#in which everyone gets their shot at tormenting the poor doc

[wishing-stones]

Baggs: We call that a traumatic experience.

Baggs, turning to Cross: Not a "bruh moment".

Baggs, to Dust: Not "sadge".

Baggs, to Killer: And DEFINITELY not an "OOF LMAO".

Group therapy... has its hangups.

Axe, with a shit-eating grin: "what about a spicy memory?"

#k answers #feat. r&r crew #in which everyone gets their shot at tormenting the poor doc

[ahgaseda]

aura | three

driving me crazy, look in my eyes, follow me, come here, dance with me now, I’m gonna make you feel like that...

summary : back again at a camp for kids that can’t behave, you are still brokenhearted over your ill-fated romance with Jaebeom, until your friend Jackson offers to help make your ex jealous in exchange for helping him land the most unattainable girl at camp.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, recurring alcohol or recreational drug use, graphic sexual content, brief mentions of illegal activities, potentially triggering elements involving toxic relationships and emotional manipulation, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

Every step down the path was slowed by dread and anxiety. The auditorium sat on a small hill, looming over the rest of the camp, and the sight made your stomach turn each time you laid eyes on it.

Such an unassuming building and yet it still shot nerves through you.

Entering through the double doors, you were blasted by air conditioning, which was a bit excessive with the crisp morning air. You simpered when you made eye contact with a few of the other campers. It was a small group, as to be expected for these little sessions.

Then, your gaze shifted to the wall where Jaebeom was leaning back and had just looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, wanting to march right back out. Fate was such a cruel bitch.

Jaebeom cocked his head at your reaction, following you with his eyes, and asked sweetly, “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” you replied, curt, avoiding his stare.

Jaebeom shifted closer and whispered, “Did you think of me last night?”

If only you knew how you had filled his thoughts and dreams. Those kisses in the pool still made his heart race.

Smirking with a chance to torment him, you retorted, “Not even once. My mind is full of Jackson and how good his head looked between my thighs.”

Jaebeom frowned, the blood draining from his face. Hearing about your escapades with Jackson made him insane, like being dragged through pieces of broken glass.

“That bastard,” Jaebeom huffed under his breath.

Your arrogance faded and you turned somber. Part of you realized that you were giving yourself away to spite him. It was like trying to heal a burn by directly applying more fire.

Doctor Ambrose stepped inside, greeting everyone with her signature smile. “Good morning. Are we ready to begin?”

No one was. Not one of these poor souls wanted to discuss their daddy or mommy issues in group form. But it was mandated by the camp and having been attending for many years, you were accustomed to dodging.

You and the others followed Doctor Ambrose into the main auditorium, approaching a ring of folding chairs waiting on the stage. You swallowed the lump in your throat and avoided a look at Jaebeom as you took a seat.

This was the room where it happened - where you surrendered your virtuous flower. Blah, blah, blah, you thought to yourself. Eventually, you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you were less bitter about losing your virginity and more broken at having lost your heart.

The theater was the one place no one bothered to lock after curfew since it was solely used for group sessions and the occasional motivational speech, but if someone did remember to lock up, the door code was common knowledge. Guys went there to blaze up. Girls went to sneak drinks.

Jaebeom had brought you inside. The relationship had grown and was leading to a physical consummation of your feelings for each other. You knew exactly what would happen. After all, you had snuck out of your cabin in the middle of the night to meet a boy beneath the stars.

You let him lay you down on the stage, behind the heavy velvet curtain. Jaebeom at least had the wherewithal to put his jacket down for you to rest on.

You stole a glance of the shadow behind the curtain, not too far from where you sat, and your expression soured. You could still remember the rampant beating of your heart when Jaebeom kissed you with all he had and laid you down beneath him.

The memory raced across your mind in steady bursts. Your eyes burned at how gentle he had been with you, how loving. Jaebeom convinced you that he was madly in love and that there was a future between you and him.

And you were such a fool to believe it. You were over the moon thinking you had finally found love in the most unlikely of places. With someone you trusted. Someone you considered a friend.

Taking a deep breath, you were officially angry.

The time spent with Jackson had taken off the rose-colored glasses. You were able to see your affair with Jaebeom for what it was. And though you were still hopelessly in love with him, you were mad as hell for what he had done to you.

Doctor Ambrose called your name and began, “Let’s start with you. Why don’t you tell us the behavior that warranted your presence back at camp this year?”

You crossed your legs and sang, “Oh, where to begin, Doc? I lied. I cheated. I stole. Short of murder, my rap sheet is long.”

“You’ve been coming here for many years and you know that’s not what these sessions are about,” she chided, giving you a stern look. “Skip the bravado and get straight to the real talk.”

You narrowed your eyes. Ambrose always did hit the nail on the head. That’s why she was one of the few people at this godforsaken place that held everyone’s respect. Which was impressive in its own right since you and your fellow rich, troubled kids had very little respect for anyone.

But if Doctor Ambrose thought you were going to bear your soul to a room full of people that didn’t give a damn about you - Jaebeom included - she was sorely mistaken.

You sighed and continued, “I’m sure it’s common knowledge by now that I had a terrible lapse in judgement last summer and that lapse in judgement had a lot of unforeseen consequences.”

Jaebeom was unmoving in his seat, but his eyes were heavy on you.

Ambrose gave you her undivided attention and spoke softly, “Go on.”

You shrugged, hoping to hide just how miserably the words were coming from your mouth. “I lashed out. I cycled through all of my emotions and when they were too painful, I did something bad. Something that distracted me from how angry or hurt I was. Classic reckless human behavior.”

Her response was blunt, but genuine, “It’s called self-destructive behavior and you were punishing yourself for the pain someone else inflicted on you.”

You studied her, wanting to smack this woman across the face for defining you in a single sentence. “Forget psychiatrist,” you scoffed. “You’re a psychic.”

“I know you,” Ambrose said tenderly. “And you are not defined by your mistakes.”

You rolled your eyes, though you would love to believe that. “We all are, Doctor Ambrose,” you told her morosely. Then, your tone shifted, “Now, please take the spotlight off of me before I do something bad. Like I said, it’s what I’m known for.”

Ambrose exhaled loudly, conflicted, but decided not to push you. Turning to the next participant, she called, “Jaebeom, your turn.”

Jaebeom was still looking at you.

“Why don’t you tell us the activities that landed you back for yet another summer here?”

Jaebeom grumbled, “I’m a dick. The end.”

A few of the other attendees chortled.

“Jaebeom, everyone here knows you’re more complex than that,” Ambrose shot back.

“Am I?”

She cocked her head. “You don’t think so.”

“Ask her,” Jaebeom said, waving his hand in your direction. “Everyone knows what I did.”

You didn’t dare look at him, offering no absolution. You kept your gaze firmly rooted to Doctor Ambrose, who was now glancing between the two of you suspiciously.

Tapping her pen, Ambrose ordered, “After this group session I want to see both of you in my office.”

Your heart sank and you pleaded, “But, Doctor Ambrose…”

“Moving on,” she cut you off.

You folded your arms tightly across your chest in defiance, stiff in your seat. Jaebeom stretched out his legs and braced his arms on his thighs, keeping his head low.

Tuning out the conversations going around the circle of other campers discussing their toxic and sometimes illegal activities, you could only think about how angry you were. How it was billowing and growing inside of you until it threatened to burst.

Though Jaebeom was in the seat beside yours, he felt an entire world away. What had you done to him to deserve this? And for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you stop loving him? If you fell in love with someone, couldn’t you ultimately fall back out?

Stealing a glance in the corner of your eye, Jaebeom looked up at that same moment and your eyes met. You looked away immediately, bitter and vengeful, but Jaebeom persisted. For someone who prided himself on being set in his ways, he couldn’t stand how you spun him on his edge.

You made him want to risk it all.

When the group session ended, Ambrose twirled the pen between her fingers and said, “I suppose we can forgo my office and just speak here.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” Jaebeom spoke up, venomous.

“I think there’s plenty,” she asserted, studying you intently. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Your eyes glistened when they met hers. You wanted to tell her she was right. That you had punished yourself for a year because you fell for a boy - the wrong boy. It was stupid. It was juvenile. And you resented yourself to hell and back for it.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you finally murmured, voice shaky.

She smiled, comforting. “Try me.”

Jaebeom could see you were about to crack. He could hear the weakness seeping into your words. Running a hand through his hair, he blurted out, “It’s my fault.”

Ambrose questioned levelly, “How so?”

“Be quiet,” you hissed.

“I fucked up,” Jaebeom confessed.

“Language,” she corrected loosely.

Jaebeom frowned. “I seduced her. I convinced her I was in love.”

“And were you?”

“No, I…,” Jaebeom trailed, like he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “I don’t know.”

You glared with nothing short of loathing at the floor.

Ambrose was putting the pieces together and she didn’t hesitate to scold, “What was your purpose, Jaebeom? What were you trying to achieve?”

Jaebeom paused a moment. Then, he finally admitted, “I was trying to get her into bed.”

Ambrose clocked a glance at you and said, “I’m assuming you succeeded.”

Your breaths came faster. Your heart was revving like the engine of Jackson’s blood red Corvette. Any minute you were going to explode.

“I went too far,” Jaebeom mulled, scratching his head. “I had never gone that far before, but I was addicted. I had no idea it would… I didn’t know she would…”

“You’re full of shit,” you snapped.

Doctor Ambrose called your name, giving you the same warning about profanity.

You leveled your scowl at Jaebeom, who had already bowed his head in submission or shame, and sneered, “I will never believe a word you say. You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted someone to hurt as much as you hurt.”

Jaebeom still couldn’t meet your eyes. Pathetic, he thought to himself, but he couldn’t face your wrath. He couldn’t see the pain manifested on your beautiful face.

“Congratulations,” you continued, rising to your feet. “I know how you feel and I almost derailed my life because of you!”

Ambrose held out a hand amicably. “Please, sit.”

“No, I’m out of here,” you barked, gritting your teeth to keep the tears at bay. “And if you plan on physically making me stay in the same room with this asshole a minute longer, my stepfather’s attorneys would love to blow this shit wide open.”

Doctor Ambrose gave you a nod and sat back down.

Your steps echoed through the frigid silence of the auditorium and you nearly knocked the doors off their hinges when you pushed them open to escape outside.

When you had gone, Jaebeom exhaled heavily.

Ambrose looked at him. She could see the guilt weighing down his shoulders and though she didn’t want to take pity on him after what you had just revealed, compassion was a cornerstone of who she was as a person.

“Jaebeom, it goes without saying, but I’m going to say it,” Ambrose whispered for his ears only. “Breaking other people doesn’t fix you.”

Jaebeom stood to full height without another word and skulked away, hiding his teary eyes behind his long black hair.

“The nerve of that bitch! I know that she knows what happened last summer,” you vented, pacing back and forth in front of Jackson as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Everyone on the east coast knows by now. I had to hear about it for the first month of school on a daily basis!”

“I know,” Jackson replied patiently.

You tried to mimic the voices of the nosy, gossiping girls back home, “‘Can you believe she spread her legs for him? Did she really think he loved her? I thought she was smart. Turns out she’s a dumb whore like the rest of us!’”

Jackson grimaced. He remembered that morning, when you told him you slept with Jaebeom. You were so happy, so sure of what you wanted. And he knew it was going to unravel, leaving you holding all the pieces. “No one said that.”

“Everyone said that, Jacks! Admit it,” you yelled.

Of course, they did. Jackson had never threatened so many people in his life. Jackson had a lot of friends, but he only had one best friend. Whenever they spoke of you and Jaebeom, it made his skin crawl. Made his fists clench on instinct.

He was supposed to protect you.

Jackson rose from the bed, grasping your arms and staring you in the face. “Who cares what other people say? I sure as shit don’t!”

You cast your gaze down, shifting from angry to sad. “And he really sat there acting like he didn’t think I would take it so personally,” you whispered, trembling.

Jackson gathered you in his arms, squeezing tight. “He’s an idiot. It is known,” he quipped dryly.

You pulled back and sighed, “Maybe we should just fuck.”

Jackson frowned, but quickly hid his disappointment with a swift, “I’m not in the mood.”

You quirked a brow. “Seriously?”

Jackson released you and teased, “Yeah, I’m not a faucet.”

You let a smirk play at your lips and reached for his belt. “What if I…”

Jackson grabbed your wrists and chided you so sternly you almost faltered, “Listen. You are more than sex. You understand me?”

There were very few occasions Jackson reprimanded you and he always snared your full attention when it happened. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you murmured, “...Okay.”

Jackson simpered. “You don’t need to fuck. You need a hug.”

You chuckled, squeaking in surprise when he pulled you to his chest faster than you thought possible. You smiled, burying your face against his neck as he enveloped you in his embrace.

It was exactly what you needed.

You set your hands to his shoulders, feeling burly muscles underneath. Jackson always radiated heat and energy, and you were content to let him hold you forever. Jackson was warmth and safety.

He was home.

After a moment, you blurted to alleviate the tension, “Can we go get food?”

Jackson exclaimed, “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two of you walked arm in arm to the mess hall. It had been ungodly, the hour you woke to attend your group therapy session, but it meant you were starving for breakfast and the smell that hit your nose when you entered the dining room made you salivate on the spot.

Approaching the line, Jackson said, “Damn it. I forgot to tell you I’m sitting with Yeona today.”

“Oh,” you replied, remembering you didn’t get a chance to talk to him much after you had pounced on him. “I take it everything went well last night.”

“Yeah, we hit it off. I’m laying the groundwork.”

You rolled your eyes. Part of you was rooting in Yeona’s corner, that she stick to her guns and save herself for someone who loved her. The other part felt guilty as hell for being part of the same scheme that destroyed you last summer.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you told him, “I think I want some alone time to myself anyway. I’ll sit in the corner.”

Jackson eyed you worriedly. “Are you sure? I can totally blow her off.”

“Positive,” you insisted, beaming at the gesture. “Go with Yeona. You two would make a really cute couple.”

“Ha. Ha,” said Jackson in mock laughter.

Together you got your food and then parted in the aisleway. Yeona smiled when Jackson joined her by the window and you vaguely wished happiness for them. Jackson wasn’t like Jaebeom. 

Maybe Yeona would be good for Jackson. She could help him work through his commitment issues. You had seen firsthand what his parents’ marriage had done to him. It was no surprise he broke off relationships as soon as they started to become serious.

Taking the empty table in the corner, you backed against the wall. Pulling a magazine out of your purse, you placed it next to your tray and opened to a random page, biting into your toasted bagel.

Jaebeom leaned against the adjacent door frame, hands in his pockets. He was sporting his trademarked leather jacket and his hair had strayed into his eyes while watching you.

He was at war with himself over what to say.

First and foremost he wanted to apologize, but Lim Jaebeom had way too much pride for that. Secondly, he considered offering you a better deal than whatever Jackson was giving you, but given your furor at the group session, Jaebeom knew better than to stoke your wrath again.

Jaebeom thought of all those times last summer when he caught himself staring at you. How could someone so beautiful and amazing be interested in the likes of him? You were confident and fearless, a little rough around the edges with a heart of gold. You were everything he aspired to be and you brought out the best in him without even knowing it.

By then, Jaebeom was in too deep. He could feel himself falling for you and he forbade himself from ever putting his heart on the line. And so he cut you loose.

Jaebeom remembered your face when he spoke those words. I never loved you. The joy left your face. The light fled your eyes. With four words, he had broken someone completely and it kept him awake at night.

Sex was a release for him. No more, no less. Jaebeom could fuck a girl and never see her again afterward, and it wouldn’t bother him for a second. After her - the woman that loved and left him - Jaebeom didn’t attach sex with emotion and certainly not intimacy or commitment.

Then, he had you. Suddenly, he wanted to wake up to you in the morning. He wanted to fall asleep in your arms every night. He didn’t fuck you… he made love to you. He felt passion for the first time in a long time. When it was over, he didn’t want to leave like he had always done. And that scared the shit out of him.

Jaebeom realized you had begun to heal him and he panicked.

Even now, Jaebeom wanted you back. He needed another chance. His first instinct was always to run when he felt emotions he didn’t understand, but he could fight back this time. He could change for you, couldn’t he?

When Jaebeom slid into the seat beside you, you weren’t the least bit surprised.

“What are you reading?” he asked nonchalantly, picking up the magazine and fanning the pages.

“Chick magazine,” you deadpanned. “There’s an article in there on Ten Ways to Achieve Female Orgasm. You should read it.”

Another snide jab at his bedroom skills. Jaebeom wrinkled his nose, but rebuffed you, “I only got one round with you. How do you know I couldn’t give you the best loving of your life?”

It was a provocative thought. You felt your heart stutter a little, but your mind was fully in control now, and you shot back, “Because I don’t think you know what love is.”

Jaebeom met your eyes and this time, you didn’t back down. “You know what I meant,” he huffed.

“So, I’m a mind reader now? Good to know,” you retorted, acerbic.

Jaebeom turned to you, leaning in and whispering, “Tonight. After curfew. Sneak out with me.”

You shook your head, mouth full of food. Swallowing, you told him coolly, “I have a regularly scheduled dick appointment with Jackson.”

“Cancel it,” Jaebeom said, appearing unaffected though it made him want to destroy Jackson a thousand times over. “I’ll have some wine. We can go to the lookout. You know, like old times.”

You scowled at him and yet, you wanted nothing more than to go back to those old times. Before you were stupid. Before you fell in love with him.

“Give me one good reason,” you hissed, taking a sip of your orange juice.

Jaebeom shifted, like the words pained him. More from pride than anything else. “I just want to talk to you. I miss you. As a friend.”

You didn’t say anything, but you shuffled your attention between him and Jackson. The latter was making Yeona laugh heartily and you felt a twinge of jealousy. Not from a place of malice, but a protectiveness over your best friend.

Jackson would tell you not to. He would tell Jaebeom to take a fucking hike.

Angling back to Jaebeom, you warned, “If you so much as grab my boob, I will kick you in the balls and leave you there.”

Jaebeom smiled, but quickly fought it. “That’s fair.”

“What time?”

“Eleven.”

You nodded. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the spot.”

Jaebeom rose and you were sad to see him go, but he added, “Nah, I will come to your cabin and get you. I don’t want you walking at night alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

Jackson stitched his brows, having listened to you recount the exchange to him back at his cabin.

“Of course, chivalry is dead,” your best friend exclaimed incredulously. “He killed it.”

“Jacks, please,” you whined. “He just wants to talk.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jackson countered firmly and he looked a heartbeat away from combusting. “He hates that you’re sleeping with me. It’s jealousy. Plain and simple.”

You propped your hands on your hips, frustrated from arguing with him. “Wasn’t that the plan? To make him come after me again?”

Jackson remembered what had started all of this in the first place and he changed his tune. “Right, yeah, but this is just going the same route as last summer. You see that, right?”

“No, it’s not. I’m wiser now.”

Jackson approached briskly, taking you in his arms and roaming his hands around your waist. “You could just stay here with me,” he coaxed, voice a low growl. “I can eat that pussy like it’s my last meal.”

You snorted a laugh, but slipped out of his arms. “Nice try, but you were right. I’m more than just sex and I need to see where his head is at.”

Jackson sighed in defeat.

“Don’t wait up for me tonight,” you called back to him as you slipped through the door.

Jackson watched you go and stood rooted in place. Fuck, he was conflicted. Every instinct he had told him to stop you, but how could he? What right did he have to you in the first place?

He was just the guy you fucked to get back at another guy.

Jackson exhaled loudly through his nose. He could feel himself slipping, losing his nerve. Even when he sat with Yeona, making her smile and laugh, and noticing she leaned into his touches, his eyes still wandered to you. And when Jaebeom had appeared by your side, Jackson could feel his heart sinking into the bottom of his stomach.

Jackson reminded himself of the deal. He would get Yeona and you would get Jaebeom. That was it. Those were the terms you both agreed on and thus far, everything was going quite smoothly.

But Jackson was thinking of you and now he was thinking of Jaebeom touching you. And it made him want to die.

The day passed by at a glacial pace. By the time night fell, you began the long, arduous process of doing your hair and makeup. When there was a knock at the door, you had to stop yourself from sprinting across the room to answer.

Instead, you made his ass wait.

“Hey,” you greeted, stepping through and shutting the door behind you a moment later.

“Hey,” Jaebeom replied, scanning you over. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, noting the backpack slung over his shoulder. “What you got back there?”

“None of your business,” he teased. “Ready to go?”

You pursed your lips, watching Jaebeom turn and stride away, expecting you to follow. Which, of course, you did.

The lookout was a small patch of open field between the trees. It was the perfect spot for stargazing and late night makeout sessions. You and Jaebeom had spent many hours in this place. As did you and Jackson.

It was a place of clarity and self-reflection. Something about seeing the stars so clearly, away from the noise and smog of the city, made you feel a sense of belonging. That everything would be okay. Sooner or later.

Jaebeom dropped his backpack and began rifling through it. Reading your mind, he called, “Don’t sit yet.”

You were about to complain, but then he stood and fanned out a red flannel blanket, smoothing out the corners over the grass.

“Now, you can sit.”

You almost chuckled, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Plopping down, you overlapped your ankles and watched him take the spot beside you.

“Wow, this is actually romantic,” you smarted, monotonous.

Jaebeom popped open the bottle of wine and took a swig. “I’m full of surprises,” he quipped, handing you the bottle.

A bit perturbed he had neglected to bring separate glasses, you took a sip and countered bitterly, “Not really. I remember all the romantic gestures and sweet words of last summer.”

Jaebeom sighed. So did he.

He had taken something so precious and innocent and filled it with poison. Jaebeom could have walked away at any point. And even worse, when all was said and done, he could have stayed.

There was a lull of silence and you didn’t mind. Jaebeom studied the stars, feigning interest. You turned your head, looking at his profile alight with the glow of the moon.

“Jaebeom, why did you bring me here?”

Jaebeom swallowed and whispered, “I hate myself for what I did to you.”

You frowned. “And what about all the other girls?”

Jaebeom shook his head, remorseful only for you. “They weren’t naive. They weren’t inexperienced,” he explained, somber. “They weren’t my friends. They weren’t you.”

You narrowed your eyes. The anger was pooling in your belly again. And your next question was scathing, “So, what sets me apart is that you hurt me the most?”

“Yes,” Jaebeom said, feeling small. “And you didn’t deserve it.”

You cried, “Why me?”

“You were the holy grail. Every guy wanted you.”

Biting back tears, you whimpered, “You talk about me like I’m not a person.”

Jaebeom realized that and he looked away, mulling over if he could put his feelings into words for once. “Would you believe me if I said that looking back I meant the things I said to you - that I loved every moment we spent together last summer?”

You thought about it for a moment and then you answered, “No. It’s what I’ve wanted you to say and yet. . . I don’t believe you. Everything you said and did was the means to an end.”

Jaebeom didn’t deny it. “I thought so, too. But when I got home, you were all I could think about. I wanted to see you and hold you. I missed having you in my life.”

The tears were flowing freely now and you turned your head away.

Jaebeom came closer, cupping your cheek and wiping the tears with his thumb.

You sobbed, “Why did you do this?”

“Shh, baby,” he whispered under his breath.

“You hate yourself for hurting me. I hate myself for loving you.”

Jaebeom felt like a gaping open wound, one that refused to heal. And yet your pain surpassed his own. He would rather writhe in misery than see you crying in his arms. Knowing that he had driven you this far.

“You were right,” he choked out. “I wanted you to know hurt the way I did. I envied you. You never let anyone get to you. I thought in some twisted way I wouldn’t be alone and I could finally move past what happened to me.”

You could feel yourself falling for it again and you lowered your head.

“I’m sorry,” Jaebeom finally said.

Those words you had wanted for so long and they did nothing for you. They didn’t fix you. They didn’t numb the pain. They didn’t restore what had been taken.

You pushed his arms away and got to your feet, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. Stomping toward the gravel path, Jaebeom was hot on your heels, calling your name.

When he grabbed your arms and spun you back around to face him, you yelled, “Let me go, Jaebeom.”

“Tell me what to do,” he pleaded. “Tell me what you need me to do!”

“Break this fucking spell,” you shouted back at him. “Make me hate you. Because I love you and it’s killing me!”

That was the last thing Jaebeom wanted. He was consumed by you. There were those words again and Jaebeom couldn’t stand it. No one had ever loved him, much less fallen in love with him, and he didn’t know what to do.

So, he gathered you in his arms and melded his lips to yours. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back hard, carding your fingers into his hair.

Jaebeom held your waist and hips snugly, trapping you to him. You pressed yourself to his chest and tugged on his hair, earning a groan. You slipped your tongue past his lips and Jaebeom made a noise at your aggression. He could taste the salt of your tears.

