah walks up to her and Luka grips his greatsword tightly. I raise my hand to stop him from doing anything stupid, although I myself want to break that pretty boy's face for trying to threaten her like that. "I'll have you under my command soon enough. You'll learn to enjoy serving me." He leans a little to close for comfort and I hear Luka scowl at his brother under his breath. "I hope you'll look forward to it as much as I am." He turns and Lance faces MC once again.

"Alice -- I doubt that it will be long until I see you again, but until then, enjoy what little time you have left with your life." For a sheer second, his eyes grew sad, something was up. His cape flies around him as he turns, leading his troops to retreat back to the West. I gather up the courage to finally talk to her again, hoping to try and deviate the threats from scaring her too much.

"So you really are from the Land of Reason, MC?" I try my best to make small talk. She nods at me and meets my eyes again.

"Yes, I am. It wasn't my intention to come here, but now I'm stuck here until the next full moon." She explains. She looks away from me and bit her lip, thinking hard of what could happen next.

"Don't worry." I place my hand on her shoulder and she looks back up at me, hoping that this gesture could ease her nerves. "We'll make sure you find your way home." London was the safest place for her, she would never be happy here, being caught up in the middle of a war. I rethink my choices and plan what to do to keep her safe and under my care, but I know that it would never be possible.

Things need to change, and sending her home in 30 days is all I need to do to keep her safe. I'm fighting against fate now.

"Thank you, Sirius." She smiles up at me, the tiredness had slowly grown evident in her eyes.

8 notes · View notes

oldbluethings · 6 years

Text

werewolf fic

I wrote more of this. I guess it needs a name now since it’s decided to stick around (current name in my writing app is ‘Hey Ladies!’ idk why)

First part here

"What the fuck, Tony?"

Tony glared at Bruce and adjusted the ice pack on the back of his head. "You've already asked me that," he grumbled. "Several times." Damn, his head hurt.

"Well, let me rephrase the question then...” Bruce continued. “What are you planning to do with him? How long are you planning to keep him here? What the hell are we gonna do if SHIELD finds out? And what the fuck do we tell everyone else?" He ticked each point off on his fingers.

Those were all very important questions. Tony had already lost track. "I don't know yet," he answered honestly. "He saved my life. I want to know why."

Bruce threw up his hands.

Tony turned around so he could stare at the creature in the isolation room. He was still unconscious, but had started to stir within the last few minutes. Tied to the bed with soft restraints at his wrists and ankles. A control collar around his neck to prevent any shapeshifting. And still naked, though Bruce had thrown a sheet over him for decency's sake. The wounds he'd suffered last night had already healed, leaving smooth, clean skin behind. All except that vampire bite. Bruce had neutralized the toxin and closed it up with some sutures, but that was going to leave a scar.

He had an odd assortment of tattoos on his body—mostly his chest. Some magical language that Tony wasn't familiar with. He'd snapped a few photos to send to Wanda. She might know what they meant.

The were was definitely handsome, Tony thought, in an odd sort of way. Neck too long, maybe. But those eyes were something else.

"This isn't fair to him, either. Keeping him like this."

Tony looked up. He'd been caught staring, obviously. He cleared his throat and turned around.

Bruce's expression was soft. Weres and their treatment were a sore point for him, Tony knew. The guy had gone through a lot to come up with a working vaccine. "You know what you have to do. We can't just let him go."

Tony frowned. That wasn't an option. Not right now. "When have I ever done what I'm supposed to?"

Bruce smiled. "Never."

At that moment their prisoner woke up in earnest and immediately started thrashing on the bed.

"Damn it," Bruce muttered. "Let me get something to knock him out with." He jogged back to one of the supply cabinets and started rummaging inside.

Tony took advantage of the distraction to throw the ice pack on a table and enter the access code that lowered the energy shield. He stepped into the room.

"Tony, don't!" Bruce hesitated on the threshold, probably trying to decide if he should sedate their prisoner or Tony. "Damn it, you idiot. If—"

"Relax. It's fine. I'm vaccinated." Tony walked slowly into the room. "You can close that, by the way. I'm not in any danger." He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did.

"Tony," Bruce warned. But then Tony could feel the familiar rush of air as the field closed behind him.

The closer he got to the bed, the more agitated the werewolf became. Tony could see his throat working as he swallowed over and over again, the way his chest heaved with each breath. He pulled hard at the restraints, but a were was no stronger than a normal human and Tony knew they would hold. The collar would keep him from shifting and slipping out. He wasn't dangerous right now.

"Hey," Tony said.

The man met his eyes for a moment and then turned to look at the wall again. Tony could see him shaking.

His father had always told him that understanding your enemy was the key to defeating him. And Tony had taken that advice to heart, had studied sub-naturals, had come to understand their ways and customs. Their behavior. It gave him an edge against them, knowing their strengths and their weaknesses. Not just physically, but mentally.

Werewolves were a mess of conflicting instincts, he knew—that animal fear and desire and need constantly at war with human rationality. They were always fighting themselves. It was what made them so dangerous, so unpredictable.