This was stupid, you thought to yourself. You just never learned, did you? But God, kissing him was amazing. You let your hands fall from his head to roam his shoulders, pressing your nails into his shirt. You felt so small in his arms, like you were lost in him.

Jaebeom began to move, steering you with him back toward the blanket, still kissing you like his life depended on it. You weren’t surprised when he lay you down, but Jaebeom was beyond surprised when you wrestled him to his back and straddled his hips.

You wanted to grin at the shocked expression he was sporting, but you only caught a brief glimpse of his widened eyes before smashing your lips back on his.

You just wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until you were satisfied, satiated. Maybe then you could finally get on with your life. It was senseless logic, but all you knew was he kissed so fucking good. It made you crazy. Just like everything else about him.

For fuck’s sake, you would never understand why you were in love with the one thing determined to destroy you.

“Stop. Stop,” you suddenly told him, panting and breathless.

Jaebeom looked at your hand pressed to his chest, watching you sit up on top of him, and his heart sank. He knew that look. You were about to bolt.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, more to yourself as you brushed your hair out of your face with your fingers.

Jaebeom stroked his palms up your thighs, clad in the tightest jeans he had ever seen, and coaxed, “Why?”

You blinked, thinking of an answer. There were many, but you were trying to invalidate them on the spot.

Jaebeom sat up, wrapping an arm around your hips and rocking you closer to him. “Tell me,” he mumbled, pressing a wet kiss to your neck.

Your eyes fluttered and you felt resolve melting away each time his lips touched over your racing pulse.

“You’ll leave me again,” you cried shakily.

Jaebeom shook his head, proceeding to suck beneath your ear. “I’m not going anywhere,” he growled.

You ran your hands through his hair, hips arching ever so slightly in search of friction. Your body was heating up, excitement pulsing through your veins. You craved him. Lust was a powerful thing, and now you truly understood.

“I am,” you said firmly, pushing him back with both hands and rising to your feet.

Jaebeom slumped back, disappointed and defeated, and shook his hair out of his eyes. Watching you walk away, he begged, “Please stop sleeping with Jackson.”

You turned to face him, lips parting incredulously.

Seeing your anger, he lowered his tone to something more pliant, but definitely snide. “Give me a chance to make things right before you let him get his claws in you.”

It only confirmed what Jackson had said. Jaebeom’s newfound pursuit of you was solely from a place of jealousy. Your best friend had been right and you were too blind to accept it.

“You really are the worst,” you snapped at him, heading back on your way.

Jaebeom shouted vengefully, “He doesn’t fucking deserve you!”

You kept walking and retorted with disdain, “Story of my life, it seems. I guess I only fuck guys that don’t deserve me.”

previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon!)

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

#got7 fanfiction #got7 smut #jackson smut #jaebum smut #jackson wang smut #im jaebum smut #got7 scenario #got7 reaction #got7 imagine #got7 au #got7 fanfic #jackson fanfic #jaebum fanfic

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Finger Painting

this has been sitting in a google doc for a while cuz it’s not my favorite but I might as well post it cuz I haven’t posted in a hot sec

Peter decides to prank his teammates in attempt to cheer everyone up, only for his teammates to prank him back using their new favorite mood-lifting method.

words: 4,010

------------------

Peter Parker loved pranks. Who didn’t?

Growing up, he and his uncle used to engage in long, elaborate prank wars all the time, each trying to one up the other. The mischievous game of back and forth never ceased to leave them both in stitches. Nowadays, May rarely passed up the opportunity to douse his food in pepper flakes or splash him with water while they were cleaning the dishes together. It was her way of keeping Ben’s playful legacy alive.

And after all of the pain and suffering the Avengers had gone through over the past year, Peter figured it was time to bring some of that playfulness to the team.

Initially, he planned to prank each member one at a time. While the spar room was empty, Peter had snuck in with his means of destruction. He and Stark were going to test how effective his spidey sense was at warning him of impending threats when he couldn’t see them coming. Little did Tony know the blindside that was coming his way.

He waited on the ceiling, grinning sinisterly as approaching footsteps met his ears. But to his surprise, it sounded like more than one pair of feet. Voices joined the footfalls as the door opened, and Stark, Sam, and Rhodes entered the room.

“—test his response to multiple attacks from different directions,” Tony said, shutting the door behind them. Then he stared forward, finding the space before him vacant, and a frown gnarled his features. “Wait, where the hell did he—?”

Three birds, one stone, Peter thought. I’ll take it. Triumphantly, Peter tore the webbing away. In an instant, fifty water balloons filled with paint rained down from the ceiling and pummeled the men below, dousing them in explosions of color. Startled cries and yelps jumped from their lips until the assault finally subsided. The superheroes were left stunned and soaked from head to toe, sputtering in disbelief as a waterfall of laughter came pouring from overhead.

“Haha!” Peter howled. Everyone looked up at him bewilderedly. “Thihis is so much better than I expehected! Your fahaces—oho gahad—I cahan’t!”

He knelt upside-down and doubled over with giggles. Stark scoffed, tongue-in-cheek.

“Peter? You did this?”

Rhodey wiped his eyes and blinked repeatedly. “That certainly was…unexpected.”

“You little punk!” Sam hollered, flicking the paint from his hands in disgust. “Oh, you are so asking for it.”

Spider-Man didn’t seem to be listening to them. He was too busy laughing his ass off and pounding his fist against the ceiling. Seeing some of the world’s most famous superheroes dripping in paint was just too hilarious. Despite how annoyed they were with his prank, the Avengers couldn’t help but smile at the kid’s hysterical reaction.

“Oh mahan, I cahan’t breathe,” Peter wheezed. “This is the best day ever.”

“Come down here,” Sam said. “I think I can change your mind.”

Spider-Man shook his head while giggles continued to spill from his lips. Tony ran his fingers through his paint-soaked hair and grinned at the others.

“Come on guys, don’t be such sticks in the mud. The kid’s just trying to have a little fun. Right, Spidey?”

Peter was surprised how well Mr. Stark was taking an ass-load of paint-filled water balloons to the face. He nodded between chuckles. “I mean, yeah. You’ve all seemed kinda down lately. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Oh, of course. We all understand.” Stark glanced between the other three men. “You know what? I think it’s time we followed Pete’s lead and had a little fun of our own. What do you say, fellas? You in?”

Peter’s giggling faltered. Sam and Rhodey shared a knowingly diabolical grin.

“Hell yeah we are.”

Before Spider-Man could ask what they meant by that, Sam pulled a metal rod from his belt and flung it at Peter as hard as he could. Spider-Man barely flinched out of the way, his spidey sense triggering his reflexes an instant quick enough. Not a second later, a taser round and a stun blast flew at him and struck the ceiling mere inches from his body. He stared down at the group with wide eyes.

“Here’s a fun idea: let’s see how long his dumb second sense thing can keep him safe from our vengeance.”

“Wait—hey—guys—it was just a joke—”

Projectiles started zipping towards him, one after the other, promising a world of pain if they hit their target. Peter scrambled across the ceiling with a yelp, shuddering at the idea of what they would do to him if he was caught. This was not the kind of retaliation he was used to.

“Come on! I used washable paint!”

“Spread out,” Tony instructed his drenched, candy-colored team. “Don’t give him any place to hide.”

Sam and Rhodey did as they was told. At least none of them we wearing their full avenging outfits; if that was the case, he’d be toast in an instant.

Peter ducked and flipped and somersaulted through the air as rounds and objects whooshed past him in a relentless wave. The room was big, but not big enough for him to evade three attackers forever. His spidey sense was in constant tingle mode. All right, that’s it. Peter cartwheeled across the ceiling and fired a glob of webbing at Sam, which glued his arm to his side. While the middle was exposed, Spider-Man threw himself between Tony and Rhodes and shot a web-splat into both of their faces, rendering them blind for a moment. The distraction offered Peter the opportunity to stick to the door and pull with all his might.

But it was locked. And he didn’t know how to open it. Spider-Man was trapped.

And since he’d doused all of his enemies in paint, it didn’t take them long to free themselves from the webbing. As Peter cursed and darted back up the wall, Stark shot at him with his watch-gauntlet. The projectile hit Spider-Man’s left hand.

“Ow!” He flinched, nearly losing his hold on the ceiling. Peter held his stinging hand to his eyes. A strange metal block was stuck to it. To his disbelief, the metal started spreading over his palm, up his fingers, thickening rapidly. It looked an awful lot like Tony’s nano-tech. When he tried to pull it off with his other hand, the metal film spread to that one, too. Soon enough, both hands were shrouded in thick metal prisons. Not only did they make his hands incapable of sticking to any surface; now he could no longer fire his web-shooters.

“Crap! What is this?” Peter yelled, sprinting across the ceiling. He dodged another one of Sam’s projectile attacks, but that led to a misstep, giving Stark the chance to hit his right foot with another chunk of nano-bots. Peter froze and flailed with only one foot stuck to the ceiling: his last line of defense against the unforgiving consequences waiting for him down below. If he lost his hold, he was done for.

“Ah! W-wait!” He dangled helplessly by his toes, a sitting duck. Then Tony hit his left foot with nano-tech the same time Rhodey fired a stun blast into his back. Spider-Man dropped from the ceiling and hit the floor with a grunt, sprawled flat like roadkill.

“Ow…ugh…” he groaned. He tried to reach up and rub at the bump on his head, but his arm wouldn’t move. Neither of his arms would. In fact, all of his limbs were pinned to the ground. Peter looked at his wrists to discover the nano-tech had morphed into clasps that were firmly glued to the floor. The same went for the nano-bots on his ankles.

“What the—?” he cried. “I can’t move!” Sam, Rhodes, and Stark converged on him, smiling viciously.

“Gotcha,” Wilson sneered. Spider-Man grimaced and struggled against the restraints.

“Come on, guys. Why are you being so mean? I was just trying to cheer everyone up.”

“You did,” Tony replied enthusiastically. “Now we’re just returning the favor.”

“I don’t think you understand how pranks work,” Peter huffed. “Attacking me does not make me very cheery.”

“True,” Sam concurred, kneeling beside the young hero, “but if my memory serves correctly, I’m pretty sure this does.”

Sam reached out and gently fluttered his fingertips against Peter’s tummy, causing the teen to cringe. It was the last sensation he expected to feel, yet he should have seen it coming. The three of them knew all too well how ticklish poor Spider-Man was.

“Aha!” he squeaked, dread rushing through him and blush consuming his face. “N-noho! No it doesn’t!”

“Really?” Sam asked. He swirled his index finger in a long, slow circle across the kid’s belly, smearing his costume with purple paint while also making him twitch and leap. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were smiling under that mask.”

“Stahap!” Peter giggled. This was so bad. This wasn’t the first time they’d used his extreme ticklishness to torment him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Except, unlike past instances, in this scenario, he was stuck to the floor—helpless to protect himself. He was totally, utterly screwed. How did he always get himself into messes like this? When would he ever learn? Peter squirmed and wiggled in attempt to get away, but it was no use. He was stuck, restrained, and growing more and more flustered as Sam’s tickly fingers started moving faster and faster across his vulnerable tummy.

“I bet he is smiling,” Rhodes said, sitting on the floor opposite of Wilson. He pinched the top of Spider-Man’s mask. “Why don’t we take this off and see?”

“Noho!” Peter whined as Rhodey pulled his mask off his face, revealing the blushing, smiley teenager underneath. He bit his lip to try to feign composure and stem the endless outpouring of giggles, but was immediately foiled by Sam squeezing both of his sides right above his hipbones. Peter threw his head back with a shriek, floundering like crazy.

“Aw, see?” Tony cooed. “Look at that happy face!”

“I think our prank is really lifting his spirits!” Sam said. He kneaded his thumbs deep into the kid’s torso, chuckling as he jumped and bucked and giggled wildly.

“Nohahat hahappy!” Peter squealed.

“Not happy?” Rhodey repeated, sharing a devious look with his friends. He reached out and spidered his fingers right above the kid’s armpits. “Are you sure? Maybe I should help, then. Your happiness is our number one priority, after all.”

Before Rhodes even touched him, Spider-Man’s giggling jumped higher in both pitch and volume. “N-nohohaha!” he cried, pulling valiantly at the metal cuffs pinning him arms above his head. “Rhohodes, wahait—”

Ignoring him, Rhodey went straight for the kid’s weak spot. He needled and clawed at Peter’s exposed underarms with all ten fingers, switching intensity and tactics every few seconds to keep him guessing. He poked and pinched, then scritched and scratched, then dragged his fingernails up and down the full length of Peter’s arms, all while Sam was busy curling his hands into claws and shaking them into Spider-Man’s ribs and belly. Peter was at his wit’s end being tickled by just one person; he was certain two would be the death of him. And as soon as Rhodey’s fingers made contact with his skin, his suspicions were confirmed.

“AHAAhahahagh!” Peter screeched, whipping his head from side to side. “Shihit—wahahait! I cahahan’t—I cahahahahahaaa!”

“Can’t what?” Sam inquired. “Can’t believe how much we’re cheering you up?”

“Spidey’s got some pretty ticklish underarms, doesn’t he?” Rhodes observed, fluttering his fingers all over the unbelievably sensitive spots.

“He’s ticklish all over. It’s hilarious. Just a little poke here, a little poke there, here a poke, there a poke, everywhere a-poke poke…” Sam jabbed and wiggled his fingers into every inch of the kid’s tiny tummy. As much as he tried to fight it, Peter jolted and squeaked beneath his every touch. It was like they knew exactly what to do to render him a squirming, blushing mess. To be fair, it wasn’t a very difficult feat, and they had experience on their side. This was not the kind of revenge prank Peter had been anticipating. It was unbearably cruel and effective.

As they continued to tickle torture the poor teen, Sam and Rhodes couldn’t help but giggle at the Peter’s childlike laughter. They, like most people who knew the kid well, were starting to understand why Tony was so endeared by him.

Meanwhile, Peter was falling to pieces. His loud, squeaky belly-laughs were rapidly being replaced by hiccups, and the feeling of four hands endlessly teasing and tweaking two of the most ticklish areas of his body was driving him insane. There was nothing he could do but wriggle and twitch and laugh until his sides ached. There was no escape in sight. He had to make it stop.

“Merherhercy! Merhercyhy!” Peter pleaded. “Ihi’m gohonna dihihihie!”

“Can you die from too much happiness?” Tony asked. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Neither of his tormentors seemed to be listening to him, so Peter turned to his mentor. He looked up at the billionaire from his defenseless position on the floor, tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “M-Mihister Starharhahaaak!” he squealed between another bout hiccups. “Hehehelp me! Plehehehehease!”

Tony tilted his head to the side and smiled sympathetically. Peter was too cute for his own good. “Aw, kiddo. Are you sure we’ve lifted your spirits enough?”

As Stark was saying this, Sam started grinding his knuckles into Peter’s ribcage, and Peter thought he might explode. He arched his spine and squeezed his eyes shut and screeched with helpless laughter.

“Ahaha! Yehehes! Plehehehease! Nohoho morhorhahahahaa!”

“I don’t know,” Rhodes said suspiciously. “Are we sure we’ve gotten him back enough? He did douse us in paint, after all.” James brushed his fingers along the sides of Peter’s neck experimentally and grinned when the kid scrunched his shoulders to his ears with a sharp giggle of surprise. “Damn. You really are ticklish everywhere, aren’t yah?” He scuttled his nails all over Peter’s neck, occasionally drilling his thumbs into the muscle right above his collarbones, and watched as goosebumps flared across what little skin Peter had exposed. The kid thrashed as much as his restraints would allow with a slew of high-pitched laughter.

“I think he needs at least two more minutes of solid cheering up,” Sam said, scratching Peter’s tummy as if he were giving a puppy a belly rub. “Would you care to join us, Mr. Stark?”

Tony sighed as he looked down at the giggly superhero, then smiled. “Two more minutes,” he said adamantly. He sat down by Peter’s twitchy feet and grabbed his left foot in his hand.

“NOHOHO!” Peter begged, trying and failing to wrench his foot free from Stark’s grip. “You ahahahassholes!”

“You want us to make it ten?” Sam inquired. That shut Peter up real quick, though he continued to laugh helplessly.

“I’ve got an idea!” Rhodes said, dipping his hands into a puddle of paint next to Peter’s head. “Why don’t we spend these last couple minutes turning Spider-Man into a lovely finger painting? We shouldn’t let all this perfectly good paint go to waste.”

“Oh, yes! I love that!” Sam dabbed his fingertips into the closest pool of paint, granting Peter a few moments to breathe. “What kind of picture should we paint?”

“Whatever your heart desires.” 

Once he was satisfied with his assembled palette, Rhodey started gently gliding his fingers across Peter’s face and ears. Despite his attempts to stave it off, Peter cracked into a smile and giggled softly, scrunching up his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. He’d never considered that they’d use the means of his own prank against him. Talk about rude.

“I think I’ll paint you into a clown,” Rhodes decided. “How does that sound?”

“Stohop!” Peter said, jerking away from Rhodes’ feathery touch. Rhodey grinned.

“If you’re not going to let me paint your face, then I’ll just go back to this.”

With that, Rhodes pounced on his underarms full-force, wrecking him with an entirely new level of tickling intensity. Peter sputtered in surprise before busting out laughing, his head reeling with the need to immediately make the torture stop, even though it had only just started up again two seconds ago.

“AHAHANOHOHAHA! P-pahahaint my fahahace! My fahahace!”

“Good,” Rhodes said triumphantly. He stopped tickling Peter’s armpits and re-wet his hands with fresh paint. Then he began tracing his index finger along Peter’s jawline, followed by his hairline, outlining his face in white paint. His delicate touch tickled Peter like a feather and made him giggle uncontrollably.

“I’m painting the ocean,” Sam announced, scooping handfuls of blue paint into both of his palms. Then he dumped it all on to Peter’s belly and started spreading it everywhere with his hands, causing Peter to cringe and laugh as Sam’s fingers slipped along his sensitive sides and ribcage.

“Hold still,” Rhodey demanded, painting little spots of red on top of his already rosy cheeks.

“Ihi’m tryhyhing!” Peter giggled helplessly. “It’s hahard!” He jumped and squealed when Sam’s fingers crept up to his underarms and started fluttering against the hollows. “Ahahaha! Hehehey!”

“I’m painting you whole torso to look like the ocean! There has to blue everywhere!” he explained. A mischievous sparkle twinkled in his eye. “Let’s see. We need more blue here.” He brought both hands down to the middle of Peter’s tummy and drilled all ten fingers deep into his flesh. Peter leapt and gasp and squirmed with laughter. “And some more here,” he continued, tweaking both of his sides with sharp, quick pinches again and again and again.

“Sahahaham!” Peter cried.

“And perhaps let’s add some…here.”

Two hands were suddenly squeezing Peter’s legs above his kneecaps with needling repetition. The sensation sent shocks up his spine and made him jolt and twist and shriek.

“AHAHACK! NOHO—S-STOHOHAHAHAHAAA!” He bucked and squirmed and laughed himself silly, but Sam kept squeezing. As his hands inched higher and higher up Peter’s legs, his reactions became more and more hysterical. He couldn’t believe how much it tickled. He couldn’t handle another second. But his violent struggling and hiccup-filled laughter only seemed to encourage Sam to squeeze faster and harder.

“His legs are ticklish too?” Tony chuckled. “What part of you isn’t ticklish, kid?”

“His legs are super ticklish,” Sam laughed. “Look how red his face is!”

“HEHEHEHELP!” Peter cackled, balling his hands into fists. Sam was certain he’d explode if he kept this up, so he moved back to the kid’s belly, adding waves and fish to his ocean as Peter giggled breathlessly. “Gah..hah…oho gohohosh…eheeheeheh…”

“What are you going to paint, Tones?” Rhodey asked, dabbing black paint around the kid’s eyes.

Tony drenched his hand in green paint. “I’ll paint him some shoes. Leprechaun shoes. You want some little green leprechaun shoes, kid?”

Peter was too busy giggling dazedly beneath Sam’s tummy tickles and Rhodey’s feathery touches. He’d almost forgotten about Stark’s hand around his foot. He was quickly reminded of the fact when he felt a finger glide up his arch.

“AHA!” Peter squeaked, flinching so much Rhodey smeared paint all over his forehead. “Mihihister Starhark!”

“You said you were going to stay still!” Rhodes chastised him. Tony continued to tickle his foot, adding the rest of his fingers to the equation, and giggles rained from Peter’s lips as his toes twitched in protest.

“I cahahahan’t!” he laughed. Peter’s Spider-Man suit was designed to allow his hands and feet to stick to walls through the fabric, which meant it wasn’t very thick. So it basically did nothing to protect any part of him from tickle attacks, particularly the bottoms of his feet. Stark switched to tickling both of his feet, scurrying his fingers up and down the sides and center of each foot. Peter tried kicking his legs and scrunching up his toes, but it did nothing the deter Tony’s blunt fingernails scouring every ticklish inch of his feet.

Although they were all tickling him relatively gently now, thirty fingers stroking and tweaking his ridiculously sensitive self for as long as they had been was too maddening for words. Peter needed this to end before he died either of laughter or embarrassment.

“Ohohokahay,” he wheezed, his face aching from so much smiling. “Ihi’m cheered uhuhup! Youhou dihihihid it! Now plehehease—plehease just stohohahahahaaa!” His words dissolved into nonsensical giggling when Sam’s fingers returned to his ribs, worming and wiggling between each individual bone.

Rhodey booped his nose with a spot of red paint then looked back at the others. “What do you say? Is our thirst for pranking vengeance quenched?”

“For now, I guess,” Sam said, wiping his hands on the last remaining bit of Spider-Man’s costume that wasn’t splattered with paint. He gave his side a parting squeeze before laying off.

Tony stood and walked to stand by Peter’s head. The kid’s neck and ears were almost the same color as his suit. His clown paint job looked more like a random palette of colors smeared all over his face by someone wearing a blindfold. The poor kid was a Jackson Pollock gone wrong—although that was kinda what they all were at that point. But the wide, exhausted smile on his face filled Stark’s heart with warmth. With a tap on his watch, the nano-tech clasps dissolved away.

“Ihi’m in pain,” Peter moaned, rolling on to his side and curling into a ball. The three Avengers standing over him chuckled.

“Next time, don’t dump paint on your teammates,” Sam retorted.

“I juhust…wanted to…cheeheer you up…” he giggled quietly. “Uhuhugh…”

“Oh, you did,” Rhodey reassured him. “I am one hundred percent cheered up.”

“Me too,” Tony concurred. “You wholeheartedly succeeded.”

“Now I know exactly what to do when me or you or anyone else is bummed out,” Sam said. “Just a little poke, and then…”

Sam reached down and jabbed Peter’s side with his index finger. Immediately, the kid squeaked out a laugh and hugged himself around the middle.

“See? Instant serotonin.”

“Stohohop!” Peter giggled. “Let me lihihive…”

“Are you okay, kid?” Tony asked with sudden earnest, offering him a hand. Peter hesitated before accepting it, feeling wired and tingly as he rose to his feet, his belly still bubbling with giggly butterflies.

“Yeah,” he finally answered, unable to wipe the dopey smile from his face. “I just…ugh. I dohon’t understand why you guys have to escalate things so quickly. Why couldn’t you just put dye in my shampoo or dump malic acid on my pizza like normal people? Why do you always end up doing…that to me?”

“What, tickling you?” Sam smiled crookedly and made a move for his tummy, but Peter flinched out of the way this time. “Because it’s fun to watch you squirm.”

“And no matter how many times we do it, you react just as wildly. With your squirming and screeching and cute little hiccup-laugh.”

Peter’s face went hot. “It’s not…cute,” he murmured.

“I have half a mind to tickle you until you admit it’s cute,” Tony chuckled. When Peter’s eyes went wide, Stark held up his hands. “Not right now. Don’t worry. I think you’ve had enough for today.”

Rhodes patted Peter on the shoulder. “Come on, though—seriously. Is your mood not the tiniest bit improved after all that smiling and laughing?”

As much as Peter hated to admit it, he did feel more peppy and alive now than he had pre-tickle attack. He was certainly more smiley and giggly—that he couldn’t even attempt to hide.

“I mean…maybe,” he ventured to say. When he realized everyone was grinning at him, he backtracked. “But, like, not enough to be worth going through that! You people are evil!”

“We sure are,” Sam said sinisterly. “And we won’t let you forget it.”

Peter swallowed and picked his mask up off the floor, which was smeared with paint like the rest of him. “We didn’t even finish the spidey sense test thing we came in here for.”

“Let’s save that for another day,” Stark said, ruffling Peter’s paint-spattered hair. “I think we all could use a shower.”

After all was said and done, Peter was glad he had managed to brighten everyone’s day, even if it wasn’t through the method he’d intended.

#ticklish!peter #ticklish!peter parker #ticklish!spiderman #ticklish!spidey #tickle fic #sfw tickle fic #sfw tickling #sfw tickle #sfw #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman homecoming #mcu fic #mcu #avengers tickling #tickling #peter parker tickle #peter parker #spider-man #irondad #iron man #tony stark #tom holland #spiderson #iron dad

[readbythestarlight]

Undeadwood e4

Here we goooooo! I don’t want it to end tho :(

“Goodnight, Mrs. Miriam” WHY THE FUCK IS THE EPISODE CALLED THAT

If my wife dies I will REVOLT

[[MORE]]

lol aw poor Mason failing his intimidation check

Huh so no snake possession going on here, so the snakes and the reanimating aren’t necessarily connected

I love how Arabella is like LETS BLOW THIS FUCKER and Mason’s just like “ehhhhh dynamite tho??”

“Different substance” Huh?

Brian: “did you just hand her her sister?!” Omg

Hnnn y’all don’t want to go at night right

K: “it’s a well scheduled stampede every night”

B, cracking up: “I love you mfs”

Arabella and Miriam having a sweet lady moment

Aww her husband is gone :(

I figured it was something like that but

Oh no... did she

Oh. Oh, honey.

Somebody let me hug her.

Knew it was gonna be nitro glycerine

A/M: “I take out two bottles of nitro”

Matt, squeaky voice: “on horseback?”

T/M, checking his throw stat: “I’m amazing.”

Everyone: “ehhhhh?”

T/M: “I’m gonna need that nitro in my possession.”

Ooooo we gonna get a confession from
Sharpe?

“Do you trust him?” Why would any of you trust him

Oh boy here we go

Hooded figure in a cloak... the Traveler? :D

Stealthing up on his horse lol

Gasp it was the doc the whole time

“I’m the Servant. You’re servants, but I’m The Servant.”

Oh nooooo he’s

Don’t like that he’s just. Full of snakes. Full of snake hydra.

Here we go hydra fight!

Let’s go reverend let’s go!

No way does he destroy it with one throw of nitro??

Oh... 8oz is a lot of nitro is the explosion gonna be huge?

Wounded 2 heads NICE

Ouch it does some decent damage in a single turn

Yeeeees that’s some good re-rolls!

M: “YOU STAY AWAY FROM HIM”

BOOM YOU GO FOGG

oh fuck more snemons

M: “I STILL GOT YOU REVEREND”

Arabella channeling her inner SLJ

YEAHHH JOKER

It there’s consequences to using a Joker right? I still don’t quite understand the rules entirely.

either way YEAAAAH ARABELLA

Miriam

Please stop hurting my wife

Okay good

B: “CAN I BORROW YOUR DICE?!”

Daaaaamn 44 PTA’s of damage

“Weak servants” honestly idk what this guy wants

Sharpe’s just like “I need a nap”

I like Fogg’s “what the fuck just happened tho guys”

YAAAS good cards very nice

Come on Fogg good cards good cards!

NOOOO

Oh noooo don’t do that to Fogg!

Mason backstory YEAHHH

Cavalry cool cool

Oh man so he was a deserter I knew it

Poor darling.

Wanted posters for himself and Mason oh dear

Time to go on the run together fellas

Seriously tho I’m gonna need some fics

Okay so what’s with the name of the episode I’m still anxious

So... so is he the Dealer? I’m a bit confused I must admit. Or did he just know about the weirdness all along?

“Welcome to fucking Undeadwood”

Okay what the fuck is going on

WHAT IS IT

another wanted poster maybe??

What the fuuuuuck is happening

$1000 nice

Oh fuck

Oh no

Oh NO

What the FUCK I cannot BELIEVE

What kind of PLOT TWIST

“Where you coming from?”

“Doesn’t matter where I’m coming from, just matters where I’m going.”

Oh damn this is intense

Oh no oh fuck that card thing FUCKED US

So is Fogg a marshal? A bounty hunter??

And if Miriam gets in the way and gets shot instead I’m gonna be PISSED

God DAMN that failed heal spell!

“Goodnight Mrs. Miriam” THANKS I HATE IT

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK I AM DISTRAUGHT

“You seem a decent man, I hate to kill you”

Matt that’s not the answering line

I can’t believe you wouldn’t let Miriam stop him :(

Fuck a duel

I hate this

I don’t want either of them to die!

I HATE THIS

They’re both gonna end up dying

Fuck

Fogg’s gonna regret this too once those six days of apathy wear off

“Amos”? What?

Fuck

No

Amos Kinsley??

“No words, just an ironic smile.”

Was he not really Sharpe then?! Was he pretending and now he’s been killed for something someone else did??

“I walk towards the man that I feel nothing but respect for. I close his eyes. I slowly make my way to the second floor of the saloon. I put down my hands. I close my eyes. And for the first time in I can’t remember when. I sleep through the night.”

OKAY BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

WHAT’S THE STORY HERE?!

Let me hug Miriam this is SO unfair

Oh god everything sucks

Anjali is killing it and I’m weeping

And now Mason’s gonna make me cry too

Dammit I wanted them to be FRIENDS

Amos Kinsley, on the run for a crime he didn’t commit. Oh honey.

Okay but why couldn’t Fogg sleep? Surely he wasn’t tormented over chasing Sharpe? Was it that his emotional turmoil (which he currently no longer has) was keeping him up??

Everyone’s crying and laughing but mostly crying.

I’m gonna need some time to think about this before I can decide how I feel tbh.

But overall the whole thing was a great ride.

#undeadwood #undeadwood spoilers #cr spoilers #critical role

[cooltrainererika]

Alt-talia x Evillious Chronicles: The Key to Zorn (Part 1 v. 2)

Sigh… there appears to have been a misunderstanding between the event holder and I. I just hope I hear back from them. 

Just in case, this is an alternate version of “Key to Zorn”, which I resubmitted for the Free Day prompt, but could also be considered to be one for Fate/Coincidence or By your side. It’s platonic at this point. You may read either version, as the differences are mostly superficial, but I thought this version may be more fitting considering how I write Alt-Germany. 

[Summary: Crossover with the Nemesis arc of the Evillious Chronicles. Everyone is searching for their very own Happy Ending... But where is his, if it exists at all?

Young Ludwig Beilshmidt lives alone in a cabin in the woods, waiting for the return of his mother. But one winter morning, a certain, seemingly chance encounter changes his life forever, leading his life to become increasingly entangled with much grander plans...]

(Yes, lame summary, but I didn’t know how to write it without spoilers. The same text as the original is copy-pasted below)

Couldn’t come up with a better title.

Okay… so… holy hell.

This is the longest fic I’ve ever written. And it isn’t even finished.

I thought “Superbia” was long. But… I outdid myself. Over FORTY FREAKIN’ PAGES IN GOOGLE DOCS. And again, this is not finished, I’m splitting it so I at least have the hope of releasing something! With two routes! This is a novel, folks!

I’m probably going to repost this for the Christmas event since I want as much people to see them as possible. Because there are some Christmas elements here. So yeah, you can take this as an early Christmas fic too.

This will be a movie, folks. Grab a seat and some popcorn.

Also, look, it’s goddamn Ludwig torment again! For the fourth time in the span of a month! And this might just be the most elaborate way I’ve tormented the poor guy yet. But I didn’t really have many options.

So I wanted to enter Mirror Week, but in the main canons write in, Alt-talia and Hetalia Emblem, I haven’t come up with any use for 2Ps, and in the former case I can’t see how I could use them.

However, there was one Alt-talia spin-off AU I had been thinking they would exist on; I didn’t know whether I wanted to release media to it so early, and due to a reason I will explain in a moment, I was reluctant to release media about it in general. But… I went with it.

This is my Evillious Chronicles AU. Yes, an AU of an AU. What about that.

Basically, the Evillious Chronicles is what started as a series of Vocaloid songs telling a much larger story; it has since ballooned into a vast, tangled network of light novels and other such media. It’s as confusing as it sounds. Some of you may have heard of the songs “Daughter of Evil” and “Servant of Evil”; those were the first songs to be released in that series. Those two songs weren’t self-contained, oh no.

The thing is, for this AU I wanted to write just based on the seven sin songs (and Servant of Evil), with accompanying Hetaloid covers, and leave the rest of the story up to the audience. I’m still planning on that. However, I still wanted to enter the event, so here I am presenting a version of events for one of the arcs; however, it is merely the route that hews closest to Evillious canon from what I can gather of it. So yeah, NONE OF THIS IS HARD CANON. Especially since I wasn’t sure on the roles of some characters here.

Also, if I somehow ever get to publishing my main Evillious x Hetalia fics sometime in the future; first of all, hi. But more importantly, please, I implore you, do not read this before reading The Muzzle of Ludwig. Especially the second half. I tried to avoid spoilers, but someone becomes extremely obvious with contextual clues.

Also… it’s not like I wanted to write Ludwig torment again. But he was basically my only option, since he was the only one whose sin most likely overlaps with… well, it’ll become clear as this goes on. Ludwig’s story here is based on Nemesis Sudou’s story. Though since Nemesis and Ludwig are vastly different characters, there may be some plot holes, unfortunately.

And THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT: for those who have read none of my other works yet, Alt-talia has often vastly, vastly different characterizations. I based most of these characterizations off of their late 19th century to very early 20th century personalities in Alt-talia. Special OOC warning for the following characters: Austria, Hungary, and Prussia. Minor OOC warning for Germany. I used @askimperialludwig ‘s version of the character as a reference, along with my personal perception and research. may add more later.

Also, credit to my friend @tomboyjessie13 , my Evillious consultant, for helping me through this!

I can’t let this be too long, since the fic is long already. Let’s go!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(Also... people who read my fics, please reblog them. I work hard on them, and want many to see them!)

And since I forgot to add this above the cut; this canon is also one of the few times Nyotalia characters canonically exist as their own entity in my works, if not the only one so far. It’s kind of necessary, since otherwise it’ll turn into a complete sausagefest. However, as I have no set personality for them in main Alt-talia canon, I basically write them the same way as I would their male counterparts, with maybe some minor changes. I do have some ideas for Nyotalia characters in “what if” stories for main Alt-talia canon, but since this would be an Alt-talia spinoff, most of my theoretical audience would be there for the Alt-talia characters who appear in most Alt-talia media. Not to mention male stereotypes for countries are usually more fun anyway. However, in this universe two counterparts of the same character can co-exist. I try to avoid that though.

Also, a character named “Arendt” is briefly mentioned; this is Brandenburg. He isn’t really that important though, and really I’ve barely fleshed him out, so that’s all you need to know.

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The Key To Zorn

Part 1: And Then The Boy Went Mad

In a certain continent, there was a forest.

A serene, peaceful forest, where inside one could almost feel mystical energy in the clear, unpolluted air.

Until, under the evening sky, a gunshot sounded.

Ludwig Beilschmidt, a boy of merely 8 with innocent, cornflower blue eyes, ran through the forest he knew so well, a basket of wild berries and herbs in his arms and a small sack over his back.

Soon, in his view, among the trees and wild cornflowers was the only place he had known all his life, the little wooden cottage he called home.

The boy immediately checked his old, somewhat rusted mailbox, a look of anxiousness on his face - one which immediately turned to disappointment upon finding there was nothing there.

He sighed.

“Nothing today either...”

He reached up somewhat, twisting the doorknob and opening the wooden door.

“I’m home!”

No one answered back.

As per usual.

He didn’t expect one anyway.

Ludwig went to the dining table, setting the basket and sack, as well as his small, old-model pistol, down on his side of the table. Inside the sack was a small rabbit; the poor little thing. He hoped it didn’t struggle for long after he had shot it.

He prepared dinner as he always did, the bubbling as the ingredients stewed the only sounds other than the cries of the wildlife outside.

And he ate in silence by the light of the lamp, staring at the empty, vacant other side of the table, the light of the sun dim and faint.

“Mutter, is it good?”

Nothing.

Ludwig sighed again, going back to shoving the stew into his mouth.

——-

Ludwig tucked himself into bed after a bath and a change of clothes, now in his old, almost too small pajamas, having finished the book in his hands an hour ago - while he had reread it and others several times already, it was a window into a world different from his, where friends supported each other and families told stories in front of the fire - but now that it was over, here he was, once again, stuck in loneliness, on his own, within the cold, dark walls of a small cabin.

Once again, it was quiet. All too quiet; except for the sounds of the forest.

Now as he had nothing to distract him, every rustling of the underbrush, every animal cry made him bristle. The forest was his comfort by day, almost a second mother, but by night, it was dark, feral.

He pulled his blankets up to his face, curling up, shaking like a leaf. He felt any moment, a beast could break through the walls and tear him to shreds.

He missed his mother so much, oh how he missed her. Her harsh but protective voice, her calloused hands squeezing his wrists. He missed his onkel Arendt, who told him stories of the battles he and Mutter had been through.

She’s dead. She’s dead, accept it.

No, no she wasn’t.

She couldn’t be. She had to be alive.

She was too strong to die.

She would come back. She always came back.

His mother wouldn’t want to see him like this anyway. He was being pathetic.

“Einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a deep breath. He was stronger than this.

Imagining his mother was standing by his bed, staring at him with disapproval at his fearful behavior, finally his shivering started to lessen ever so slightly.

He needed to make it so that when she came home with another medal shining on her chest, she could come home to a son she could be proud of, after all.

“Good night.”

He said to no one in particular, as he let the faint moonlight be his comfort, finally closing his eyes.

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

A soothing, calming melody played in his mind; Ludwig didn’t know where he knew it from, but as it surrounded him in soft, almost familiar gentleness, the shivering stopped, his muscles loosened, and he was finally lured into the welcome embrace of sleep.

Lu li la la lu li la la la…

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

———-

“FIRE!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Birds flew away in massive numbers, disturbed by the sudden noise.

Ludwig blew the steam off his pistol, seeing that the bullets had all landed near-target. Almost there.

Not bothered by the recoil anymore, he lined up the shot again, swearing he would get it right this time.

Every two days he did this, before 10 sets of running, marching, and every parallel bar routine; this wasn’t how most children his age passed their time, willingly anyway, if the books he read were any indication, and surely he felt sorry for the animals who had to hear such things, as they were the closest things to friends he had. But it broke the silence.

And most of all, he could almost sense his mother beside him during these practice drills; he could feel her hands on his arms guiding him in his aim, and hear her voice shouting in tandem with him as he shouted “FIRE!”. In fact, sometimes he swore she actually was there, by his side.

He took a deep breath and aimed again.

“FIRE!”

-----------------------

When he came home, he once again saw a basket of supplies.

They always puzzled him. They came at such random, unpredictable intervals, filled with food, a few bottles of milk, several cartridges of bullets, and even occasionally a book, toy, bar of soap, or other extra, but by the time he found them no one was ever there.

He should be grateful. Though he wished someone would explain to him.

Oh well.

-----------------------------

Days passed, then months.

Once again, on the night of his 9th birthday, Ludwig laid alone, the weak moonlight unable to brighten his gradually deepening pit of despair.

The silence was maddening. He craved for any touch, for any warmth of another person, for anything. But even that simple wish was too much to ask.

He bunched up the worn blanket, the cold, frigid winter air seeping into the cabin.

Every day, he wondered if he was slowly going mad.

Holding a cornflower and his mother’s black cross necklace to his chest, looked out into the moon, to the night sky peeking from a clearing in the trees.

A star shot through the night sky, and Ludwig was quick to make his wish.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

She had always told him that believing in such things was foolish.

But what was the pain in hanging onto the little light he could find?

-------------------

Now’s your time.

Alright. I’m going in. See you.

------------------

One cold, chilling day, towards the final days of the year he turned 9, Ludwig stepped outside to check his mailbox again.

Snow lightly dusted the ground, softly landing on his old, worn coat.

He had checked his homemade calendar; Sancbruma. Such a lovely holiday. But now, just yet another cold, freezing, lonely day. Oh well. He had known Pater Natalis wasn’t real for years to need confirmation.

But this day, after creaking the old thing open, he found something.

His heart almost stopped.

Immediately, he ripped the envelope often, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath quickening, and he immediately glued his focus to the words, written specially to be understandable to a child.

Ludwig Beilshmidt, we are sorry to inform you that…

Time seemed to stop. He swore his heart stopped.

Dread shot through his body like lightning.

He read on, clinging onto the little hope that still remained with him all those years as they escaped from him, flying away as he fell deeper.

…

…

Tears fell from his face.

She was gone.

She was really gone.

Finally, suppressed despair replaced dread, filling every corner of his mind and body, every nerve, every muscle.

But mixed with it, and eventually almost overpowering it in the concoction of emotion, was wrath.

Pure, unbridled wrath.

He tore the paper and screamed, his screams piercing the serene forest air.

Tears fell from his eyes like a burst dam as he cried into his hands, cursing whoever had killed her, her fate, the cruelty of the gods.

If only he could get his hands on whatever bastard killed her, he would strangle them, he would gouge out their eyes, he would shoot them in the leg and watch them bleed to death, how dare they take his mother away!

He had always been told the best came to those who were patient.

He was proven wrong that day.

All those years, waiting, hoping, hoping for nothing.

Nothing.

His mother was never going to come back. Ever.

Grief, anger, and sadness gripped his small frame as he shook, on the ground, his young brain besieged with intense emotions and reality, dreaded, painful reality.

Don’t cry. How pathetic. Is that how I raised you?

Ludwig forced himself to take deep breaths, desperately fighting his tears and holding back the flow of the concoction of emotions any further.

No, his mother wouldn’t want to see him like this. He couldn’t let her be honored like this.

“Einz, zwei, drei, einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a breath with every word, forcing his emotions back and attempting to lock them away, until finally once again he could think somewhat coherently.

It was here he noticed something perched on the mailbox. 

He looked up. 

An eagle.

A stark-black eagle, its yellow talons sharp enough to pierce skin, its bright, intelligent, fierce eyes a rare violet.

He didn’t notice it before in his panic, but now the dominant emotion in his mind was confusion.

As he sniffled, the eagle cocked its head, staring at Ludwig.

“...An eagle?”

Ludwig’s mind immediately jumped back to the beginning of the year.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

“Are… are you from my Mutter?”

Silence.

Immediately, he embraced the eagle, causing it to screech loudly and flap its powerful wings in shock.

“It’s adorable! I love it Mutter! Thank you!”

The boy’s short arms wrapped around the first living thing it had embraced, nay, touched, in years.

He was actually holding something living. Oh, it had been so long. Oh so long.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold life in his arms, to feel its warmth, to feel its gentle rising and falling, to hear the subtle sounds of another’s breath in his ears.

For the first time in years, despite the unforgiving cold of the winter morning air, warmth reached Ludwig’s heart, happiness brewing with and overpowering now subdued despair and rage.

<Sure… Whatever makes you happy, kid.>

------------------------------------------

“Oy vey… I was too late again.

...This world is fucked.”

-------------------------------------

Ludwig put some meat in front of the raptor, which surely enough soon started picking it apart.

“It’s good right? What should I call you… I’ll have to give you a name.”

He stared at the eagle, deep in thought.

“Oh, I know… Schwarzchen!”

The eagle looked at him.

“You like it? Then Schwarzchen it is!”

<...I didn’t say anything. ’Blackie’? You cannot be serious.>

--------------------

That night was different from usual.

Ludwig pet the bird as it made a nest out of rags beside him, wishing it good night. It had seemed reluctant at first, clearly not used to such close contact but as Ludwig begged it to stay, as if it understood him, it decided to stay with him.

It’s fierce gaze felt protective in the silent darkness, as if his mother really had returned, watching for anything that could harm him. 

Oh, he almost forgot something.

He took his mother’s necklace from his bedside table, putting it around the eagle’s neck.

“There. Perfect. It suits you.”

It squawked. 

“Good night, Schwarzchen.”

That night, sleep came to Ludwig easier than usual, watched by the protective gaze of his new companion.

----------

“Hallo. Kid. Wake up.”

Ludwig awoke, his eyes fluttering open.

Once his eyes focused, he almost yelped in shock.

He was somewhere he didn’t recognize, some formless void; Schwarzchen was nowhere to be seen, nor were the walls of his cabin or even his forest, all that remained was his bed.

In front of him was a man clad in what seemed to be a long white lab coat and some type of mantle, or at least Ludwig assumed, his clothing style almost resembling that in illustrations in one of his novels, ostensibly chronicling ancient legends; but not just any man.

A man who looked almost exactly like how one would imagine Ludwig would look like when he was older, save for his unnatural purple, almost magenta eyes that shined with a calculating glint, a scar under his left.

“H… hallo?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I… Who are you?”

The man smiled at him softly; despite his harsh features, it calmed some of Ludwig’s nerves, just a little.

“That isn’t important. But you’re lonely, right? And it’s causing you pain, yes?”

His voice was deep; much lower than Arendt’s, the only other reference he had for an adult man, surprising Ludwig a bit.

The boy nodded.

The man dug into one of his pockets, taking out a key.

“Here. I’ll be your friend; all you have to do is take the other end of this key, and you won’t feel any of that loneliness and pain any more…”

Tentatively, Ludwig took it.

The boy gasped as he suddenly felt something overwhelming and indescribable other than energy blitz between him and the strange man through the key; it was painless, in fact almost manic energy, bright lights flashing in his vision.

Ludwig woke up.

The boy laid there, his eyes wide, his mind mulling over what he had just seen.

“A dream… it was a dream… Who was that man?”

He turned, and there Schwarzchen was.

“Never mind… Good morning, Schwarzchen.”

<Are you really going with that name?>

Ludwig blinked.

“...Did you just…”

<I thought children were supposed to be creative?>

Ludwig’s eyes widened. He held his head; it seemed to be coming from within his head, like a thought, instead of from his ears.

“...Schwarzchen? Is that you?”

<Yes, this is the eagle. And I have a name.>

Ludwig took a few seconds to process the information.

“...What? ...Mein Gott, I’ve really gone crazy…”

<No. This is real. I’m speaking to you through something called telepathy. Speaking to you through your mind. I could explain all the intricate details but it would probably short-circuit your child brain.>

“I know what it is. But it’s just like in the stories! Wow! I didn’t know they really happened!”

<Well you could say that.>

Ludwig sat up on the side of his bed.

“You keep insulting my naming sense. So what is your name?”

“Schwarzchen” looked him directly in the eyes.

<Well, well, it’s the same as yours, funnily enough. Ludwig.>

“We have the same name? What a coincidence.”

<But I know that is confusing. Just call me Lutz. That is what everyone calls me.>

“Alright… Lutz it is. ...I liked ‘Schwarzchen’ though.”

<...Whatever, kid.>

---------------------------

Like that, Ludwig and Lutz became friends.

His 10th birthday had been the best birthday he had in years, even if it was just the two of them.

Over time, Lutz taught the boy how to use telepathy; and without him saying a word, he became a third hand to him, especially in hunting; more meats were amassed with every session, and fruits even from the highest trees were now accessible. 

...Sometimes. Other times, the eagle merely preened itself, telling him to “Do it on his own.”

Ludwig wondered if all eagles were like this. But even then, he didn’t mind. Even if Lutz was a cold, snarky jerk sometimes, it didn’t matter.

Every day, they ate together, went hunting together, bathed together, and at the end of the day slept together.

He could almost forget his loneliness, and the fact that his mother would never return.

Almost.

——————

As Ludwig braced himself on his bed, he once again counted his breaths.

The wrath he felt that day; it was coming back. From within, it seemed to spread to his entire body, to the point it was unbearable.

He would never forget that pain. He couldn’t. But mindless rage was for the foolish.

He wouldn’t forget. But he would remember, silently.

When he looked to Lutz, Lutz didn’t seem afraid at all. He merely stared at him with those violet eyes.

Ludwig embraced Lutz, not letting go.

-----------------

Lutz stared at the young boy as he slept, his chest rising and falling.

<How cute.>

It was easy.

A bit too easy.

What did he expect from a child though.

<Still, would have liked a bit more of a challenge.

Oh well. Sleep tight, kid.

...Though do I always have to be right next to you?>

--------------------

Over the next year, Ludwig grew. Now on the cusp of puberty, he became stronger, he could run faster and further, and he could shoot with more and more accuracy.

On the morning of his 11th birthday, Lutz presented him with a query.

<Kid.>

“Huh? What is it, Lutz?”

<Now that you know that your mother isn’t coming home…>

Ludwig froze.

<Don’t cry on me.>

“I wasn’t going to”

<Yes, yes. In anyway, since you know you mother isn’t coming home, what’s the point staying in this place anymore?>

The boy pondered it.

<I’m a bird and even I know it’s pointless waiting for someone if they’re clearly dead. Well maybe I’m not the one to talk here.>

He was right.

“But… This is all I have ever known.”