But this man, the man who had saved him last night... Tony recognized a panic attack when he saw one—was, unfortunately, intimately acquainted with them. And the trigger for this one was obvious. He'd read enough animal behavior books to know that a wolf trapped on his back and surrounded by enemies was a dead wolf. But a wolf on his back surrounded by his pack...

He had a crazy idea. And his crazy ideas usually worked.

Tony reached his hand out slowly toward the man on the bed—calm, steady movements. Those amazing blue-green eyes darted around frantically—to his hand, the walls, Tony's face. The man started struggling in earnest against the restraints, bucking on the bed. A low growl rumbled from his chest.

"Tony, what the fuck are you doing?" Bruce's concerned voice came through the intercom.

"You've already asked me that. Several times," Tony reminded him, keeping his voice calm. "Just trust me."

Tony stepped closer and reached down toward the man. "Just trust me," he repeated, and then reached over to rest his palm on his chest. His skin was much warmer than a normal human's—smooth and hot, the growl a steady vibration beneath Tony's fingers. He hadn't been bitten yet, so that was a good sign. Tony took a deep breath and pressed down. Not hard, but enough to add a solid, grounding weight. Either this would work, or it wouldn't...

The growl tapered off and the man went absolutely still. Tony could see him blinking at the wall, a look of surprise on his face.

So far, so good. "You're okay. I'm not going to hurt you," Tony murmured. He pressed a little harder, maybe pushing his luck, but the guy responded by taking a shaky breath and relaxing further. Tony could feel his breathing finally becoming deeper. The rapid thud of the heart under his hand slowing.

The two of them just stayed that way for a while. Tony felt his own pulse slowing as the tension in the room dissipated, adrenaline ramping down. It struck him then, how weird this all was. He'd never really touched a were before this moment, he realized. And last night there had been several layers of nano particles between the two of them. He'd killed them, sure. But that was always at a distance, impersonal. This was a different experience entirely. Warm skin beneath his hand, feeling the other man's heart beating, his breathing.

Tony took advantage of their proximity to study the man's tattoos again. Blue lines—some old and faded, some newer. All forming intricate designs or runes and symbols that Tony didn't recognize. Not surprising—magic wasn't his thing. Bruce had mentioned they were probably protective spells, but he wasn't an expert either. They'd need to have Wanda take a look if they wanted to decipher them.

Movement under his fingers brought Tony back to the present. The were closed his eyes and huffed out a laugh. "This is awkward," he said.

Tony had to agree with that. Definitely awkward. He lifted his hand and stepped back, putting a little more distance between them. "Done freaking out?"

"Yes." The man kept glancing over at him, then looking away. Tony knew eye-contact was hard for weres—an intimate gesture reserved for others of their kind. Those they were close to. Obviously, the two of them weren't quite there yet.

"What's your name?"

The guy broke the 'no eye-contact' rule to give Tony a scathing look. "You think I'd tell you that? You know I can't." Everyone knew sub-naturals could be bound by magic using their true names. A name was a precious thing, closely guarded.

Tony shrugged. "Okay. Fair point. Why did you save my life?"

The man lifted an arch eyebrow. "I might ask you the same question."

Tony crossed his arms. "I asked first."

"Touché," the werewolf muttered, and the faintest smile played on his lips. "Very well." He sighed and turned to face the wall again. "Last night, I was tracking the vampire that attacked you. My... colleagues and I had destroyed its nest earlier. That old one slipped away from us during the ensuing fight. I came upon the two of you and saw an opportunity to finish the job."

There were a ton of interesting tidbits in that. Particularly the fact that werewolves were teaming up to destroy vampires. During the wars, vamps and weres had fought together as uneasy allies. He'd heard rumors that their truce had broken down. Unless... Tony realized the guy hadn't actually mentioned a pack. He'd said 'colleagues'. Interesting word choice. Either way, there was some shit going down in the world of the sub-natural.

Also, a lot of that story was bullshit.

"So, you weren't actually saving me? Just tying up a loose end?"

"Exactly."

"Here's what I don't get..." Tony strolled over to the nearest wall so he could lean casually against it. "We're enemies, right? You know who I am. You know what I do for a living."

The guy nodded cautiously.

"So why didn't you just wait until that sucker finished me off? Kill two birds with one stone?"

The were opened his mouth. "I..." he started, before frowning. The same look of confusion that Tony remembered from last night crept over his face.

Tony waited. "Don't have anything to say to that, do you?" Apparently, this would remain a mystery to both of them.

The guy gave Tony a baleful glare and tugged on the restraints. "What are you going to do with me?"

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it, caught off guard by the change in subject. It was a good question, though.

What the fuck was he going to do? He still had no idea. What was the endgame here? The responsible thing—and the only legal option—would be to neutralize the threat. If Rhodey or Steve or those militant assholes at SHIELD found out he'd saved a were and brought him here, there'd be hell to pay. But how could he kill a man who'd saved his life? A man he'd just rescued from a panic attack? A man he'd had a conversation with?

He looked back up just as it dawned on him that he'd trapped himself. He'd trapped both of them.

The were gave him a knowing smile.

Tony nodded at him. "Touché."

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