<Don’t worry about it. You’re smart. I think. You should find out what to do soon enough.>

“...Jawohl. I don’t know what my purpose is being here forever too… It’s not like this place will disappear either. And it’s not what Mutter would want me to do. ...We’re leaving tonight.”

————-

Ludwig opened his drawer.

There it was; the notice he had torn up all those years ago.

Why did he still have it?

Just so he would never forget, probably.

Ludwig sealed the notice into a pouch before the rage became too much to bear, stuffing it into his bag, going to fetch his clothing. He had a sailor suit saved up for “special occasions”; he hoped he hadn’t outgrown it already.

--------------

Ludwig looked behind his back one last time to the small cabin, the cornflowers, the trees he had known for his entire 11 years of living.

It felt so odd to know he would be away from it after so long 

He quickly ran back, Lutz grumbling behind him, and picked a few flowers, pressing them between the pages of a book.

<Are you done now?>

“Jawohl. Coming, coming!”

-----------

When Ludwig entered the capital, the little truly important belongings he had on his back, he was in awe.

It bustled with energy, with people, rickety, clanking automobiles and trolleys spewing steam or smoke that made him cough if he went to close, radio commercials resounding through the air, as well as delicious smells the likes of which he hadn’t known in years, some never before, but mixed in with the inexplicable smell of whatever was coming out of the automobiles.

Ludwig wasn’t quite sure whether he liked it or disliked it, but most accurately he would describe it as a strange mix of the two; but more than anything, everything was so new.

He marveled at the sight of a trolley passing by, when he heard honking behind him.

“Get out of the way brat!”

Ludwig stepped back, hopping back to the sidewalk, and an automobile clunked on, its driver looking at him irritated.

But its movements fascinated him, how the machine seemed to move magically, how it seemed to have a life of its own.

“...Where should I even start?”

<Well? Do you have any relatives?>

“Not that I know of.”

Lutz looked to the right. His light of sight led to a small group of children. 

<You could try living on the streets like them for a few days. See where it gets you.>

“...Oh.”

Ludwig sighed. He may as well.

————-

“Shoo! Shoo!”

“No money? We aren’t a charity, sorry.”

“Outta the way!”

————-

Ludwig slept in an alley that night, huddled in his old blanket.

He was so tired. He just remembered he hadn’t slept for an entire day, and it was finally catching up to him.

He had gotten some attention due to being cleaner-looking than the rest, though Lutz was far more charming in their eyes. But more often than not, the overwhelming message in the air was clear; he wasn’t welcome here.

“Lutz?”

<What is it, kid?>

“Why didn’t you tell me I needed money for everything?”

<Didn’t you read about it?>

“I didn’t know it was this necessary.”

<I can’t hold your hand all the time.>

“...Lutz?”

<...What now?>

“There’s so many people here. But I still feel so alone.”

<Well at least you got some to get through the night. Don’t be choosy.>

“Jawohl… Good night.”

————

Seeing no reason not to, Ludwig had decided to explore the city a bit more the next morning, after having helped himself and Lutz to a piece of bread and some beef jerky he had bought, plus the miscellaneous items he had been given the day before.  

After a long while of walking, taking in the different sights, from the historical landmarks and building to new projects, some even in the midst of being built, neatly separated or together, working in at times harmonious and at times chaotic tandem. Every so often he saw stray animals run about. After some time he started to see schoolchildren, some about his age, run to school with their friends, adults dressed in suits on their way to work.

Until, Ludwig started to feel the air change.

It felt somewhat... sticky? The breeze seemed stronger. And inexplicably salty.

For he had reached the city harbor. Birds, they were called seagulls he believed, cawed above. Fishermen had far since left the dock, and in the distance, trade ships were being loaded to go who knows where. And they were floating on a vast, open field of water, water, nothing but water.

“Lutz... is this...”

<The ocean? What, you don’t even know what the ocean is?>

He had heard his mother’s stories about the ocean; while she had never been a woman of the seas per se, she was in the army, not the navy after all, he had heard her describe growing up near it. It was odd thinking that she, too, had been a child once like him.

This ocean was to her like the forest was to him, quite possibly.

She had also spoken about a rumor; a rumor that a wish put into a bottle and cast into the sea would, eventually, be granted. She had dismissed it as childish of course. And she did say that she much preferred the land after growing up.

Though according to Onkel Arendt, she would at times, despite this, just go to her childhood home, staring out into the eternal ocean.  

He wondered what she had thought as her red eyes stared out into the distant horizon, the salty breeze flowing through her silver-white hair. 

It was strange, imagining his mother like that. The sea was so free, almost careless; the complete opposite of her. But maybe that was exactly what drew her to it.

Ludwig started running along the dock, letting Lutz chase him, the briny wind rushing past him and through his hair. People had started to come to swim, and the city was starting to fully come to life.

Even if life was hard, at least he had some way of entertaining himself when everything was so brand new.

--------------

One day, a duo of teenagers spotted Ludwig.

And being the thugs they were, Ludwig suddenly found himself in confrontation with two kids much larger, older, and stronger than he; even if Ludwig was tougher than most 11-year-olds, these two seemed to be about 14 at least, if not, and probably, 15.

“Hey street rat, where’s your mutti?!”

Ludwig tried not to pay them any heed, even if he bristled at the rude words.

“...What business do you have with me?”

The shorter one grabbed him by the collar.

“I asked you a question, shorty!”

After the initial shock and fear, Ludwig felt a flash of anger. His fists clenched as he tried to struggle his way out. And worst of all was that he couldn’t do anything.

<Kid. Listen.>

“What?!”

<Listen to me. Tell me to “Intimidate”. Now. Don’t ask questions.>

“Of course! ...Intimidate, Lutz!”

————-

Ludwig stood there, dumbfounded at what he had just witnessed, as the teenagers ran away, screaming “DEMON BIRD! DEMON BIRD!”

Lutz flew back and perched on his head, looking terribly bored, as if nothing had happened.

“How… how…”

<I’m a Very Amazing Bird, you could say.>

————

A week passed; Ludwig counted, as he always valued timekeeping, no matter what. The other street children left him alone, eyeing him strangely. Occasionally, he heard extortionists threatening some unfortunate soul.

That was when, however, Lutz told him something vital.

<Hey. Have you ever considered asking the police if you have any relatives?>

Ludwig looked at the eagle perched on his arm, puzzled.

“What?”

Lutz pointed a wing at a building.

<There. It says “POLIZEI”. Can’t you read?>

“...Why? Won’t they throw me in jail or something?”

<Actually they have records too. They might have your mother’s family on file.>

Lutz looked to see Ludwig’s dumbfounded face staring back at him.

“...Why didn’t you tell me that?!”

He took flight and landed on his head, preening himself. 

<Thought it would be interesting to observe you. Also don’t be too loud. Everyone will think you’re a crazy person.>

Ludwig took a look around, and indeed there were some passerbys staring at him.

Ludwig loudly sighed, his palm on his face.

“...Fine. Thanks anyway.”

--------------------------

“Your name?”

“Ludwig Beilshmidt.”

The officers looked at him for a few seconds.

“...As in Julia Beilshmidt? General Julia Beilshmidt?”

“Jawohl.”

They were in shock.

“...Excuse me? Is something wrong?”

“Erm… We apologize. Ja.”

“Do I have any relatives? I need some place to stay.”

“...Ja. We will search immediately. Please wait here. But it may take a while.”

————-

“Hallo? Is this the police? Why must you be calling?”

“Well, you see, sir… It appears that a relative of yours has suddenly shown up out of nowhere. ...He claims to be Beilshmidt’s son.”

“...Mein Gott. Julchen did say she had a son… I knew she wasn’t the type who should be able to take care of a child. I will be there as soon as I can.”

-------------

<This is boring.>

“I know, Lutz. Shut up.”

Lutz did something that resembled a yawn.

“He should be here soon-”

It was then that the door to the police station opened with just enough force to be noticeable without slamming.

Standing there was a dark brown-haired gentleman with a large, curly cowlick, probably in his thirties, most likely affluent from his clothing.

“Excuse me, I hear there was someone waiting for me here?”

Ludwig stood up, and their eyes met.

“Hallo. ...You are Ludwig?”

He adjusted his glasses, then his tie.

“Ja?”

He looked him over.

“Ah, I can see some of the resemblance. Though you’re actually somewhat adorable, unlike her.”

“...Is that an insult against her?”

Realizing his mistake, the man cleared his throat.

“Ah, sorry.”

He outstretched his hand.

“I am Herr Roderich Edelmann. Your mother’s cousin. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard about you, but it is nice being able to see you with my own two eyes.”

Ludwig took the hand, shaking it.

“Ludwig Beilshmidt. Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Then, suddenly, Roderich’s formal facade dropped and he pulled the boy into a hug.

“You’re so precious! You may call me Onkel Roderich! Don’t worry, we will take great care of you!”

Lutz looked on in amusement as Ludwig’s cries of shock became muffled in the man’s chest.

Ludwig was flabbergasted. It had been so long since he had been hugged. He only could relive them in his memories, and they weren’t frequent, but here he was, feeling it yet again, surrounded by warmth; he didn’t know how to process it.

But if there was one emotion he was certain about as the man smoothed his hair and cooed over him, it was that he felt loved.

————-

Ludwig held on tightly as the automobile rocked around them. Roderich didn’t seem to mind it whatsoever, but Ludwig had only heard of an automobile once, and had seen, much less ridden, none. Roderich was happy to make him comfortable next to him though, warning him whenever a bump or “pothole” was coming up.

“But really… What is such a magnificent eagle doing with you? A black Strix no less?”

<Someone called?>

“Black Strix?”

“You don’t know? They’re an exceedingly rare species! And this one is such a beautiful dark coal hue; I’ve always been partial to Black Strixes, they’re said to have a particularly strong mystical power.”

“I didn’t know he could be more special... His name is Lutz.”

“...Lutz? As in…”

“Jawohl.”

Roderich looked puzzled.

“Erm… Mutter named him.”

Roderich huffed.

“Ah, Julchen, of course...”

“He was my last Sancbruma present from her before she died.”

Roderich quieted for a few seconds.

“Oh… I see. We will accommodate him too. Do not worry. ...Also, no need to ‘jawohl’ around me.”

“Jawo… ja.”

—————

Onkel Roderich was a renowned musician; he was a master of many instruments and even knew how to compose, but his main forte was the piano. He was sought after for his talents across the land.  

And he had the house to show it as well.

“Welcome to your new home, Ludwig.”

Ludwig took it all in; the house was already larger than average compared to others in town, and as a boy who had grown up in a small log cabin all his life, it seemed especially enormous.

A woman with long, light brown hair came up to them, looking from Roderich to Ludwig.

“Ah, Erzsébet! This is my nephew, Ludwig. He will be staying with us from now on.”

Roderich bent his knees so he was at Ludwig’s level.

“Ludwig, this is Erzsébet, my wife.”

“H… hallo. Nice to meet you, Tante Erzsébet.”

Ludwig outstretched his hand.

The woman merely eyed him for a few seconds.

“Hallo. I guess.”

She said, gruffly, with a distinctly foreign accent.

Roderich sighed.

“Erzsébet, why do you have to be like this?”

“Why do we have to take in this ratty-looking kid?”

Ludwig scowled.

“Hey!”

Roderich held Ludwig closer, glaring at her.

“Erzsébet! He’s a child! Have you no heart?!”

“Fine, fine.”

She shook his hand, roughly.

“But wow, an eagle! A Strix no less?! I didn’t think I’d ever be able to see one!”

Lutz merely yawned.

Ludwig couldn’t help but snicker as an unamused frown crept across Erzsébet’s face.

“...Whatever. Make yourself at home I guess.”

She walked off.

“Prepare the bath and extra room for the boy! Come on now!”

Roderich commanded, and soon after servants bowed and quickly ran upstairs in single file.

“Don’t mind my wife. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic to hear from you. But she will warm up to you eventually. Though… you are in need of new clothes, aren’t you?”

He gave the boy a once-over, making Ludwig look down to his old, beaten-up and washed out child-sized military uniform.

“Sadly, we do not have any clothes your size as of now. I will have a servant hire the tailor immediately. Meanwhile I will order them to wash what you have now.”

<He’s awfully happy to see you, isn’t he?>

“Ja… he seems like a nice person.”

————

That might, Ludwig had the best dinner he had ever had.

He could only marvel at the dishes in front of him; even those he had heard of before looked so refined. And there was so much of it! The variety of bread available in particular was amazing.

But he couldn’t let himself forget his discipline. Even if it took all his willpower not to start gorging himself on everything like he had been possessed by some demon of gluttony.

“Onkel, what is this?”

“A chocolate torte, you see. A type of cake.”

Ludwig remembered actually having a cake a grand total of once. He still remembered its sweetness so well and it was probably the best thing he ever had eaten. And then there were two other things he had only read about before.

...And Lutz seemed unusually interested in it.

He couldn’t blame him though, it’s aroma was mesmerizing to Ludwig’s senses.

“Chocolate? Is that what the brown is?”

“You have never had chocolate before?! Mein Gott, Julchen, What have you done?”

Ludwig was quick to take a bite, and he froze.

The mellow, deep sweetness melted on his tongue, spreading throughout his mouth in such an indescribably perfect way, a tinge of bitterness within that instead of detracting from the experience, somehow harmonized with the sweetness in such a heavenly way.

“...Ludwig?”

“...It’s amazing.”

Roderich seemed somewhat amused by how floored the boy was.

“Even your mother was quite a fan.”

<Hey, hey. Kid.>

Ludwig was surprised by the unusual agitation in Lutz’s thoughts. He didn’t think he had ever heard anything like it before.

“Lutz? What is-“

<I need it. Now. Don’t ask questions!>

Ludwig almost panicked, giving a piece to the impatient eagle.

“Ludwig!”

“I… erm… It was unfair to have it to myself!”

“...Is chocolate even safe for eagles?”

Erzsébet questioned.

“Wait wha-“

<Don’t worry. ... Ahh, bliss...>

Ludwig smiled nervously.

“He’ll be fine.”

The couple just stared, confused.

“Erm…”

“Trust me! I know him well. ...Can I have more? Please?”

“Absolutely.”

His face absolutely lit up at that, and in the corner of his vision Ludwig saw quite possibly the most genuine expression of joy he had seen from Lutz in all the time he knew him.

“Why’s it that everyone in your family loves chocolate so much?”

Erzsébet asked as her husband took another piece.

“Why don’t you is the better question.”

“...Actually, yup, you two definitely are related. Leave some for me though!”

————

Roderich doted on the boy; he made sure he had the nicest clothes and the nicest food that he could afford.

He had made sure the room was in absolute best condition, that his pillows were always fluffed and bed always made, even if Ludwig insisted he wanted to do it on his own.

He taught him everything about the basics of civilization, how to read more complex sentences, how to play the piano and the violin, even how to dance. He took him with him to work, across the city and sometimes even country to places he had at best read about and to meet so many new people.

His next Sanctbruma and 12th birthday were the most extravagant he had ever had.

Yet…

Yet something was missing.

Despite the man’s kindness, he felt something wasn’t right. Ludwig couldn’t put a finger on what, and he felt awful about it to be sure; he did so much for him, what more could a boy ask for?

But yet…

Sure, Erzsébet never completely warmed up to him; even if she wasn’t as cold to him, according to Lutz she was merely tolerating him. And the same was true for many of the servants.

But that didn’t change the fact that Roderich himself was nothing but loving towards him. Even if he had curfews and other such rules, he never had trouble with rules. His mother raised him to obey rules. And while he was often busy, he still tried his best to spend time with him.

Finally, he actually had someone who resembled a parent after all those years. He should have been thankful.

But he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Someone had to be doing something wrong.

At times, he still lay awake at night, those lonely days and nights and that fateful Sanctbruma playing back in his mind; as well as the accompanying emotions of pure hatred and wrath.

Once, Roderich has entered the room at an inopportune time to Ludwig curled up in his bed, seething, growling at him to leave him alone.

While he didn’t say anything about it at dinner, it was obvious he was disturbed by it.

“...Lutz. Why can’t I be happy? I still feel alone, but I don’t even know why.”

<Maybe you’ve been alone for too long. You’re past the point of return, kid. Maybe you should come to peace with it.>

“At least I have you.”

<Whatever.>

———

“Ludwig.”

“Ja, Onkel Roderich?”

The man sighed.

“It has been over a year since you started living with us. What is it with your standoffish behavior? Is something wrong? I will listen to it.”

“...I just can’t, Onkel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I… Something just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why.”

The man looked so disappointed.

“I try my best to make you happy, Ludwig. I really do. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to satisfy your needs.”

“Nein. It isn’t that.”

Roderich shook his head.

“As I was saying… the chords for this piece are…”

—————

Ludwig continued to do his practice drills whenever possible, even if they had taken a different shape; makeshift targets became proper shooting galleries, improvised exercises became possible using an open space between buildings and proper equipment. And as he grew more and more by the day, his physical abilities took leaps and bounds above what he had been capable of before. He just wished he could go more than weekly. At first, Roderich objected, but it didn’t take long for him to cave in.

After all, he had to keep himself in shape, especially as he now had access to all the candy and chocolate that could be plausibly afforded.

After a while, Roderich started to continuously try to ask him to consider other options in this weekly time slot. He was never too forceful, however. And after a while, as Ludwig expressed his clear annoyance, it finally ceased just as it had begun.

There was another episode that irked Ludwig.

One night, as he went to get a glass of water, he had seen Roderich, seemingly sneaking away from his room.

“...Onkel?”

The man bristled as soon as he turned on the lights.

“Erm… Ludwig, I didn’t expect you to be awake..

Then, Ludwig saw it.

In his hands was his mother’s necklace.

“...What are you doing with Mutter’s necklace?”

He immediately stuffed it inside his pocket and turned around, a fake smile on his face.

“What necklace, my dear Ludwig?”

“I know you’re hiding it.”

The man sighed, taking it back out again.

“I… I wanted to put it in a place it will be safer in.”

Ludwig tried not to grill him further, even as he felt something fueled by doubt start to boil within him.

“I’m sure it will be safe with me. It’s been so for all the years I’ve had it. Can I have it back now?”

“...Ja.”

Ludwig swiftly took it back, going down to get his glass. He really needed one.

“You could tell a servant to get it for you?”

“No. I prefer to do it on my own.”

When Ludwig had returned to his room, he had quite the things to say to Lutz.

“Lutz. Why did you let him take it?”

<I was sleepy, kid. Why do you care about that thing so much?>

“It’s from Mutter. You should know. ...Lutz. If anything, protect this with your life.”

<Oh come on now.>

“I’m serious. It’ll be the last thing I ask of you.”

<Alright, alright. Whatever.>

“You aren’t sincere, are you?”

<What do you want from me? Good night.>

——————

One day, as Ludwig overheard some servants speaking to each other in hushed voices, glancing at him every so often.

He was able to catch two things; “...Mister Edelmann” and “barren”.

He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But for whatever reason he didn’t like the sound of it.

That night, after some shouting, once again Roderich stormed out of the master bedroom, telling Erzsébet to “Get a hold of yourself already, you indecipherable woman!”, to his own separate room, as Erzsébet shouted some words back that sounded really angry and probably inappropriate.

<There goes the lovely couple.>

Lutz thought, as Ludwig tried to sleep. Lutz, meanwhile, had no trouble.

————

13-year-old Ludwig stood outside of the bar, alongside Lutz, as always, and other members of his gang.

It was in a seedy, rough part of town. And it was where their rival gang frequented most often.

It wasn’t the most well-to-do of bars, to say the least; as soon as they entered, the air smelt pungently of alcohol, and ambiently of various nasties.

<Ergh. What a dump.>

They immediately saw their target; the offending gang’s leader.

Their leader went up to confront her rival, fists clearly ready to fly.

“Hey! We know ya killed him!”

“Who?”

The rival boss said, with a cheeky grin.

“Ya know who!”

The two continued to escalate their argument, until they became close to blows.

“Enough yammerin’! Get ‘em, boys n’ girls!”

Suddenly, they were grabbed by the rival gang bangers, including Ludwig, who held back a yelp, Lutz flying into the air.

“Come back, ya stupid bird!”

“We didn’t kill one of yer ratpack, asshole! Now get out or we’re gonna force ya out!”

“...You better tell us.”

Ludwig said, tersely, utilizing his now lowering voice and copying his mother’s tone.

The rival boss laughed.

“Or what, kid? What are ya gonna do, huh? Man your recruiting standards have gone down!”

His boss smirked.

“Ya better listen to the kid.”

“Or what?”

They laughed uproariously.

“Lutz. Restrain.”

Their laughing instantly stopped, their faces going sheet white, all the other bar patrons, the bartender, and staff turning to gawk.

For they bore witness to the gang boss being pinned down, on the floor, between the talons of a giant, terrifying raptor straight out of hell, its eyes glowing, its beak as sharp as an ice pick, with which it screeched in the unfortunate gangster’s terrified face.

Ludwig walked up to the rival boss with measured steps, the gangsters holding him having let go out of sheer terror, the thumping of his feet the only sounds other than his companion’s breathing and the squeaks and sputtering from bystanders and rival gangsters, and pulled out his old pistol, aiming it at the thug’s head, glaring daggers so sharp that they could gouge eyes out.

Show your enemy no mercy.

Once again, he thought he heard his mother's voice in his ear.

“Tell us the truth.”

The rival boss sputtered, shaking like a leaf, looking awfully smaller than the much younger boy.

“We… we… d-d-di…”

Ludwig cocked his pistol.

“Speak in a real language!”

The rival boss flinched, and the rest of the rival gang huddled, terrified.

“W-we didn’t do anything! I-I swear! I swear!”

Ludwig lowered his pistol slightly.

“...Really?”

“J-ja! I swear! I swear by both the Heavenly and Hellish Yards! P-p-please let me go, Sir!”

“...Alright. Lutz, release.”

The eagle shrank back down to size, returning to his perch on Ludwig’s outstretched arm.

His boss grumbled.

“Whoop. That was pointless. Lud, let’s get outta this dump.”

They turned to leave, the other people in the bar still staring at them.

“W-Wait.”

Ludwig and his boss turned back to the humiliated rival boss.

“We might’ve not killed ‘im. But I-I have a good idea who might’ve.”

———-

“So, Lud. Good job today. We’ve got ourselves a lead.”

“Jawohl.”

Their boss patted Ludwig on the head and gave the group a once-over.

“Ok. You’re all dismissed.”

Ludwig was quick to leave, the others staring after him.

“What’s it with him? I swear, it’s like he doesn’t wanna be associated with us.”

“He said something about a curfew.”

“Really? Kid still follows curfews? What is he, 10?”

-----------------

When Ludwig came back, Roderich was waiting for him.

“Ludwig.”

“Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich’s expression was serious and stern.

“...What have you been doing?”

“What do you mean, Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich held Ludwig’s shoulders.

“Let me state this plainly.”

He took a deep breath.

“You’re involved in gang activity, aren’t you?”

Ludwig was in shock.

“How…”

Roderich shook his head, his hand on his forehead.

“Ludwig. I am sure even Julchen taught you to obey rules.”

“I… I don’t want to depend on you for everything. I feel like a leech.”

Roderich was shocked.

“You’re only 13, Ludwig! It is alright! It isn’t worth putting yourself at risk like this!”

“I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Roderich shook his head.

“Don’t say that. You could deliver newspapers, or use those piano skills I taught you-“

“And they’re my friends.”

“Friends?! I care for you, why do you need them?! Do you even know any of their names?!”

“...”

“You’re going to get into trouble eventually, young man.”

“I… I know!”

Roderich flinched.

Ludwig looked down and stormed back into the house, into his room, throwing himself onto his bed.

“Hmph, teenagers...”

Erzsébet mumbled.

—————-

“Ludwig?”

Roderich opened the door to Ludwig’s room that night, peeking in.

Ludwig couldn’t bare to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry.”

Roderich sighed.

“Is it because I’m not Julchen?”

The boy felt a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry! I don’t hate you, I’m thankful for what you’ve done, and-”

“I see. Just try to forget about her, alright?”

Ludwig froze. He felt like someone had stabbed his heart.

“But…”

“I do so much for you. I give you everything. What was it that she had that I don’t? I’ve been a far better parent than that stone-hearted, cruel, cold-”

<Oh no. You’ve done it now.>

“DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT MY MUTTER!”

His voice cracked terribly, but he didn’t care.

Roderich stumbled back, his face pale, horrified.

Silence.

“Ludwig… I’m sorry.”

Ludwig buried his face into his pillows.

“...I’ll tell the servants to bring you dinner. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Leave me alone!”

“...I’m happy with any path you want to take. Just please stay safe.”

Roderich sighed and closed the door.

From that day on, Roderich started informing Ludwig of where police may find him, and locations of stations across the city. Anything for his safety, he had said.

But from that day on Ludwig knew; he knew that his suspicions were true, that all this time he was trying to make him forget about his mother. He couldn’t let that happen. It was only confirmation when he heard him brutally disparage her one night in a drunken stupor during one of his binge-drinking sessions.

Once again, Ludwig could trust no one.

And once again, wrath simmered within him.

----------------

Their boss summoned Ludwig and the rest of the gang to a gathering; to sort out their clues, they had said.

Ludwig was appreciated for his abilities; but outside of the action, he sat somewhat removed from the rest. He couldn’t connect with them much either.

His mother had despised lawbreakers; “scum”, “rats”, she would call them. If she knew what he was doing now, she would have caned his palms until they were raw and bleeding. She would have told him he was better than this. He never would have imagined he could stoop this low too. After all, he was his mother’s only son. He should have been destined for greatness.

Quite honestly, he didn’t fully understand what he was doing here either. How did he even get here? Was it just a business affair? Were they really his friends? 

Maybe it was because this was the closest thing to military service he could find. Even if it were on the other side of the law.

A girl a year or so older than him, the second youngest in the gang, came up to him attempting to speak to him. Ludwig hesitated, but in the end continued to be fascinated with the clues they had and Lutz.

“Hey give up on Herr Stick-In-The-Mud already! Bet he’s never even kissed a girl!”

A gangster said, using the nickname they often used when ribbing him.

“What’s with him? He to good for us?” One of them muttered when Ludwig refused a drink.  

“Ja. Imagine being one of us and caring about drinking ages. Never can understand Herr Stick-In-The-Mud.”

“Ja. Where was he raised, His Majesty’s Elite Imperial Barracks?”

“Hey, hey, did you hear that Boss might have the hots for him too?”

“Why don’t you fuckwits shut the fuck up?” Their boss barked at the last one. “The kid’s basically an infant!”

<You’re the most rule-bound gangster I’ve ever seen.>

“Why do they treat it as a bad thing?”

<You’re the one who joined a street gang, genius. They’ve got different rules.>

Ludwig looked at the bottle of cheap moonshine he had been offered again, sighed, and took a gulp.

He immediately gagged.

The last time he’d had booze was when Roderich had allowed him to try beer, and even then he had basically diluted half of it with water and it definitely didn’t taste like... whatever this bottle of horse urine was.

“Ack! This is awful! ...I did it, are you happy now?”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Doesn’t count! He gagged!”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“Let’s get back on topic. We are discussing the murder of a fellow comrade. This is no time for inane chatter.”

Finally, the air became solemn.

“Ja, reasonable, I guess…”

“Now, onto the information Scout 2 gathered...”

—————-

Ludwig, more than anything, considered himself a logical person.

He and his mother both despised vagueness. It seemed pointless, really, all the dancing around the true meaning of your words in the name of “politeness”. While apparently many in this part of the continent were considered similarly blunt and practical, it seemed even then he was exceptional.

So his own emotional turmoil, how he could never seem to explain himself, frustrated him more than anyone else. It angered him.

But one thing he knew for sure was that he looked forward to stopping by the library on the way home. Thank goodness Roderich had taught him to read to a level more appropriate for his age; it was difficult at first, but he was also fortunately a fast learner.

He always had taken a fascination with the sciences. They were at first glance unpredictable, but once broken down and observed, logical. They made sense, they were rational. Recently, he started finding them more investing than fiction, in fact. And his new reading skills finally made the higher levels of it beyond simplistic drawings attempting to explain the laws of physics and magic accessible.

Which was why today he sat outside the library in his usual spot, looking through a medical encyclopedia, munching on one of many bars of dark chocolate and a small loaf of bread.

Lutz nibbled on pieces of chocolate Ludwig had given him, peeking from above him.

“HERS?”

<Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome.>

Ludwig looked to Lutz in shock.

<A rare genetic, psychiatric disorder with no known cause. Those afflicted by Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome, a Hereditary Evil Raiser, or HER, is said to be at their core an incarnation of malice, "programmed" to destroy the gods, everything they created and everything related to them. Therefore, as a natural prerequisite, they typically show extreme cruelty and having the compulsion to increase their own kind and ensure the continuation of their "mission" to spread malice by any means necessary, taking immense pleasure in doing so. Currently there is no known cure, though in high-functioning individuals it may be managed, and manifest in lesser ways.>

“How…”

<I have my ways.>

He flew off, now by his side. 

“Though… Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome? Who names this stuff?”

<Hey. They probably had their reasons.>

“Why do you care? Did you come up with it?”

<Maybe. Plus, that’s rich coming from the kid who literally named me “Blackie”.>

Ludwig sighed.

“I... Fine. And wait... are you reading with me?”

<Yeah, I can read. I never told you?>

Ludwig continued to stare at him.

“I... I just didn’t think you would...”

<Turn the page already. I already know this.>

"Maybe you could try reading a novel, Lutz?”

<Don’t care. Why should I care about what you flesh-apes think, much less fake ones? No one in the world knows what I’m thinking anyway.>

Ludwig closed the encyclopedia.

“You mean you feel that no one understands you, right?”

Lutz stared at him. 

His words struck him like a spark of lightning.

“That makes two of us”

An awkward few moments passed. For once in his life, Lutz had nothing to retort back.

Why was he so shocked?

Ludwig blinked, confused.

“Lutz? What’s wrong?”

<...Nothing.>

Lutz didn’t know what he had just felt.

“That makes two of us” 

It should have meant nothing, coming from this brat.

But yet...

Whatever. It probably still meant nothing.

-------------------------

“We’ve got our guy! Rich bastard’s not gonna know what hit ‘im.”

Their boss said, confidently, gesturing to an assassin she had bought into their abandoned factory hideout.

The assassin looked across the crowd of gangsters.

“So. Which one of you brats wants to come?”

“Actually, we’ve got a good clue already for who’s gonna be a good fit for this mission.”

Ludwig waited, anxiously. He would gladly take the job of avenging his fallen comrade, of course.

“Ludwig!”

Ludwig stood to attention.

“...You’ll be providing nice clothes for us to blend in!”

Ludwig was speechless.

“How… Why?”

<Turns out you aren’t as tough as you thought. Better luck next time, kid.>

But when all had left, he went up to his boss. He needed answers.

“Why am I excluded?”

She looked at him as if he was stupid.

“I don’t think ‘Giant Enemy Bird’ is a viable weapon to use on a cruise ship.”

“But… I can shoot well too! You said I was a great marksman!”

“You’re good. Gotta say that. Still, don’t know about your skills in stealth yet. Can’t risk it. Now, see ya.”

Then, she abruptly cut him off and left.

-----------------

Three days later, Ludwig and the rest of the gang not chosen for the plot awaited at the dock.

Soon, they spotted the assassination party, coming towards them.

One person was clearly missing.

“Hey! Boss! ...Boss? And where’s...”

Her face was dire.

“Shot dead. ...He spotted us. He saw all our faces. All of you are fucked. We’re all fucked.”

More silence.

“...WHAT?!”

Silence immediately gave way to panic.

Ludwig stood, frozen.

“How… Why…”

He clutched his head, overwhelmed.

“But it can’t…”

Emotions swirled inside the boy, overpowering all of his senses, all of his thoughts.

What was going to happen to him? His friends?

“No, no, no, nonononononono…”

<You know what to do, kid.>

Suddenly, he bolted.

Along the harbor, he ran.

Then, in a burst of emotion and without much thought, as if on instinct, he acted immediately as Lutz took off high into the sky, preparing to dive.

“SIC ‘EM, LUTZ!”

He didn’t even bother with the telepathy.

Everyone could only look on in shock and horror as monstrous, pitch-black wings appeared in the sky, seemingly not completely solid and with a godlike glow; to those who were watching from afar, it would have looked as if a demon raptor had materialized out of thin air.

The ship was no match. Before anyone could fully comprehend what was going on, the ship was swooped up into the talons of the avian monstrosity, and crushed into pieces, every single person on it with it.

----------------

Ludwig walked back to the gang, who all stood staring at him, utterly horrified.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

“...Holy shit.”

Another turned to him, their eyes wide.

“...Lud? Did you just…”.

The boy’s mind was blank. What could he even say?

He had killed all of them. Every single one of them.

But in the end...

“Mission accomplished…?”

“Am I trippin’?”

“Did we just witness a massacre?”

“...What the fuck?”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“But we accomplished our mission. ...I did what I had to do.”

“Ja, but… Holy shit.”

“In anyway…”

Their boss cleared her throat.

“Let’s… Let’s go with this loot before the cops find out.”

The rest could only muster a “Ja” in unison.

Lutz flew up to Ludwig, as unbothered as always.

“Lutz…”

<Just did as I was told. Don’t complain to me. Here.>

In the raptor’s talons was a doll; an eerily faceless, unusual, porcelain-ish doll of indeterminable gender.

<Here. I brought a present.>

“What is…”

<Have it. Since I can’t give you Sancbruma presents, here it is, months early.>

“It’s… it’s probably from a dead child, Lutz!”

<Don’t be ungrateful. Oh, and your buddies are waiting. You should go.>

“...Ja. I did what I had to do. We killed him. That’s all that should matter…”

————-

The news of the shipwreck was all over the radio. They had listened to it in their hideout, huddled around the device.

“The perpetrator is currently unknown. However, many claim to have heard the voice of a boy or young man scream for the bird to attack…”

————-

When Ludwig came home, Roderich was standing in front of the door, in shock.

“Ludwig…”

“Onkel?”

“...It was you wasn’t it?”

Ludwig looked down to his feet.

“Lutz, specifically…”

<Hey.>

Roderich pulled him into a protective embrace.

“You could have put yourself in so much danger! What if the police find out about you?! Don’t you dare do that again.”

"...”

Roderich pulled him in.

“Now, come in before someone recognizes you.”

—————

Roderich rarely ever let him join the rest of the gang since that day; it was too dangerous, he had said.

He went out mostly in a dark hood for a disguise, at times without Lutz, for over the radio, one expert had identified the terror bird as “a black Strix transformed with powerful magic.”

Later that year, a month before Sancbruma and two months before his 14th birthday, he had heard something unusual.

<Ludwig… Ludwig…>

“Huh?”

Telepathy. But Lutz wasn’t with him; it came from the doll in his bag.

Ever since that fateful day, Lutz had told him to carry it for some vague reason he couldn’t understand; his alleged simple explanation was “It’s amusing to see you carry around a girly doll like that.”

<Ludwig...>

He took the bag off his back and looked in. 

<Someone is after you. You have been found out. You must run.>

“What?! How do you…”

<Do not ask. Please, please run… you must.>

He slung it back over his shoulder.

“Lutz!”

He had to get Lutz. Now.

But by the time he had gotten home, it was too late.

“No, Sir, he is not here. You will not find him here…”

“There he is!”

Two figures stood with Roderich; two figures he didn’t recognize.

A tanned, hazel-eyed, otherwise unassuming man with his hair tied back and in a partially unbuttoned shirt, probably from the south of the continent, turned his attention away from Roderich, and pointed at Ludwig, gun in hand.

“Ludwig Beildshmidt! You’re under arrest!”

Ludwig’s eyes widened. Emotions and stress once again blitzed through him.

“Lutz! Restrain! ...Lutz? Lutz?!”

His eyes darted next to the man to the other figure, what Ludwig thought to be a long-haired, somewhat tall foreign woman in eastern attire, her dark, raven hair pulled back into a ponytail; seemingly holding Lutz back without touching the bird, but clearly struggling.

“Hurry!”

She shouted, in a foreign accent Ludwig didn’t recognize.

Ludwig bolted.

“Don’t you dare, you-“

“Herr Edelmann! Stop, you’re interfering with police procedure!”

“Don’t touch him!”

The mysterious man finally shoved the other man off him and gave chase, but Roderich grappling with him had given him some extra time...

“Ludwig! RUN! RUN!”

But before Ludwig could escape, all of a sudden he was blindsided by a third person, jumping on his back and pinning him down, the boy’s small body no match for the adult.

“LUDWIG!”

“Let me go, LET ME GO!”

That was the last thing he remembered saying before he had been slammed on the back of the head.

Ludwig blacked out.

To be continued in part 2...

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Author’s notes:

So I had to split this thing in half since it became much longer than I expected. Wow this is a monster. You will see the parts listed here after I write them. Parts, because this will have two different routes! Hopefully! Then again it seems like no one read this...

Also, the scene with the sea is even more ambiguous “canon” in this already ambiguously “canon” story, but I wanted to write it in because I liked it, having seen the idea that Prussia has some kind of connection to the sea before and liking it. I wish I could find it now. I think Alt-Prussia would have grown up with the sea when he was younger, and while he would stay very strictly a land fighter (in fact the Prussian navy was never all that good, being mostly a merchant fleet. Even the German navy, while it did go through a growth period in the 1880s in competition with Britain I believe, by WWII at least their Kriegsmarine kind of sucked. It’s why the invasion of Britain never happened, their navy would have been laughably curbstomped), and I still associate England, Netherlands, or Portugal way more with the ocean, maybe the North Sea has some kind of soothing effect on him.

Also adorable child!Germany is adorable. Why do I love this kid so much? Why is he so damn cute?!

(This is an alternate version of “Key to Zorn!”. You may read either version, as the differences are mostly superficial, but I thought this version may be more fitting considering how I write Alt-Germany)

[Summary: Crossover with the Wrath arc of the Evillious Chronicles. Everyone is searching for their very own Happy Ending... But where is his, if it exists at all?

Young Ludwig Beilshmidt lives alone in a cabin, waiting for the return of his mother. But one winter morning, a certain, seemingly chance encounter, changes his life forever, leading his life to become increasingly entangled with much larger plans...]

(Yes, lame summary, but I didn’t know how to write it without spoilers. The same text as the original is copy-pasted below)

Couldn’t come up with a better title.

Okay… so… holy hell.

This is the longest fic I’ve ever written. And it isn’t even finished.

I thought “Superbia” was long. But… I outdid myself. Over FORTY FREAKIN’ PAGES IN GOOGLE DOCS. And again, this is not finished, I’m splitting it so I at least have the hope of releasing something! With two routes! This is a novel, folks!

I’m probably going to repost this for the Christmas event since I want as much people to see them as possible. Because there are some Christmas elements here. So yeah, you can take this as an early Christmas fic too.

This will be a movie, folks. Grab a seat and some popcorn.

Also, look, it’s goddamn Ludwig torment again! For the fourth time in the span of a month! And this might just be the most elaborate way I’ve tormented the poor guy yet. But I didn’t really have many options.

So I wanted to enter Mirror Week, but in the main canons write in, Alt-talia and Hetalia Emblem, I haven’t come up with any use for 2Ps, and in the former case I can’t see how I could use them.

However, there was one Alt-talia spin-off AU I had been thinking they would exist on; I didn’t know whether I wanted to release media to it so early, and due to a reason I will explain in a moment, I was reluctant to release media about it in general. But… I went with it.

This is my Evillious Chronicles AU. Yes, an AU of an AU. What about that.

Basically, the Evillious Chronicles is what started as a series of Vocaloid songs telling a much larger story; it has since ballooned into a vast, tangled network of light novels and other such media. It’s as confusing as it sounds. Some of you may have heard of the songs “Daughter of Evil” and “Servant of Evil”; those were the first songs to be released in that series. Those two songs weren’t self-contained, oh no.

The thing is, for this AU I wanted to write just based on the seven sin songs (and Servant of Evil), with accompanying Hetaloid covers, and leave the rest of the story up to the audience. I’m still planning on that. However, I still wanted to enter the event, so here I am presenting a version of events for one of the arcs; however, it is merely the route that hews closest to Evillious canon from what I can gather of it. So yeah, NONE OF THIS IS HARD CANON. Especially since I wasn’t sure on the roles of some characters here.

Also, if I somehow ever get to publishing my main Evillious x Hetalia fics sometime in the future; first of all, hi. But more importantly, please, I implore you, do not read this before reading The Muzzle of Ludwig. Especially the second half. I tried to avoid spoilers, but someone becomes extremely obvious with contextual clues.

Also… it’s not like I wanted to write Ludwig torment again. But he was basically my only option, since he was the only one whose sin most likely overlaps with… well, it’ll become clear as this goes on. Ludwig’s story here is based on Nemesis Sudou’s story. Though since Nemesis and Ludwig are vastly different characters, there may be some plot holes, unfortunately.

And THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT: for those who have read none of my other works yet, Alt-talia has often vastly, vastly different characterizations. I based most of these characterizations off of their late 19th century to very early 20th century personalities in Alt-talia. Special OOC warning for the following characters: Austria, Hungary, and Prussia. Minor OOC warning for Germany. I used @askimperialludwig ‘s version of the character as a reference, along with my personal perception and research. may add more later.

Also, credit to my friend @tomboyjessie13 , my Evillious consultant, for helping me through this!

I can’t let this be too long, since the fic is long already. Let’s go!

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(Also... people who read my fics, please reblog them. I work hard on them, and want many to see them!)

And since I forgot to add this above the cut; this canon is also one of the few times Nyotalia characters canonically exist as their own entity in my works, if not the only one so far. It’s kind of necessary, since otherwise it’ll turn into a complete sausagefest. However, as I have no set personality for them in main Alt-talia canon, I basically write them the same way as I would their male counterparts, with maybe some minor changes. I do have some ideas for Nyotalia characters in “what if” stories for main Alt-talia canon, but since this would be an Alt-talia spinoff, most of my theoretical audience would be there for the Alt-talia characters who appear in most Alt-talia media. Not to mention male stereotypes for countries are usually more fun anyway. However, in this universe two counterparts of the same character can co-exist. I try to avoid that though.

Also, a character named “Arendt” is briefly mentioned; this is Brandenburg. He isn’t really that important though, and really I’ve barely fleshed him out, so that’s all you need to know.

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The Key To Zorn

Part one: And Then The Boy Went Mad

In a certain continent, there was a forest.

A serene, peaceful forest, where inside one could almost feel mystical energy in the clear, unpolluted air.

Until, under the evening sky, a gunshot sounded.

Ludwig Beilschmidt, a boy of merely 8 with innocent, cornflower blue eyes, ran through the forest he knew so well, a basket of wild berries and herbs in his arms and a small sack over his back.

Soon, in his view, among the trees and wild cornflowers was the only place he had known all his life, the little wooden cottage he called home.

The boy immediately checked his old, somewhat rusted mailbox, a look of anxiousness on his face - one which immediately turned to disappointment upon finding there was nothing there.

He sighed.

“Nothing today either...”

He reached up somewhat, twisting the doorknob and opening the wooden door.

“I’m home!”

No one answered back.

As per usual.

He didn’t expect one anyway.

Ludwig went to the dining table, setting the basket and sack, as well as his small, old-model pistol, down on his side of the table. Inside the sack was a small rabbit; the poor little thing. He hoped it didn’t struggle for long after he had shot it.

He prepared dinner as he always did, the bubbling as the ingredients stewed the only sounds other than the cries of the wildlife outside.

And he ate in silence by the light of the lamp, staring at the empty, vacant other side of the table, the light of the sun dim and faint.

“Mutter, is it good?”

Nothing.

Ludwig sighed again, going back to shoving the stew into his mouth.

——-

Ludwig tucked himself into bed after a bath and a change of clothes, now in his old, almost too small pajamas, having finished the book in his hands an hour ago - while he had reread it and others several times already, it was a window into a world different from his, where friends supported each other and families told stories in front of the fire - but now that it was over, here he was, once again, stuck in loneliness, on his own, within the cold, dark walls of a small cabin.

Once again, it was quiet. All too quiet; except for the sounds of the forest.

Now as he had nothing to distract him, every rustling of the underbrush, every animal cry made him bristle. The forest was his comfort by day, almost a second mother, but by night, it was dark, feral.

He pulled his blankets up to his face, curling up, shaking like a leaf. He felt any moment, a beast could break through the walls and tear him to shreds.

He missed his mother so much, oh how he missed her. Her harsh but protective voice, her calloused hands squeezing his wrists. He missed his onkel Arendt, who told him stories of the battles he and Mutter had been through.

She’s dead. She’s dead, accept it.

No, no she wasn’t.

She couldn’t be. She had to be alive.

She was too strong to die.

She would come back. She always came back.

His mother wouldn’t want to see him like this anyway. He was being pathetic.

“Einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a deep breath. He was stronger than this.

Imagining his mother was standing by his bed, staring at him with disapproval at his fearful behavior, finally his shivering started to lessen ever so slightly.

He needed to make it so that when she came home with another medal shining on her chest, she could come home to a son she could be proud of, after all.

“Good night.”

He said to no one in particular, as he let the faint moonlight be his comfort, finally closing his eyes.

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

A soothing, calming melody played in his mind; Ludwig didn’t know where he knew it from, but as it surrounded him in soft, almost familiar gentleness, the shivering stopped, his muscles loosened, and he was finally lured into the welcome embrace of sleep.

Lu li la la lu li la la la…

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

———-

“FIRE!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Birds flew away in massive numbers, disturbed by the sudden noise.

Ludwig blew the steam off his pistol, seeing that the bullets had all landed near-target. Almost there.

Not bothered by the recoil anymore, he lined up the shot again, swearing he would get it right this time.

Every two days he did this, before 10 sets of running, marching, and every parallel bar routine; this wasn’t how most children his age passed their time, willingly anyway, if the books he read were any indication, and surely he felt sorry for the animals who had to hear such things, as they were the closest things to friends he had. But it broke the silence.

And most of all, he could almost sense his mother beside him during these practice drills; he could feel her hands on his arms guiding him in his aim, and hear her voice shouting in tandem with him as he shouted “FIRE!”. In fact, sometimes he swore she actually was there, by his side.

He took a deep breath and aimed again.

“FIRE!”

-----------------------

When he came home, he once again saw a basket of supplies.

They always puzzled him. They came at such random, unpredictable intervals, filled with food, a few bottles of milk, several cartridges of bullets, and even occasionally a book, toy, bar of soap, or other extra, but by the time he found them no one was ever there.

He should be grateful. Though he wished someone would explain to him.

Oh well.

-----------------------------

Days passed, then months.

Once again, on the night of his 9th birthday, Ludwig laid alone, the weak moonlight unable to brighten his gradually deepening pit of despair.

The silence was maddening. He craved for any touch, for any warmth of another person, for anything. But even that simple wish was too much to ask.

He bunched up the worn blanket, the cold, frigid winter air seeping into the cabin.

Every day, he wondered if he was slowly going mad.

Holding a cornflower and his mother’s black cross necklace to his chest, looked out into the moon, to the night sky peeking from a clearing in the trees.

A star shot through the night sky, and Ludwig was quick to make his wish.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

She had always told him that believing in such things was foolish.

But what was the pain in hanging onto the little light he could find?

-------------------

Now’s your time.

Alright. I’m going in. See you.

------------------

One cold, chilling day, towards the final days of the year he turned 9, Ludwig stepped outside to check his mailbox again.

Snow lightly dusted the ground, softly landing on his old, worn coat.

He had checked his homemade calendar; Sancbruma. Such a lovely holiday. But now, just yet another cold, freezing, lonely day. Oh well. He had known Pater Natalis wasn’t real for years to need confirmation.

But this day, after creaking the old thing open, he found something.

His heart almost stopped.

Immediately, he ripped the envelope often, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath quickening, and he immediately glued his focus to the words, written specially to be understandable to a child.

Ludwig Beilshmidt, we are sorry to inform you that…

Time seemed to stop. He swore his heart stopped.

Dread shot through his body like lightning.

He read on, clinging onto the little hope that still remained with him all those years as they escaped from him, flying away as he fell deeper.

…

…

Tears fell from his face.

She was gone.

She was really gone.

Finally, suppressed despair replaced dread, filling every corner of his mind and body, every nerve, every muscle.

But mixed with it, and eventually almost overpowering it in the concoction of emotion, was wrath.

Pure, unbridled wrath.

He tore the paper and screamed, his screams piercing the serene forest air.

Tears fell from his eyes like a burst dam as he cried into his hands, cursing whoever had killed her, her fate, the cruelty of the gods.

If only he could get his hands on whatever bastard killed her, he would strangle them, he would gouge out their eyes, he would shoot them in the leg and watch them bleed to death, how dare they take his mother away!

He had always been told the best came to those who were patient.

He was proven wrong that day.

All those years, waiting, hoping, hoping for nothing.

Nothing.

His mother was never going to come back. Ever.

Grief, anger, and sadness gripped his small frame as he shook, on the ground, his young brain besieged with intense emotions and reality, dreaded, painful reality.

Don’t cry. How pathetic. Is that how I raised you?

Ludwig forced himself to take deep breaths, desperately fighting his tears and holding back the flow of the concoction of emotions any further.

No, his mother wouldn’t want to see him like this. He couldn’t let her be honored like this.

“Einz, zwei, drei, einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a breath with every word, forcing his emotions back and attempting to lock them away, until finally once again he could think somewhat coherently.

It was here he noticed something perched on the mailbox.

An eagle.

A medium-large eagle with pointy, perky ears and snout; a magnificent, beautiful coal-black Fernirhund, its bright, intelligent eyes a rare violet.

He didn’t notice it before in his panic, but now the dominant emotion in his mind was confusion.

As he sniffled, the eagle nudged him again with its nose, looking up at him with its soulful eyes.

“...A eagle?”

The eagle stared at him back.

Ludwig’s mind immediately jumped back to the beginning of the year.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

“Are… are you from my Mutter?”

Silence.

Immediately, he embraced the eagle, making it yelp, crying into its fur.

“It’s adorable! I love it Mutter! Thank you!”

It let him cry into its fur, as the boy’s short arms wrapped around it in the first living thing it had embraced, nay, touched, in years.

He was actually holding something living. Oh, it had been so long. Oh so long.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold life in his arms, to feel its warmth, to feel its gentle rising and falling, to hear the subtle sounds of another’s breath in his ears.

For the first time in years, despite the unforgiving cold of the winter morning air, warmth reached Ludwig’s heart, happiness brewing with and overpowering now subdued despair and rage.

<Sure… Whatever makes you happy, kid.>

------------------------------------------

“Oy vey… I was too late again.

...This world is fucked.”

-------------------------------------

Ludwig put a saucer of stew in front of the eagle, which surely enough it soon started lapping up.

“It’s good right? What should I call you… I’ll have to give you a name.”

He stared at the eagle, deep in thought.

“Oh, I know… Schwarzchen!”

The eagle looked at him.

“You like it? Then Schwarzchen it is!”

<...I didn’t say anything. ’Blackie’? You cannot be serious.>

--------------------

That night was different from usual.

Ludwig nestled his head in Schwarzchen’s fur, holding onto him like a stuffed animal, running his fingers through his soft coat. It had seemed reluctant at first, clearly not used to such close contact but as Ludwig begged it to stay, as if it understood him, it decided to stay with him.

The eagle’s breathing neutralized the deafening silence he had gotten so used to, its warmth protecting his small body from the frosty air.

It was like heaven.

Oh, he almost forgot something.

He took his mother’s necklace from his bedside table, putting it around the eagle’s neck like a collar.

“There. Perfect. It suits you.”

He barked.

“Good night, Schwarzchen.”

That night, sleep came to Ludwig easier than usual, as he was surrounded by his new companion’s soft breathing and warm fur.

----------

“Hallo. Kid. Wake up.”

Ludwig awoke, his eyes fluttering open.

Once his eyes focused, he almost yelped in shock.

He was somewhere he didn’t recognize, some formless void; Schwarzchen was nowhere to be seen, nor were the walls of his cabin or even his forest, all that remained was his bed.

In front of him was a man clad in what seemed to be a long white lab coat and some type of mantle, or at least Ludwig assumed, his clothing style almost resembling that in illustrations in one of his novels, ostensibly chronicling ancient legends; but not just any man.

A man who looked almost exactly like how one would imagine Ludwig would look like when he was older, save for his unnatural purple, almost magenta eyes that shined with a calculating glint, a scar under his left.

“H… hallo?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I… Who are you?”

The man smiled at him softly; despite his harsh features, it calmed some of Ludwig’s nerves, just a little.

“That isn’t important. But you’re lonely, right? And it’s causing you pain, yes?”

His voice was deep; much lower than Arendt’s, the only other reference he had for an adult man, surprising Ludwig a bit.

The boy nodded.

The man dug into one of his pockets, taking out a key.

“Here. I’ll be your friend; all you have to do is take the other end of this key, and you won’t feel any of that loneliness and pain any more…”

Tentatively, Ludwig took it.

The boy gasped as he suddenly felt something overwhelming and indescribable other than energy blitz between him and the strange man through the key; it was painless, in fact almost manic energy, bright lights flashing in his vision.

Ludwig woke up.

The boy laid there, his eyes wide, his mind mulling over what he had just seen.

“A dream… it was a dream… Who was that man?”

He turned, and there Schwarzchen was.

“Never mind… Good morning, Schwarzchen.”

<Are you really going with that name?>

Ludwig blinked.

“...Did you just…”

<I thought children were supposed to be creative?>

Ludwig’s eyes widened. He held his head; it seemed to be coming from within his head, like a thought, instead of from his ears.

“...Schwarzchen? Is that you?”

<Yes, this is the eagle. And I have a name.>

Ludwig took a few seconds to process the information.

“...What? ...Mein Gott, I’ve really gone crazy…”

<No. This is real. I’m speaking to you through something called telepathy. Speaking to you through your mind. I could explain all the intricate details but it would probably short-circuit your child brain.>

“I know what it is. But it’s just like in the stories! Wow! I didn’t know they really happened!”

<Well you could say that.>

Ludwig sat up on the side of his bed.

“You keep insulting my naming sense. So what is your name?”

“Schwarzchen” looked him directly in the eyes.

<Well, well, it’s the same as yours, funnily enough. Ludwig.>

“We have the same name? What a coincidence.”

<But I know that is confusing. Just call me Lutz. That is what everyone calls me.>

“Alright… Lutz it is. ...I liked ‘Schwarzchen’ though.”

<...Whatever, kid.>

---------------------------

Like that, Ludwig and Lutz became friends.

His 10th birthday had been the best birthday he had in years, even if it was just the two of them.

Over time, Lutz taught the boy how to use telepathy; and without him saying a word, he became a third hand to him.

...Sometimes. Other times, the eagle merely yawned, telling him to “Do it on his own.”

Ludwig wondered if all eagles were like this. But even then, he didn’t mind. Even if Lutz was a cold, snarky jerk sometimes, it didn’t matter.

Every day, they ate together, went hunting together, bathed together, and at the end of the day slept together.

He could almost forget his loneliness, and the fact that his mother would never return.

Almost.

——————

As Ludwig braced himself on his bed, he once again counted his breaths.

The wrath he felt that day; it was coming back. From within, it seemed to spread to his entire body, to the point it was unbearable.

He would never forget that pain. He couldn’t. But mindless rage was for the foolish.

He wouldn’t forget. But he would remember, silently.

When he looked to Lutz, Lutz didn’t seem afraid at all. He merely stared at him with those violet eyes.

Ludwig embraced Lutz, not letting go.

-----------------

Lutz stared at the young boy as he slept, his chest rising and falling.

<How cute.>

It was easy.

A bit too easy.

What did he expect from a child though.

<Still, would have liked a bit more of a challenge.

Oh well. Sleep tight, kid.

...Though why do you have to use me as a pillow?>

--------------------

Over the next year, Ludwig grew. Now on the cusp of puberty, he became stronger, he could run faster and further, and he could shoot with more and more accuracy.

On the morning of his 11th birthday, Lutz presented him with a query.

<Kid.>

“Huh? What is it, Lutz?”

<Now that you know that your mother isn’t coming home…>

Ludwig froze.

<Don’t cry on me.>

“I wasn’t going to”

<Yes, yes. In anyway, since you know you mother isn’t coming home, what’s the point staying in this place anymore?>

The boy pondered it.

<I’m a eagle and even I think it’s pointless waiting for someone if they’re clearly dead. Well maybe I’m not the one to talk here.>

He was right.

“But… This is all I have ever known.”

<Don’t worry about it. You’re smart. I think. You should find out what to do soon enough.>

“...Jawohl. I don’t know what my purpose is being here forever too… It’s not like this place will disappear either. And it’s not what Mutter would want me to do. ...We’re leaving tonight.”

————-

Ludwig opened his drawer.

There it was; the notice he had torn up all those years ago.

Why did he still have it?

Just so he would never forget, probably.

Ludwig sealed the notice into a pouch before the rage became too much to bear, stuffing it into his bag, going to fetch his clothing. He had a sailor suit saved up for “special occasions”; he hoped he hadn’t outgrown it already.

--------------

Ludwig looked behind his back one last time to the small cabin, the cornflowers, the trees he had known for his entire 11 years of living.

It felt so odd to know he would be away from it.

He quickly ran back, Lutz grumbling behind him, and picked a few flowers, pressing them between the pages of a book.

<Are you done now?>

“Jawohl. Coming, coming!”

-----------

When Ludwig entered the capital, the little truly important belongings he had on his and Lutz’s backs, he was in awe.

It bustled with energy, with people, rickety, clanking automobiles and trolleys spewing steam or smoke that made him cough if he went to close, radio commercials resounding through the air, as well as delicious smells the likes of which he hadn’t known in years, some never before, but mixed in with the inexplicable smell of whatever was coming out of the automobiles.

Ludwig wasn’t quite sure whether he liked it or disliked it, but most accurately he would describe it as a strange mix of the two; but more than anything, everything was so new.

He marveled at the sight of a trolley passing by, when he heard honking behind him.

“Get out of the way brat!”

Ludwig stepped back, hopping back to the sidewalk, and an automobile clunked on, its driver looking at him irritated.

But its movements fascinated him, how the machine seemed to move magically, how it seemed to have a life of its own.

“...Where should I even start?”

<Well? Do you have any relatives?>

“Not that I know of.”

Lutz pointed in the direction of some other children, in a way much like how a pointer or setter eagle would.

<You could try living on the streets like them for a few days. See where it gets you.>

“...Oh.”

Ludwig sighed. He may as well.

————-

“Shoo! Shoo!”

“No money? We aren’t a charity, sorry.”

“Outta the way!”

————-

Ludwig slept in an alley that night, huddled in his old blanket, snuggling against Lutz, who had gotten used to the close contact years ago.

He was so tired. He just remembered he hadn’t slept for an entire day, and it was finally catching up to him.

He had gotten some attention due to being cleaner-looking than the rest, though Lutz was far more charming in their eyes. But more often than not, the overwhelming message in the air was clear; he wasn’t welcome here.

“Lutz?”

Lutz looked up.

<What is it, kid?>

“Why didn’t you tell me I needed money for everything?”

<Didn’t you read about it?>

“I didn’t know it was this necessary.”

<I can’t hold your hand all the time.>

“...Lutz?”

<...What now?>

“There’s so many people here. But I still feel so alone.”

<Well at least you got some to get through the night. Don’t be choosy.>

“Jawohl… Good night.”

————

Seeing no reason not to, Ludwig had decided to explore the city a bit more the next morning, after having helped himself and Lutz to a piece of bread and some beef jerky he had bought, plus the miscellaneous items he had been given the day before.  

After a long while of walking, taking in the different sights, from the historical landmarks and building to new projects, some even in the midst of being built, neatly separated or together, working in at times harmonious and at times chaotic tandem. Every so often he saw stray animals run about. After some time he started to see schoolchildren, some about his age, run to school with their friends, adults dressed in suits on their way to work.

Until, Ludwig started to feel the air change.

It felt somewhat... sticky? The breeze seemed stronger. And inexplicably salty.

For he had reached the city harbor. Birds, they were called seagulls he believed, cawed above. Fishermen had far since left the dock, and in the distance, trade ships were being loaded to go who knows where. And they were floating on a vast, open field of water, water, nothing but water.

“Lutz... is this...”

<The ocean? What, you don’t even know what the ocean is?>

He had heard his mother’s stories about the ocean; while she had never been a woman of the seas per se, she was in the army, not the navy after all, he had heard her describe growing up near it. It was odd thinking that she, too, had been a child once like him.

This ocean was to her like the forest was to him, quite possibly.

She had also spoken about a rumor; a rumor that a wish put into a bottle and cast into the sea would, eventually, be granted. She had dismissed it as childish of course. And she did say that she much preferred the land after growing up.

Though according to Onkel Arendt, she would at times, despite this, just go to her childhood home, staring out into the eternal ocean.  

He wondered what she had thought as her red eyes stared out into the distant horizon, the salty breeze flowing through her silver-white hair. 

It was strange, imagining his mother like that. The sea was so free, almost careless; the complete opposite of her. But maybe that was exactly what drew her to it.

Ludwig started running along the dock, letting Lutz chase him, the briny wind rushing past him and through his hair. People had started to come to swim, and the city was starting to fully come to life.

Even if life was hard, at least he had some way of entertaining himself when everything was so brand new.

--------------

One day, a duo of teenagers spotted Ludwig.

And being the thugs they were, Ludwig suddenly found himself in confrontation with two kids much larger, older, and stronger than he; even if Ludwig was tougher than most 11-year-olds, these two seemed to be about 14 at least, if not, and probably, 15.

“Hey street rat, where’s your mutti?!”

Ludwig tried not to pay them any heed, even if he bristled at the rude words.

“...What business do you have with me?”

The shorter one grabbed him by the collar.

“I asked you a question, shorty!”

After the initial shock and fear, Ludwig felt a flash of anger. His fists clenched as he tried to struggle his way out. And worst of all was that he couldn’t do anything.

<Kid. Listen.>

“What?!”

<Listen to me. Tell me to “Intimidate”. Now. Don’t ask questions.>

“Of course! ...Intimidate, Lutz!”

————-

Ludwig stood there, dumbfounded at what he had just witnessed, as the teenagers ran away, screaming “DEMON eagle! DEMON eagle!”.

And there Lutz was, looking terribly bored, as if nothing had happened.

————

A week passed; Ludwig counted, as he always valued timekeeping, no matter what. The other street children left him alone, eyeing him strangely. Occasionally, he heard extortionists threatening some unfortunate soul.

That was when, however, Lutz told him something vital.

<Hey. Have you ever considered asking the police if you have any relatives?>

Ludwig looked at the eagle, puzzled.

“What?”

Lutz pointed at a building.

<There. It says “POLIZEI”. Can’t you read?>

“...Why? Won’t they throw me in jail or something?”

<Actually they have records too. They might have your mother’s family on file.>

Lutz looked up to see Ludwig’s dumbfounded face staring back at him.

“...Why didn’t you tell me that, you mutt?!”

<Thought it would be interesting to observe you. Also don’t be too loud. Everyone will think you’re a crazy person.

Ludwig took a look around, and indeed there were some passerbys staring at him.

Ludwig loudly sighed, his palm on his face.

“...Fine. Thanks anyway.”

--------------------------

“Your name?”

“Ludwig Beilshmidt.”

The officers looked at him for a few seconds.

“...As in Julia Beilshmidt? General Julia Beilshmidt?”

“Jawohl.”

They were in shock.

“...Excuse me? Is something wrong?”

“Erm… We apologize. Ja.”

“Do I have any relatives? I need some place to stay.”

“...Ja. We will search immediately. Please wait here. But it may take a while.”

————-

“Hallo? Is this the police? Why must you be calling?”

“Well, you see, sir… It appears that a relative of yours has suddenly shown up out of nowhere. ...He claims to be Beilshmidt’s son.”

“...Mein Gott. Julchen did say she had a son… I knew she wasn’t the type who should be able to take care of a child. I will be there as soon as I can.”

-------------

<This is boring.>

“I know, Lutz. Shut up.”

Lutz yawned.

“He should be here soon-”

It was then that the door to the police station opened with just enough force to be noticeable without slamming.

Standing there was a dark brown-haired gentleman with a large, curly cowlick, probably in his thirties, most likely affluent from his clothing.

“Excuse me, I hear there was someone waiting for me here?”

Ludwig stood up, and their eyes met.

“Hallo. ...You are Ludwig?”

He adjusted his glasses, then his tie.

“Ja?”

He looked him over.

“Ah, I can see some of the resemblance. Though you’re actually somewhat adorable, unlike her.”

“...Is that an insult against her?”

Realizing his mistake, the man cleared his throat.

“Ah, sorry.”

He outstretched his hand.

“I am Herr Roderich Edelmann. Your mother’s cousin. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard about you, but it is nice being able to see you with my own two eyes.”

Ludwig took the hand, shaking it.

“Ludwig Beilshmidt. Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Then, suddenly, Roderich’s formal facade dropped and he pulled the boy into a hug.

“You’re so precious! You may call me Onkel Roderich! Don’t worry, we will take great care of you!”

Lutz looked on in amusement as Ludwig’s cries of shock became muffled in the man’s chest.

Ludwig was flabbergasted. It had been so long since he had been hugged. He only could relive them in his memories, and they weren’t frequent, but here he was, feeling it yet again, surrounded by warmth; he didn’t know how to process it.

But if there was one emotion he was certain about as the man smoothed his hair and cooed over him, it was that he felt loved.

————-

Ludwig held on tightly as the automobile rocked around them. Roderich didn’t seem to mind it whatsoever, but Ludwig had only heard of an automobile once, and had seen, much less ridden, none. Roderich was happy to make him comfortable next to him though, warning him whenever a bump or “pothole” was coming up.

“I forgot to ask… what is that eagle doing with you? A purebred Fenrir no less?”

Lutz was lazily sprawled out in the back seat behind them, his ears pricking somewhat at the mention of him.

“Oh, that’s Lutz.”

“...Lutz? As in…”

“Jawohl.”

Roderich looked puzzled.

“Erm… Mutter named him.”

Roderich huffed.

“Ah, Julchen, of course…”

“He was my last Sancbruma present from her before she died.”

Roderich quieted for a few seconds.

“Oh… I see. We will accommodate him too. Do not worry. ...Also, no need to ‘jawohl’ around me.”

“Jawo… ja.”

—————

Onkel Roderich was a renowned musician; he was a master of many instruments and even knew how to compose, but his main forte was the piano. He was sought after for his talents across the land.  

And he had the house to show it as well.

“Welcome to your new home, Ludwig.”

Ludwig took it all in; the house was already larger than average compared to others in town, and as a boy who had grown up in a small log cabin all his life, it seemed especially enormous.

A woman with long, light brown hair came up to them, looking from Roderich to Ludwig.

“Ah, Erzsébet! This is my nephew, Ludwig. He will be staying with us from now on.”

Roderich bent his knees so he was at Ludwig’s level.

“Ludwig, this is Erzsébet, my wife.”

“H… hallo. Nice to meet you, Tante Erzsébet.”

Ludwig outstretched his hand.

The woman merely eyed him for a few seconds.

“Hallo. I guess.”

She said, gruffly, with a distinctly foreign accent.

Roderich sighed.

“Erzsébet, why do you have to be like this?”

“Why do we have to take in this ratty-looking kid?”

Ludwig scowled.

“Hey!”

Roderich held Ludwig closer, glaring at her.

“Erzsébet! He’s a child! Have you no heart?!”

“Fine, fine.”

She shook his hand, roughly.

“But the eagle is cute though. And wow, a Fenrir?! Hallo, come here!”

Lutz merely yawned.

Ludwig couldn’t help but snicker as an unamused frown crept across Erzsébet’s face.

“...Whatever. Make yourself at home I guess.”

She walked off.

“Prepare the bath and extra room for the boy! Come on now!”

Roderich commanded, and soon after servants bowed and quickly ran upstairs in single file.

“Don’t mind my wife. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic to hear from you. But she will warm up to you eventually. Though… you are in need of new clothes, aren’t you?”

He gave the boy a once-over, making Ludwig look down to his old, beaten-up and washed out child-sized military uniform.

“Sadly, we do not have any clothes your size as of now. I will have a servant hire the tailor immediately. Meanwhile I will order them to wash what you have now.”

<He’s awfully happy to see you, isn’t he?>

“Ja… he seems like a nice person.”

————

That might, Ludwig had the best dinner he had ever had.

He could only marvel at the dishes in front of him; even those he had heard of before looked so refined. And there was so much of it! The variety of bread available was amazing.

But he couldn’t let himself forget his discipline. Even if it took all his willpower not to start gorging himself on everything like he had been possessed by some demon of gluttony.

“Onkel, what is this?”

“A chocolate torte, you see. A type of cake.”

Ludwig remembered actually having a cake a grand total of once. He still remembered its sweetness so well and it was probably the best thing he ever had eaten. And then there were two other things he had only read about before.

...And Lutz seemed unusually interested in it.

He couldn’t blame him though, it’s aroma was mesmerizing to Ludwig’s senses.

“Chocolate? Is that what the brown is?”

“You have never had chocolate before?! Mein Gott, Julchen, What have you done?”

Ludwig was quick to take a bite, and he froze.

The mellow, deep sweetness melted on his tongue, spreading throughout his mouth in such an indescribably perfect way, a tinge of bitterness within that instead of detracting from the experience, somehow harmonized with the sweetness in such a heavenly way.

“...Ludwig?”

“...It’s amazing.”

Roderich seemed somewhat amused by how floored the boy was.

“Even your mother was quite a fan.”

<Hey, hey. Kid.>

Ludwig was surprised by the unusual agitation in Lutz’s thoughts. He didn’t think he had ever heard anything like it before.

“Lutz? What is-“

<I need it. Now. Don’t ask questions!>

Ludwig almost panicked, giving a piece to the impatient eagle.

“Ludwig!”

“I… erm… It was unfair to have it to myself!”

“...Wasn’t chocolate poisonous to eagles?”

Erzsébet questioned.

“Wait wha-“

<Don’t worry. ... Ahh, bliss...>

Ludwig smiled nervously.

“He’ll be fine.”

The couple just stared, confused.

“Erm…”

“Trust me! I know him well. ...Can I have more? Please?”

“Absolutely.”

His face absolutely lit up at that, and in the corner of his vision Ludwig saw quite possibly the most genuine expression of joy he had seen from Lutz in all the time he knew him.

“Why’s it that everyone in your family loves chocolate so much?”

Erzsébet asked as her husband took another piece.

“Why don’t you is the better question.”

“...Actually, yup, you two definitely are related. Leave some for me though!”

————

Roderich doted on the boy; he made sure he had the nicest clothes and the nicest food that he could afford.

He had made sure the room was in absolute best condition, that his pillows were always fluffed and bed always made, even if Ludwig insisted he wanted to do it on his own.

He taught him everything about the basics of civilization, how to read more complex sentences, how to play the piano and the violin, even how to dance. He took him with him to work, across the city and sometimes even country to places he had at best read about and to meet so many new people.

His next Sanctbruma and 12th birthday were the most extravagant he had ever had.

Yet…

Yet something was missing.

Despite the man’s kindness, he felt something wasn’t right. Ludwig couldn’t put a finger on what, and he felt awful about it to be sure; he did so much for him, what more could a boy ask for?

But yet…

Sure, Erzsébet never completely warmed up to him; even if she wasn’t as cold to him, according to Lutz she was merely tolerating him. And the same was true for many of the servants.

But that didn’t change the fact that Roderich himself was nothing but loving towards him. Even if he had curfews and other such rules, he never had trouble with rules. His mother raised him to obey rules. And while he was often busy, he still tried his best to spend time with him.

Finally, he actually had someone who resembled a parent after all those years. He should have been thankful.

But he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Someone had to be doing something wrong.

At times, he still lay awake at night, those lonely days and nights and that fateful Sanctbruma playing back in his mind; as well as the accompanying emotions of pure hatred and wrath.

Once, Roderich has entered the room at an inopportune time to Ludwig curled up in his bed, seething, growling at him to leave him alone.

While he didn’t say anything about it at dinner, it was obvious he was disturbed by it.

“...Lutz. Why can’t I be happy? I still feel alone, but I don’t even know why.”

<Maybe you’ve been alone for too long. You’re past the point of return, kid. Maybe you should come to peace with it.>

“At least I have you.”

<Whatever.>

———

“Ludwig.”

“Ja, Onkel Roderich?”

The man sighed.

“It has been over a year since you started living with us. What is it with your standoffish behavior? Is something wrong? I will listen to it.”

“...I just can’t, Onkel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I… Something just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why.”

The man looked so disappointed.

“I try my best to make you happy, Ludwig. I really do. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to satisfy your needs.”

“Nein. It isn’t that.”

Roderich shook his head.

“As I was saying… the chords for this piece are…”

—————

Ludwig continued to do his practice drills whenever possible, even if they had taken a different shape; makeshift targets became proper shooting galleries, improvised exercises became possible using an open space between buildings and proper equipment. And as he grew more and more by the day, his physical abilities took leaps and bounds above what he had been capable of before. He just wished he could go more than weekly. At first, Roderich objected, but it didn’t take long for him to cave in.

After all, he had to keep himself in shape, especially as he now had access to all the candy and chocolate that could be plausibly afforded.

After a while, Roderich started to continuously try to ask him to consider other options in this weekly time slot. He was never too forceful, however. And after a while, as Ludwig expressed his clear annoyance, it finally ceased just as it had begun.

There was another episode that irked Ludwig.

One night, as he went to get a glass of water, he had seen Roderich, seemingly sneaking away from his room.

“...Onkel?”

The man bristled as soon as he turned on the lights.

“Erm… Ludwig, I didn’t expect you to be awake..

Then, Ludwig saw it.

In his hands was his mother’s necklace.

“...What are you doing with Mutter’s necklace?”

He immediately stuffed it inside his pocket and turned around, a fake smile on his face.

“What necklace, my dear Ludwig?”

“I know you’re hiding it.”

The man sighed, taking it back out again.

“I… I wanted to put it in a place it will be safer in.”

Ludwig tried not to grill him further, even as he felt something fueled by doubt start to boil within him.

“I’m sure it will be safe with me. It’s been so for all the years I’ve had it. Can I have it back now?”

“...Ja.”

Ludwig swiftly took it back, going down to get his glass. He really needed one.

“You could tell a servant to get it for you?”

“No. I prefer to do it on my own.”

When Ludwig had returned to his room, he had quite the things to say to Lutz.

“Lutz. Why did you let him take it?”

<I was sleepy, kid. Why do you care about that thing so much?>

“It’s from Mutter. You should know. ...Lutz. If anything, protect this with your life.”

<Oh come on now.>

“I’m serious. It’ll be the last thing I ask of you.”

<Alright, alright. Whatever.>

“You aren’t sincere, are you?”

<What do you want from me? Good night.>

——————

One day, as Ludwig overheard some servants speaking to each other in hushed voices, glancing at him every so often.

He was able to catch two things; “Miss Erzsébet” and “barren”.

He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But for whatever reason he didn’t like the sound of it.

That night, after some shouting, once again Roderich stormed out of the master bedroom, telling Erzsébet to “Get a hold of yourself already, you indecipherable woman!”, to his own separate room, as Erzsébet shouted some words back that sounded really angry and probably inappropriate.

<There goes the lovely couple.>

Lutz thought, as Ludwig tried to sleep. Lutz, meanwhile, had no trouble.

————

13-year-old Ludwig stood outside of the bar, alongside Lutz, as always, and other members of his gang.

It was in a seedy, rough part of town. And it was where their rival gang frequented most often.

It wasn’t the most well-to-do of bars, to say the least; as soon as they entered, the air smelt pungently of alcohol, and ambiently of various nasties.

<Ergh. Try coming here as a eagle.>

They immediately saw their target; the offending gang’s leader.

Their leader went up to confront her rival, fists clearly ready to fly.

“Hey! We know ya killed him!”

“Who?”

The rival boss said, with a cheeky grin.

“Ya know who!”

The two continued to escalate their argument, until they became close to blows.

“Enough yammerin’! Get ‘em, boys n’ girls!”

Suddenly, they were grabbed by the rival gang bangers, including Ludwig, who held back a yelp.

“We didn’t kill one of yer ratpack, asshole! Now get out or we’re gonna force ya out!”

“...You better tell us.”

Ludwig said, tersely, utilizing his now lowering voice and copying his mother’s tone.

The rival boss laughed.

“Or what, kid? What are ya gonna do, huh? Man your recruiting standards have gone down!”

His boss smirked.

“Ya better listen to the kid.”

“Or what?”

They laughed uproariously.

“Lutz. Restrain.”

Their laughing instantly stopped, their faces going sheet white, all the other bar patrons, the bartender, and staff turning to gawk.

For they bore witness to the gang boss being pinned down, on the floor, between the claws of a giant, terrifying hellhound, its eyes glowing, its fangs bared, its breath in the unfortunate gangster’s terrified face.

Ludwig walked up to the rival boss with measured steps, the gangsters holding him having let go out of sheer terror, the thumping of his feet the only sounds other than his companion’s breathing and the squeaks and sputtering from bystanders and rival gangsters, and pulled out his old pistol, aiming it at the thug’s head, glaring daggers so sharp that they could gouge eyes out.

Show your enemy no mercy.

Once again, he thought he felt his mother voice in his ear.

“Tell us the truth.”

The rival boss sputtered, shaking like a leaf, looking awfully smaller than the much younger boy.

“We… we… d-d-di…”

Ludwig cocked his pistol.

“Speak in a real language!”

The rival boss flinched, and the rest of the rival gang huddled, terrified.

“W-we didn’t do anything! I-I swear! I swear!”

Ludwig lowered his pistol slightly.

“...Really?”

“J-ja! I swear! I swear by both the Heavenly and Hellish Yards! P-p-please let me go, Sir!”

“...Alright. Lutz, release.”

The eagle shrank back down to size, returning to his original, fluffy, cute self.

His boss grumbled.

“Whoop. That was pointless. Lud, let’s get outta this dump.”

They turned to leave, the other people in the bar still staring at them.

“W-Wait.”

Ludwig and his boss turned back to the humiliated rival boss.

“We might’ve not killed ‘im. But I-I have a good idea who might’ve.”

———-

“So, Lud. Good job today. We’ve got ourselves a lead.”

“Jawohl.”

Their boss patted Ludwig on the head and gave the group a once-over.

“Ok. You’re all dismissed.”

Ludwig was quick to leave, the others staring after him.

“What’s it with him? I swear, it’s like he doesn’t wanna be associated with us.”

“He said something about a curfew.”

“Really? Kid still follows curfews? What is he, 10?”

-----------------

When Ludwig came back, Roderich was waiting for him.

“Ludwig.”

“Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich’s expression was serious and stern.

“...What have you been doing?”

“What do you mean, Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich held Ludwig’s shoulders.

“Let me state this plainly.”

He took a deep breath.

“You’re involved in gang activity, aren’t you?”

Ludwig was in shock.

“How…”

Roderich shook his head, his hand on his forehead.

“Ludwig. I am sure even Julchen taught you to obey rules.”

“I… I don’t want to depend on you for everything. I feel like a leech.”

Roderich was shocked.

“You’re only 13, Ludwig! It is alright! It isn’t worth putting yourself at risk like this!”

“I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Roderich shook his head.

“Don’t say that. You could deliver newspapers, or use those piano skills I taught you-“

“And they’re my friends.”

“Friends?! I care for you, why do you need them?! Do you even know any of their names?!”

“...”

“You’re going to get into trouble eventually, young man.”

“I… I know!”

Roderich flinched.

Ludwig looked down and stormed back into the house, Lutz running behind him, into his room, throwing himself onto his bed.

“Hmph, teenagers...”

Erzsébet mumbled.

—————-

“Ludwig?”

Roderich opened the door to Ludwig’s room that night, peeking in.

Ludwig couldn’t bare to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry.”

Roderich sighed.

“Is it because I’m not Julchen?”

The boy felt a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry! I don’t hate you, I’m thankful for what you’ve done, and-”

“I see. Just try to forget about her, alright?”

Ludwig froze. He felt like someone had stabbed his heart.

“But…”

“I do so much for you. I give you everything. What was it that she had that I don’t? I’ve been a far better parent than that stone-hearted, cruel, cold-”

<Oh no. You’ve done it now.>

“DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT MY MUTTER!”

His voice cracked terribly, but he didn’t care.

Roderich stumbled back, his face pale, horrified.

Silence.

“Ludwig… I’m sorry.”

Ludwig buried his face into his pillows.

“...I’ll tell the servants to bring you dinner. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Leave me alone!”

“...I’m happy with any path you want to take. Just please stay safe.”

Roderich sighed and closed the door.

From that day on, Roderich started informing Ludwig of where police may find him, and locations of stations across the city. Anything for his safety, he had said.

But from that day on Ludwig knew; he knew that his suspicions were true, that all this time he was trying to make him forget about his mother. He couldn’t let that happen. It was only confirmation when he heard him brutally disparage her one night in a drunken stupor during one of his binge-drinking sessions.

Once again, Ludwig could trust no one.

And once again, wrath simmered within him.

----------------

Their boss summoned Ludwig and the rest of the gang to a gathering; to sort out their clues, they had said.

Ludwig was appreciated for his abilities; but outside of the action, he sat somewhat removed from the rest. He couldn’t connect with them much either.

His mother had despised lawbreakers; “scum”, “rats”, she would call them. If she knew what he was doing now, she would have caned his palms until they were raw and bleeding. She would have told him he was better than this. He never would have imagined he could stoop this low too. After all, he was his mother’s only son. He should have been destined for greatness.

Quite honestly, he didn’t fully understand what he was doing here either. How did he even get here? Was it just a business affair? Were they really his friends? 

Maybe it was because this was the closest thing to military service he could find. Even if it were on the other side of the law.

A girl a year or so older than him, the second youngest in the gang, came up to him attempting to speak to him. Ludwig hesitated, but in the end continued to be fascinated with the clues they had and Lutz.

“Hey give up on Herr Stick-In-The-Mud already! Bet he’s never even kissed a girl!”

A gangster said, using the nickname they often used when ribbing him.

“What’s with him? He to good for us?” One of them muttered when Ludwig refused a drink.  

“Ja. Imagine being one of us and caring about drinking ages. Never can understand Herr Stick-In-The-Mud.”

“Ja. Where was he raised, His Majesty’s Elite Imperial Barracks?”

“Hey, hey, did you hear that Boss might have the hots for him too?”

“Why don’t you fuckwits shut the fuck up?” Their boss barked at the last one. “The kid’s basically an infant!”

<You’re the most rule-bound gangster I’ve ever seen.>

“Why do they treat it as a bad thing?”

<You’re the one who joined a street gang, genius. They’ve got different rules.>

Ludwig looked at the bottle of cheap moonshine he had been offered again, sighed, and took a gulp.

He immediately gagged.

The last time he’d had booze was when Roderich had allowed him to try beer, and even then he had basically diluted half of it with water and it definitely didn’t taste like... whatever this bottle of horse urine was.

“Ack! This is awful! ...I did it, are you happy now?”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Doesn’t count! He gagged!”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“Let’s get back on topic. We are discussing the murder of a fellow comrade. This is no time for inane chatter.”

Finally, the air became solemn.

“Ja, reasonable, I guess…”

“Now, onto the information Scout 2 gathered...”

—————-

Ludwig, more than anything, considered himself a logical person.

He and his mother both despised vagueness. It seemed pointless, really, all the dancing around the true meaning of your words in the name of “politeness”. While apparently many in this part of the continent were considered similarly blunt and practical, it seemed even then he was exceptional.

So his own emotional turmoil, how he could never seem to explain himself, frustrated him more than anyone else. It angered him.

But one thing he knew for sure was that he looked forward to stopping by the library on the way home. Thank goodness Roderich had taught him to read to a level more appropriate for his age; it was difficult at first, but he was also fortunately a fast learner.

He always had taken a fascination with the sciences. They were at first glance unpredictable, but once broken down and observed, logical. They made sense, they were rational. Recently, he started finding them more investing than fiction, in fact. And his new reading skills finally made the higher levels of it beyond simplistic drawings attempting to explain the laws of physics and magic accessible.

Which was why today he sat outside the library in his usual spot, looking through a medical encyclopedia, munching on one of many bars of dark chocolate and a small loaf of bread.

Lutz licked up pieces of chocolate Ludwig had given him, peeking from under him.

“HERS?”

<Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome.>

Ludwig looked to Lutz in shock.

<A rare genetic, psychiatric disorder with no known cause. Those afflicted by Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome, a Hereditary Evil Raiser, or HER, is said to be at their core an incarnation of malice, "programmed" to destroy the gods, everything they created and everything related to them. Therefore, as a natural prerequisite, they typically show extreme cruelty and having the compulsion to increase their own kind and ensure the continuation of their "mission" to spread malice by any means necessary, taking immense pleasure in doing so. Currently there is no known cure, though in high-functioning individuals it may be managed, and manifest in lesser ways.>

“How…”

<I have my ways.>

“Though… Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome? Who names this stuff?”

<Hey. They probably had their reasons.>

“Why do you care? Did you come up with it?”

<Maybe. Plus, that’s rich coming from the kid who literally named me “Blackie”.>

Ludwig sighed.

“I... Fine. And wait... are you reading with me?”

<Yeah, I can read. I never told you?>

Ludwig continue to stare at him.

“I... I just didn’t think you would...”

<Turn the page already. I already know this.>

"Maybe you could try reading a novel, Lutz?”

<Don’t care. Why should I care about what you flesh-apes think, much less fake ones? No one in the world knows what I’m thinking anyway.>

Ludwig closed the encyclopedia.

“You mean you feel that no one understands you, right?”

Lutz looked up, his ears erect.

His words struck him like a spark of lightning.

“That makes two of us”

An awkward few moments passed. For once in his life, Lutz had nothing to retort back.

Why was he so shocked?

Ludwig blinked, confused.

“Lutz? What’s wrong?”

<...Nothing.>

Lutz didn’t know what he had just felt.

“That makes two of us” 

It should have meant nothing, coming from this brat.

But yet...

Whatever. It probably still meant nothing.

-------------------------

“We’ve got our guy! Rich bastard’s not gonna know what hit ‘im.”

Their boss said, confidently, gesturing to an assassin she had bought into their abandoned factory hideout.

The assassin looked across the crowd of gangsters.

“So. Which one of you brats wants to come?”

“Actually, we’ve got a good clue already for who’s gonna be a good fit for this mission.”

Ludwig waited, anxiously. He would gladly take the job of avenging his fallen comrade, of course.

“Ludwig!”

Ludwig stood to attention.

“...You’ll be providing nice clothes for us to blend in!”

Ludwig was speechless.

“How… Why?”

<Turns out you aren’t as tough as you thought. Better luck next time, kid.>

But when all had left, he went up to his boss. He needed answers.

“Why am I excluded?”

She looked at him as if he was stupid.

“I don’t think ‘Giant Enemy eagle’ is a viable weapon to use on a cruise ship.”

“But… I can shoot well too! You said I was a great marksman!”

“You’re good. Gotta say that. Still, don’t know about your skills in stealth yet. Can’t risk it. Now, see ya.”

Then, she abruptly cut him off and left.

-----------------

Three days later, Ludwig and the rest of the gang not chosen for the plot awaited at the dock.

Soon, they spotted the assassination party, coming towards them.

One person was clearly missing.

“Hey! Boss! ...Boss? And where’s...”

Her face was dire.

“Shot dead. ...He spotted us.”

“He saw all our faces. All of you are fucked. We’re all fucked.”

More silence.

“...WHAT?!”

Silence immediately gave way to panic.

Ludwig stood, frozen.

“How… Why…”

He clutched his head, overwhelmed.

“But it can’t…”

Emotions swirled inside the boy, overpowering all of his senses, all of his thoughts.

What was going to happen to him? His friends?

“No, no, no, nonononononono…”

<You know what to do, kid.>

Suddenly, he bolted.

Along the harbor, he ran.

Then, in a burst of emotion and without much thought, as if on instinct, he acted immediately as Lutz took a running leap into the sea.

“SIC ‘EM, LUTZ!”

He didn’t even bother with the telepathy.

Everyone could only look on in shock and horror as Lutz became an utter behemoth of a beast, seemingly not completely solid and with a godlike glow, his tail alone twice the size of the ship; to those who were watching from afar, it would have looked as if a demon eagle had risen out of the sea itself.

The ship was no match for the beast. Before anyone could fully comprehend what was going on, the ship had been sunk, every single person on it with it.

----------------

Ludwig walked back to the gang, who all stood staring at him, utterly horrified.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

“...Holy shit.”

Another turned to him, their eyes wide.

“...Lud? Did you just…”.

The boy’s mind was blank. What could he even say?

He had killed all of them. Every single one of them.

But in the end...

“Mission accomplished…?”

“Am I trippin’?”

“Did we just witness a massacre?”

“...What the fuck?”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“But we accomplished our mission. ...I did what I had to do.”

“Ja, but… Holy shit.”

“In anyway…”

Their boss cleared her throat.

“Let’s… Let’s go with this loot before the cops find out.”

The rest could only muster a “Ja” in unison.

Lutz trotted up to Ludwig, as unbothered as always.

“Lutz…”

<Just did as I was told. Don’t complain to me. Here.>

In the eagle’s jaws was a doll; an eerily faceless, unusual, porcelain-ish doll of indeterminable gender.

<Here. I brought a present.>

“What is…”

<Have it. Since I can’t give you Sancbruma presents, here it is, months early.>

“It’s… it’s probably from a dead child, Lutz!”

<Don’t be ungrateful. Oh, and your buddies are waiting. You should go.>

“...Ja. I did what I had to do. We killed him. That’s all that should matter…”

————-

The news of the shipwreck was all over the radio. They had listened to it in their hideout, huddled around the device.

“The perpetrator is currently unknown. However, many claim to have heard the voice of a boy or young man scream for the eagle to attack…”

————-

When Ludwig came home, Roderich was standing in front of the door, in shock.

“Ludwig…”

“Onkel?”

“...It was you wasn’t it?”

Ludwig looked down to his feet.

“Lutz, specifically…”

<Hey.>

Roderich pulled him into a protective embrace.

“You could have put yourself in so much danger! What if the police find out about you?! Don’t you dare do that again.”

"...”

Roderich pulled him in.

“Now, come in before someone recognizes you.”

—————

Roderich rarely ever let him join the rest of the gang since that day; it was too dangerous, he had said.

He went out in mostly in a dark hood for a disguise, at times without Lutz, for over the radio, one expert had identified the beast as “a black Fenrir transformed with powerful magic.”

Later that year, a month before Sancbruma and two months before his 14th birthday, he had heard something unusual.

<Ludwig… Ludwig…>

“Huh?”

Telepathy. But Lutz wasn’t with him; it came from the doll in his bag.

Ever since that fateful day, Lutz had told him to carry it for some vague reason he couldn’t understand; his alleged simple explanation was “It’s amusing to see you carry around a girly doll like that.”

<Ludwig...>

He took the bag off his back and looked in. 

<Someone is after you. You have been found out. You must run.>

“What?! How do you…”

<Do not ask. Please, please run… you must.>

He slung it back over his shoulder.

“Lutz!”

He had to get Lutz. Now.

But by the time he had gotten home, it was too late.

“No, Sir, he is not here. You will not find him here…”

“There he is!”

Two figures stood with Roderich; two figures he didn’t recognize.

A tanned, sturdy-looking man in a black suit, probably from the south of the continent, turned his attention away from Roderich, and pointed at Ludwig, gun in hand.

“Ludwig Beildshmidt! You are under arrest!”

Ludwig’s eyes widened. Emotions and stress once again blitzed through him.

“Lutz! Restrain! ...Lutz? Lutz?!”

His eyes darted next to the man to the other figure, what Ludwig thought to be a long-haired, somewhat tall foreign woman in eastern attire, her dark, raven hair pulled back into a ponytail; seemingly holding Lutz back without touching the eagle, but clearly struggling.

“Hurry!”

She shouted, in a foreign accent Ludwig didn’t recognize.

Ludwig bolted.

“Don’t you dare, you-“

“Herr Edelmann! Stop, or you will be arrested as well for interfering with police procedure!”

“Don’t touch him!”

The mysterious man finally shoved the weaker-looking man off him and gave chase, but Roderich grappling with him had given him some extra time...

“Ludwig! RUN! RUN!”

But before Ludwig could escape, all of a sudden he was blindsided by a third person, jumping on his back and pinning him down, the boy’s small body no match for the adult.

“LUDWIG!”

“Let me go, LET ME GO!”

That was the last thing he remembered saying before he had been slammed on the back of the head.

Ludwig blacked out.

To be continued in part 2...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author’s notes:

So I had to split this thing in half since it became much longer than I expected. Wow this is a monster. You will see the parts listed here after I write them. Parts, because this will have two different routes! Hopefully! Then again it seems like no one read this...

Also, the scene with the sea is even more ambiguous “canon” in this already ambiguously “canon” story, but I wanted to write it in because I liked it, having seen the idea that Prussia has some kind of connection to the sea before and liking it. I wish I could find it now. I think Alt-Prussia would have grown up with the sea when he was younger, and while he would stay very strictly a land fighter (in fact the Prussian navy was never all that good, being mostly a merchant fleet. Even the German navy, while it did go through a growth period in the 1880s in competition with Britain I believe, by WWII at least their Kriegsmarine kind of sucked. It’s why the invasion of Britain never happened, their navy would have been laughably curbstomped), and I still associate England, Netherlands, or Portugal way more with the ocean, maybe the North Sea has some kind of soothing effect on him.

Also adorable child!Germany is adorable. Why do I love this kid so much? Why is he so damn cute?!

#hhvdEvent #hws germany #aph germany #evillious chronicles #Key to Zorn series #alt-talia #2p germany #Evillious Chronicles x Alt-talia series

[mtvswatches]

Wynonna Earp 2x06 Whiskey Lullaby

Spoilers disclaimer (please read before sending messages or writing comments.)

Click here for previous recaps!

Stray thoughts

1) “Don’t talk about my partner’s ass” Hearing Doc say those words in regards to Dolls gave me so much joy!

2) So, Black Badge indeed no longer exists, at least not in the same shape and form as we knew it. They’ve cut Dolls, Purgatory and the Earps loose and they are now left to their own devices. If they’re not a government agency, then what are they? Who else would be interested in fighting the supernatural institutionally? Anyway, the dude told them that when Doc freed Dolls, other things escaped, too.

3) Who or what are these women? Are they widows? Is that why they dress in black?

4) So Wynonna is pregnant. And she’s also in denial mode. I get it, I mean this was definitely not part of the plan. I mean, she really doesn’t have a plan per se, but you know what I mean. She’s refusing to deal with this right now, but who are we kidding? That’s not something that you can really postpone dealing with. You have to make a decision either way. Also, is Doc the father? I’m trying to remember if she slept with anyone else after that, but I think she didn’t? Or is this like a supernatural pregnancy? And what about the goo? Did the goo affect the baby? Is Wynonna going to have the baby? And if she does, will it be an actual baby or are they going to turn it into a Connor? So many questions! I am really interested in seeing where this show is headed with this storyline…

5) To distract herself, Wynonna goes begging Nicole for a case, but there seems to be no supernatural activity lately. Well, except for…

6)  So, there are rings and they’re talking about wives and husbands, so they must be widows, but whose widows are they? They’re looking for the location of a seal, and they mention Bobo and the Stone witch, none of whom are available. And when they mention Juan Carlos, they mention that they’re not strong enough to face him. Huh.

7) Hypnos? And the Creepster is asking for more time for the Widows (yes, they are widows, I got it right!) Does this mean this Hypnos guy will hypnotize everyone in Purgatory? Will he turn back time? Make time go slower? He’s doing something alright…

8)

DOLLS: We are free agents. Free to make our own rules and to pursue our own objectives. DOC: Welcome to the club. I've been here a while. I'll show you what areas are off limits. DOLLS: Well, that's my point. There are no areas that are off limits anymore. ME:

Seriously, though, last time we saw them they were getting along just fine, so what happened between then and now?

 9) So, this is what was happening…

DOLLS: Hey, Wynonna. You wanna grab coffee with me? There's something I wanna discuss with you that's personal. WYNNONA: Yeah, sure.

Does this mean that Dolls and Wynonna will be a thing? I truly can’t accept that Doc/Wynonna are over? How? They were even barely started! 

10) Okay, Waverly just suggested Doc is the baby’s father… This can’t be the end of Wynonna and Doc. I’ll Calcutta bitch!

Even though I agree with Wynonna in that it is her situation and it is up to her who to tell and when, Waverly does make a great point that it’s not fair to either Dolls or Doc not to let them know about her “situation.” I’m guessing Wynonna is going to handle it in true Wynonna fashion and it’s gonna be messy.

11) Oh, Nicole and Waverly are so beautiful and hot together?

And I’m super glad they addressed this because it was kind of tormenting me not knowing whether Waverly was really Waverly when they were together while they were possessed…

NICOLE: You taste like my Waverly again. WAVERLY: What's wrong? NICOLE: I was just thinking how much of the other times were you, you? You know, because you said things, and we did things, and I don't know what was real. WAVERLY: No. It was all real. Okay? It was all me. NICOLE: How can you be sure? WAVERLY: Because I don't remember much about when it was in control. But I remember every second I was with you. Each touch. Every kiss.

12) I guess Hypno dude just put them all to sleep?

And the timing couldn’t have been more perfect for Wynonna, she was really dreading the “personal” conversation with Dolls. But why? Is it because she doesn’t see him in that way? Or is it because she truly does and it scares the shit out of her? I’m guessing it’s the latter, but I don’t want it to be. I have nothing against Dolls, but I love Wynonna and Doc! 

13) I guess the Widows did get some time. A few months, actually…

Damn, this means the choice to be pregnant or stop the pregnancy was taken away from her.

How did people survive, though? I mean, Wynonna was covered in dust, and all the food is rotten, which means that time literally went by, it’s not that they just fastforwarded…

Also, damn, their breath must be AWFUL!

14) They need to take drugs to keep themselves awake, but Wynonna obviously can’t take any… and Dolls is making heart eyes at her, and I just realized he still hasn’t seen her baby bump…

15) “The whole town has been asleep for weeks.” Okay, exactly how many weeks? I need to know! So they kept up the whole town asleep this long by threatening with hurting Poppy, who is… Hypnos’ daughter? Lover? I have no idea. But now that Wynonna is awake he can’t make her and the gang fall back asleep… She’s too strong. Damn straight she is!

16) And if people stay asleep too long, they’ll never wake up. Cool. Cool cool cool. Waverly’d better fucking hurry up and wake up Doc yesterday!

17) What are these bitches doing to Wynonna? They’d better not hurt the baby!

18) And this is how Doc fell asleep…

19) Jeremy just woke up and went straight to business. The second seal is apparently in Shorty’s, so they’d been sitting on it this whole time. The problem is that the Widows stole all their plans and research and probably know this already. 

20) And Dolls just realized Wynonna is preggers…

I’m guessing now the million-dollar question will be asked – who’s the father? Wynonna insists that nothing has changed and that she can still kick some evil ass, but… that’s probably the last thing in Doll’s mind right now?

21)  And this is everything I didn’t know I needed in my life?

A pregnant lady kicking ass? HELL YES! 

22) Okay, Poppy is Hypno’s daughter, and the Creepster has obviously taken her to rape her, so Hypno agreed to help Wynonna if she makes sure his daughter is safe, which I think it’s something Wynonna could relate to.

23) The Widows just fucking froze Waverly and Doc? Are they going to eat them up?

24) Bless Nicole, she’s been tracking the Creepster’s phone because she knew he was gross and evil. Bless Wynonna for her reaction, too.

25) Well…

Then he says she’s amazing and tries to save face or a bit of his ego by saying she’s an amazing agent, yeah, right.

26) Please let Jeremy save the day. Pleasepleaseplease.

27) He so didn’t.

28) Oh my God, the fucking Creepster is asking Poppy to role-play as Waverly before he rapes her? PLEASE SOMEONE MURDER HIM! 

29) Ugh, Nicole, why would you shoot him in the shoulder and let him run away? Straight between the eyes! And what the fuck else did he do that will get him killed? Worse than what he’s already done?

30) The Widows managed to break the seal, but there’s a third one…

31) And this is how Wynonna told Doc about the baby…?

He’s all teary-eyed, omg, is he happy? Sad? I guess there will be one relationship in his life with strings after all, and I’m not talking about Wynonna. But damn, he didn’t handle the news well, he just walked away and didn’t say anything… 

32) So… no time has really passed except for the baby… How convenient for the plot...

33) Damn, Dolls just shot Hypno in cold-blood and forced Wynonna to off him. He’s truly butthurt about the baby, isn’t he?

34) Doc wrote a note for Wynonna. And Jeremy knew Wynonna was pregnant all along hahaha! 

35) Clootie?

 Oh. This is what he did. He killed Clootie.

36) Damn, this whole scene… 

WYNONNA: Am I a screw-up? Yeah. I've also been on two types of birth control since I was 13 years old. But the universe doesn't give a damn. It's never given me a choice, it's never… not whether I wanted to be the Heir or a m… a mother. WAVERLY: I know you're overwhelmed, okay? But not everything is because you're an Earp. WYNONNA: Yeah, it is. It always comes back to the curse, Wave, always. I really, I… I can't do this. WAVERLY: Hey. WYNONNA: No. WAVERLY: Hey. WYNONNA: This poor asshole! WAVERLY: Hey I'm not saying it's gonna be okay. But I'm just saying I'm here.

I’m just, wow. There are so many things that I love about this scene and this plot and what it means for Wynonna. First of all, I’m so glad it’s not a supernatural pregnancy and that it wasn’t the result of rape – magical or otherwise. It’s the result of consensual sex, which is sadly unprecedent in supernatural shows. Think about that for a minute.

There’s the question of choice, too. Wynonna didn’t choose to get pregnant nor did she choose to remain so. I doubt she would’ve ended the pregnancy, but the fact remains, she was deprived of that choice. It’s easier to understand her initial denial and reluctance to discuss the pregnancy in light of this final scene. It’s sad but I think it has to do with the fact she doesn’t think she’s fit to be a mother. Wynonna handles herself with a lot of bravado and self-confidence, but most of the time, it feels as though she’s trying the old “fake it till you make it” strategy. She’s deeply insecure and she thinks very low of herself. On top of that, she’ll be bringing a child into this supernatural mayhem that it’s her life. She’s fully aware she’ll be putting a burden on her child, In a way, she fears she’ll be doing to that child the same thing that has been done so many times to her – depriving them of choice.

I’m just very intrigued as to how they’re going to deal with this pregnancy, and I can’t help but wonder again – will there even be a baby or are we facing a Connor situation? There has already been one time-jump, so it’s possible there’s another one…

37) Aw, Doc, this is why I love you…

He’s all fucking in!

38) Hope you enjoyed my recap, and, as usual, if you’ve got this far, thank you for reading! If you enjoy my recaps and my blog, please consider supporting it on ko-fi.Thanks!

#Wynonna Earp #Waverly Earp #Wynonna Earp 2x06 #Doc Holliday #Xavier Dolls #WE recap #WE 2x06 #mine

[magicalbuffalotransformerman]

The End. [unfortunately for mafia soldier, non-canon. apologies, mafia soldier.]

[yeah, i decided to write about a possibility of how and when mafia soldier completes his mission. enjoy.]

[Awakening. Oh, the pain. StreeaAAAAAUGH FUCK--... intense stretching pain. Bones and joints, popping and cracking. On your feet, soldier, you've got a group of people to interrogate. Out the room... and down the steps.]

[Doctor]: Hey, Solly!

[Ah, Dr. [name redacted for privacy]. An exceptional master of the organic arts. Not a master in Soldier's eyes, unfortunately, they haven't done much yet. Accepting this, he holds a wave.]

mafia soldier: At ease, Doc. What's the situation?

[Doctor]: Well... not many of us are left. [Vigilante], [Messenger], [Hunter], and [Detective] are all gone.

mafia soldier: And who would be left, if I may ask?

[Doctor]: You, me, [Cupid], [x4 Vanilla Townies], [x2 Mafia Goons], [Mafia JOAT], and [Town JOAT].

mafia soldier: [Quick maths on his achey fingers... plus one.] That leaves... 11 people left. Who died in the worst way, then?

[Doctor]: Well, [Detective] was gunned down in the golf course, so... maybe her? I'm not sure.

mafia soldier: Mmm. If I may, fetch everyone into the living room.

[Doctor]: Alright. I'll be a bit.

mafia soldier: Affirmative.

[Waypoint in the kitchen. Bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, wait in the living room. Crunch, wait... crunch. Repeat, until the living room is at full capacity. Get to it.]

mafia soldier: Friends, these are the facts as I understand them. One: three of you are not my friends. Two: four of us have died in gruesome ways. Three: If one of you has knowledge about which three of you are not my friends, report to me ASAP. Dismissed.

[Back to functioning at minimum power. Everything hurts, as it does. The remainder begin conversations with one another. Not that much happens for a couple hours.]

[Rolenames will be switched to initials, followed by their roles upon their first appearance (then it'll just be initials), starting now.]

[[T: Cupid] approaches. Request an answer.]

mafia soldier: [T].

[T]: Soldier. I might know the identity of one of the mafia goons.

mafia soldier: Permission to speak.

[T]: What if... I watched [C: Mafia Goon] kill someone?

mafia soldier: Well, do you have proof? I don't want to kill an innocent, now, do I?

[C is beyond the door, briefly.]

[T]: Good point, but... I-I'm not sure, okay? I, they- [ahem] I might have been on the turret while [M: Detective] got gunned down, and I might have seen a lock of [C]'s hair... at the crime scene.

mafia soldier: Thank you for reporting to me. Now, if you die next, I know who to bring down. Much appreciated. [T].

[T]: Don't fret. You've already got a bunch on your plate, being our drill sargeant and a good friend. I only hope you're able to protect us when the time is right.

mafia soldier: I'll definitely do my best... which, well.

[T]: I'm sure you'll do fine. Good luck.

[Vacating the premises. Left alone. Again. Bah, humbug. Pillow igloo has a television. Watch some Transformers while you wait.]

[A few hours later.]

[T is having trouble breathing. Slowly wake up. Bones popping again. Lift helmet. Suspicions were right.]

[C]: Did you hairbrained idiots forget to kill off the pathetic war hero again?

[c: Mafia Goon]: What, no! I'm sure he's dead!

[C]: WHY ELSE WOULD HIS BONES BE POPPING?!

[c]: Good point... [W: Mafia JOAT]? Can you check if Soldier's dead?

[W]: If you're gonna be so lazy about it, I guess I will.

[A wild [W] appears. Completely motionless. Unsuspected.]

[W]: He's dead.

[C]: I guess I'm going insane, then.

[c]: I wouldn't put it past you. Anyways... what about [T], here?

[C]: Put him down.

[T]: Wait, wait! I can at least tell you if Soldier's ACTUALLY still alive! PLEASE!

[W]: ...god, I must be deaf. Say again?

[T]: He... he's still alive. He's probably laughing at you from the comfort of his igloo. Go search again!

[W]: And here I was, betting on [C] being insane. Sigh.

[[W] is by the igloo again. Nowhere to be found.]

[W]: ...there's a bit of disturbed blankets. [She ruffles through them.] He's not here!

[C]: [T], as you are of no further use to me, I'll say this now. Thanks for the info.

[T]: WAI-

[Pow. Thump. The Cupid is no more. Insufferable rage. Should've known.]

[...realization. Why isn't anyone awake from the gunshot? Check everyone's rooms.]

[[A: Doctor] is the only one awake, and wide awake at that, from the gunshot.]

[A]: Soldier?

mafia soldier: shhshhshshh! I'm gonna hide in the closet, and [C], [c], and [W] are gonna come in. Don't tell them I'm here. Please.

[A]: ...I understand.

[Get hidden. Get waiting. Don't wait for too long, they're here.]

[W]: [A], where's Soldier?

[A]: Not sure, dude. I've only just woken up... also, what was the gunshot?

[C]: Search the house. I don't want him to live again. Prolong his suffering, if you will.

[A]: ...you know about his illness?

[C]: Who doesn't? He's the only one that I've seen on the Memento Mori, as well as here, twice. We've even shot him down from retaliation. He's nothing to us but a toy to break.

[c]: I mean... that's not quite how I would put it, but... yeah. We know.

[A]: Oh. I, uhm... don't know how to respond.

[W]: Don't? You're hella annoying anyways, haha.

[C]: Rude. Bring her hostage, into the living room. Find Soldier, bring him too.

[c], [W]: On it.

[...]

[Appear from under the bed.]

mafia soldier: ...freaks of nature. all of you.

[Bring the noise. Ol' Faithful's not starved, perfect. Arrive in the nick of time.]

[C]: Ah, Soldier. What wakes you? [[C] cocks the hammer of her revolver.]

mafia soldier: Let's say... [CHHK-CHHK. Rack the first of eight shells.] I have some issues with your methods of interrogation, MAGGOT.

[C]: Ah, you've gotten cocky, have y-

[BLAM. [C] falls to the ground, in critical condition.]

mafia soldier: You're not going anywhere. [A], how are you?

[A]: Scarred for life, bu-

[Pow. F U C K !]

[W]: Heyyy, big boi! Hands where I can see 'em... or what's left of em, at least!

mafia soldier: [G r i m a c e .]

[W]: Quite the mandibles you've got left.

mafia soldier: I've been on this gravestone of a planet for longer than you have, and I'm not about to let anyone else die to your hands. [CHHK-CHHK. Second of eight.] You're not the Grim Reaper, she's hotter than you are. Drop the Smith 'n' Wesson.

[W]: ...hmph.

[[W] drops her revolver, so it may join her confidence in the Lost 'n' Found bin.]

mafia soldier: That's a good pard'ner.

[[c] walks in on the situation.]

mafia soldier: [c]. Drop your .357.

[c]: Are you one of us...?

mafia soldier: Absolutely not. I've been trying to kill creeps like you since I was in the Badlands.

[c]: M... my apologies. [[c] also drops her revolver.]

[W]: grr. [c], come on. You coulda taken him easily.

[c]: He knows his way around a hostage situation, man!

[W]: Not when he gets ambushed, you sksks-lookin' ass motherfucker!

[c]: I mean...

[W]: DO YOU NOW?

[The end of the mission, or another baittrap? Look at the disappointments. Look to the Doctor. Unhealable injuries. Stomp on the injured fool's neck. Mourn the Doctor for the time being.]

[c]: Wh--! HEY! Please, don't kill us!

[W]: STOP TRYING TO-!

[BLAM. [W]'s a goner.]

[c], on the verge of crying: [quick breaths]

[Staring down the barrel. [CHHK-CHHK]. Third of eight. Haven't missed yet. Evaluate.]

mafia soldier: List your reasons or perish. I'm not going to walk in on another goddamn crime scene unless I make it myself, do you hear me?

[[c] begins to sob.] [c]: I haven't even been able to shoot anyone yet! I'm effectively a pacifist! Please! Don't do this to me!

mafia soldier: Let me tell you about pacifism, [c]. Even if you haven't shot anyone, that doesn't exclude you from being a tormentor. Example. The Memento Mori. The Doctor aboard accused me of being a FREAK like you, because I was poking a corpse with a stick. He threw me out of the train, into a tree, and thus under the train. I am going to give you five seconds to list another reason. Go.

[c]: I... I-I... I don't want to die...

mafia soldier: Well, [c], I'm sorry to say this, but I do. You're the last one left in this place, and if I kill you now, I'll finally see my mercenary pals again. [c], do you have any last words?

[c]: [sobbing] please tell my friends i loved them like a family...

mafia soldier: Affirmative. See you in Hell.

[BLAM. Down with [c]. Reconcile.]

[Realization. It's finally over. Ol' Faithful trips onto the floor. Ol' Faithful is gonna need to be adopted. Call the Machine from Heaven, possibly? Think about it later. Ow, my knees. Hiccup... finally. I... it's done.]

[Red mist fizzles out of Mafia Soldier's skin pores... or what's left of them.]

[A situation walks in.]

[D: Vanilla Townie]: Soldier??

[m: Vanilla Townie]: I... dude?

mafia soldier: I'm sorry, guys. They were a part of the Mafia, I had to. And now...

[Tears fall like rain.]

mafia soldier: I'm finally gonna see Tavish and the lads again. [hic]

[m]: No, wait! You gotta think about this shit, dude! What about us?!

mafia soldier: You're safe now. That's all that matters.

[The mist dissipates. A sack of potatoes, as it were. A smile plastered across the Tormented One's face. A final breath, and...]

[D]: ...he's gone.

[m]: let's go home, [D].

[Mission complete. A bright light, 'n'... Tavish.]

Demoman: Jane!

Soldier: TAVISH!!!

[Bear-hug.]

Heavy: Hello, Soldier. Welcome back.

Scout: Hey, Solly!

Soldier: [giggling] Hey, guys!

-

[Thus marks the (unfortunately non-canon) end of the Mafia Soldier. Battered, bruised... worth the struggles faced. Rest in peace.]

-

[alright. i hope y'all enjoyed that. i sure as hell did. i hope the poor guy doesn't realize that this one's non-canon, though. he's gonna get real sour. see you next post!]

#mafia soldier #The End (non canon) #nsfw: blood warning #nsfw: guns warning #nsfw: terrible situations warning #this was fun! can't wait for this to become canon in the future! :)

[guyveranimefan87-blog]

Guyver’s Book Recommendations #02

In recent years Pulp, or rather New Pulp is experiencing a very successful revival, both with re-releases of classic stories, like Doc Savage and The Shadow, or modern reboots of old characters like Green Lama or Black Bat, but also with completely new characters who, while based on the classic heroes, can stand on their own.

One of the most interesting ideas in New Pulp is certainly „Sovereign City Project” by Pro Se Productions. 

And what is it?

Well, it's a shared New Pulp universe populated by characters created by the best writers in the genre, like Barry Reese, Tommy Hancock, Derrick Ferguson, and Ron Fortier, allowing them for team-ups, crossovers and so on, kinda like MCU, but without added baggage of 50+ years of continuity and lore from the comics, and no set "canon" letting the creators to really let their imaginations run wild.

And I would like to present one of the flagship characters of the Sovereign City Universe...

„The Adventures of Gravedigger” by Barry Reese.

Despite being a huge fan of Barry Reese’s writing I was initially skeptical of „The Adventures of Gravedigger”.

I mean, his previous New Pulp heroes were at least in part based on the recognizable archetypes, with Lazarus Gray being cut from the same mold as Doc Savage and The Avenger, while The Peregrine was a part of the masked vigilante legacy started with The Shadow, The Spider and Batman.

But Gravedigger was a completely new and original character, having no classic Pulp ancestor, no previous legacy to lean on, which was a really bold move, since the whole New Pulp movement is based on the love that both writers and readers share for those old, nostalgic stories from the 30’s and 40’s.

The fact that Mr. Reese’s new character was also a woman, was even more risky.

I mean, when we think about, there were very few female Pulp characters, and most of them were either just archetypal damsels in distress to be saved by our dashing protagonists, or even more clichéd femme-fatales, who used their looks to charm men, like Domino Lady.

Still, curiosity had won, and I bought the first volume of “The Adventures of Gravedigger”, and was very pleasantly surprised, because Gravedigger quickly become one of my favorite New Pulp characters.

Our heroine is Charity Grace, a young woman from Sovereign City, born from the union of the poor prostitute and a patriarch of rich and powerful Grace family. Due to the fact that her father was afraid of a scandal, that might be caused by the fact that he sired an illegitimate child, he left his mistress and daughter, and pretended they never existed.

Because of that, after her mother’s death Charity was forced to steal to survive, and quickly became a part of Sovereign’s criminal underworld, filled with hatred and jealousy towards “perfect” Grace family, particularly her half-sister Samantha.

Goaded by her boyfriend, she attempts to blackmail her father, but that plan is soon stopped by one of Sovereign City’s heroes, an enigmatic adventurer Lazarus Gray. To rub some salt into the wound, her sister, Samantha Grace ends up working for the mysterious crime fighter’s organization “Assistance Unlimited”, soon becoming one of the city’s protectors, and gaining adoration, while Charity is left with nothing once again.

But then, one night everything changes.

Charity tries to rob the mansion of the rich, elderly antique collector, Joseph Goldman, but as she soon finds out, old man not only somehow knew she would attempt to rob him, but actually waited for her to do it.

Then, she is shot to death, and buried in the local cemetery. But it is not the end, but just a beginning.

Charity unexpectedly hears a mysterious Voice, that gives her an offer she can’t refuse. If she agrees to serve the mysterious entity for the next three years as an extension of it’s will, and a tool to punish evil, she would not only return to life, but also would be gifted with superhuman abilities, to help her with carrying on this mission.

There Is a catch however.

If during this three year period she would not atone from her past sins, she would die once again, and her soul would suffer an eternity of unspeakable torment and pain, without any chance of redemption.

She of course accepts and is resurrected as the latest incarnation of the ages-long legacy of Gravedigger. It turns out, that Joseph Goldman was also bearing the mantle of Gravedigger in his youth, and everything that happened to Charity during that night was an attempt to create a successor for himself.

Now, dressed in the distinct costume, and armed with an arsenal of deadly weapons and superhuman physical attributes newest Gravedigger becomes a symbol of fear in Sovereign City’s criminal underworld. But would she be able to redeem herself that way? And wouldn’t she lose herself among the bloodbath and violence?

Only time will tell…

“The Adventures of Gravedigger” not only does a great job with establishing a new, interesting heroine, but also subverts quite a lot of traditional Pulp tropes, while still retaining the spirits of beloved stories from 30’s and 40’s.

For example, most if not all Pulp heroes come from upper classes of the society, being either heirs of rich and influential families (Doc Savage, Green Lama, The Spider etc.), or self-made men whose talents and drive made them wealthy and powerful (The Avenger, The Shadow, Black Bat etc.).

This was of course a part of their charm, to make them more fabulous and impressive, but the fact stands. And, let’s be honest here, who would like to read about a blue-collar worker, or low-level clerk fighting crime, especially in the 30’s?

Charity on the other hand is a former criminal, and an illegitimate daughter of the prostitute who spent most of her life in poverty, struggling to survive. Because of that, when she suddenly gains access to Goldman’s vast fortune, and an opportunity to live in his lavish mansion she is quite overwhelmed, and more than a little uncomfortable.

In the old Pulps a character like her would at most be a hero’s sidekick, to act as his or hers source in the criminal circles, as it was done with Gary Brown from “Green Lama”, or various agents of The Shadow, but here she is a protagonist. It’s quite an unusual idea, but works really well, while adding originality to the character, differentiating her from the other heroes in the New Pulp genre.

And when we talk about companions, her aide and helper Mitchell also subverts quite lot of traditional tropes by himself.

At first glance he appears as just dumb muscle, described as huge, muscular black man with bald head, and intimidating presence, who works as Goldstein’s driver, bodyguard and servant. He is also revealed to be a former criminal whom previous Gravedigger spared and took under his wing.

Characters like that were also common in the original Pulps, since hero needed a non-white sidekick to be more “exotic” and interesting. Thus we got Tsarong, an old Tibetan monk acting as a servant for Green Lama, The Spider’s Sikh butler and sidekick Ram Sighn, or getting out of Pulps, Green Hornet’s driver and sidekick Kato.

To put it bluntly, just someone to show off how whites are superior to everyone, both in physical and mental abilities. Not to mention that most of those characters were exaggerated stereotypes, like African-Americans being portrayed only as dimwitted servants, butlers etc., that only spoke in broken, barely understandable English.

True, there were rare examples of non-Caucasian characters portrayed fairly and without utilizing racist stereotypes prevalent at the time, like Josh and Rosabel Newton from “The Avenger” stories, but such a portrayal of minorities were rarer than unicorns…

As I mentioned above, Mitchell initially looks like those characters, but it almost immediately proves to be a very wrong assumption.

As it turns out he is not only a well-spoken and educated, intelligent man, but also a lot more knowledgeable and experienced than Charity, who due to her circumstances never really got formal education. He is also an excellent judge of character, and soon enough becomes Charity’s emotional support and aide, curbing her more violent and suicidal tendencies.

Due to his years alongside Goldstein he is also a very capable crime fighter, well-versed in martial arts, a crack-shot, and an excellent driver. Actually, he is the one who trains Charity for her role as the newest Gravedigger, being both her instructor, sparring-partner and mentor.

The idea of Gravedigger mantle is also quite interesting, and rather original.

Due to the fact that numerous people taken up the role of Voice’s enforcer author can create and utilize other characters than just Charity, not only expanding his universe, but also showing how various people reacted to the fact they were resurrected as tools of supernatural being, who might or may not be God.

For example in the first volume of the series we glance on the Gravedigger of the late XVIII century, who clashes with the legendary Headless Horseman, and some of the exploits of Joseph Goldman during World War I are also mentioned.

It is kinda similar to the cult-classic comic book superhero The Phantom, with the title and costume being inherited, but when there it is based around members of Walker family, while Voice chooses people from different places and backgrounds.

Barry Reese himself also admitted that he was in part inspired by The Shadowman from Valiant Comics, as that particular hero knew when he was supposed to die, which in turn influenced his actions and character.

In “Adventures of Gravedigger” the motif of the deadline our heroine has to meet is also very prominent and influences characters greatly, which makes them even more interesting.

Charity herself, well aware that her time is precious practically lives with her mission, only making breaks to train and plan another missions, or when she is too wounded to go on. Her whole life centers around being Gravedigger, punishing the wicked, and fighting evil.

Her obsession makes her more withdrawn and disconnected from people, as well as more brutal and merciless.

Her friends try to get to her, try to make her consider her health and well-being, but it is not easy, as she still has problems with trust, and opening to others, due to her life on the streets…

Now, someone reading this may think that “The Adventures of Gravedigger” Is only about subversion of Pulp tropes, analyzing characters and whatnot, but it is not only that. In fact there is an abundance of fast, dynamic action, as well as thrilling adventures, just like in good old Pulps.

For example we get Charity / Gravedigger and her crew fighting an occultist calling himself Thanatos, who gained magical powers through the use of Necronomicon, investigating a murder mystery in the mansion known as the Hendry House, rumored to be cursed and connected with the legends of the dreaded Headless Horseman, and her team's struggle against the new contender for the title of most powerful criminal of Sovereign City, a mysterious figure calling himself Charon, as well as their conflict with the other heroes.

And that's just the first volume of the three...

So, if You like old school action, adventure, bit of horror, or want to see how to write a strong female protagonist without changing her into a empty, uninteresting Mary Sue, then give „The Adventures of Gravedigger” a chance.

#book recommendations #New Pulp #barry reese #Female protagonist #superhero #action #adventure #awesome