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niklaus shay wolfe
[TW: VIOLENCE, ABUSE, KIDNAPPING, MISTREATMENT OF CHILDREN.]
"break your sister's doll." growing up in the wolf household there were always a lot of rules that had to be remembered. the biggest and most important rule of all though was when dad said to do something, you did it without question. it was a right of passage, the eldest wolfe, the patriarch of the family would give his children tasks from the moment that they are old enough to understand them, each one ascending in cruelty and difficulty, each one meant to make you lose any and all shreds of remorse and guilt that you feel, piece by piece. the first task he gave you was breaking your sister's favorite doll. she took this doll every where, had named it, slept with it, it was like a piece of her, which was why you hesitated when he demanded this of you. you didn't want your sister to cry, didn't want her to be devastated at the loss of her favorite toy. you took longer than necessary and it earned you a swift slap to the back of your head. you were three. you didn't hesitate when he gave the command again, tears in your eyes from the sting you would surely feel on the back of your head for the next hour, you snapped that doll to pieces. you weren't allowed to apologize, you weren't allowed to show guilt, your sister wasn't allowed another doll.
"punch that kid in the face." you are seven and you're in school, but you aren't happy. you thought getting out of the house and away from your father would be a god send, but it wasn't. your father isn't the only terrible person in the world, he is only the worst man you have ever met, though you have been growing tougher every year and think this less and less as time passes. at this point you don't question the commands he gives you anymore, you just carry them out. it took less than four years for him to break you, though he doesn't see it that way. both school and your home life have their monsters, at home it is your father, at school it is a bully. he isn't so bad, he thinks you are weak but in truth you are far from it. you just know what getting into trouble would mean for you, so you never fight back. even when he the older boy sends you home with a black eye and a busted lip, you can't boast that 'they should see the other guy', because you didn't lay a finger on him. you had no idea that this would upset your father even more than actually fighting would have. the yelling that you endured, being told no son of his would be weak, that you should have pounded that kids face in like you had been taught to. he told you to fight him, and so the next day you did. you were never messed with again after that, not at school at least.
"steal that man's wallet". when the command came it sounded somewhat trivial, a lot less horrible than some of the other things that he had made you do in the past ten years of your life, or seven rather because he had only been ordering you around for that long. you had thought that it would be a piece of cake, you were over confident, thought the task was easy and that you were more than capable of completing it. it never occurred to you that this mark your father had set you on was in on the whole thing. you had been taught to pickpocket, bump into someone if you have to though a phenomenal criminal didn't need the distraction, life with two fingers so that your victim doesn't feel it, remain calm and casual as though you have done nothing wrong. it should have been a piece of cake, but it wasn't. the guy knew, he knew because he worked for your father. when you stuck he caught you, grabbed your wrist until it hurt, your eyes went wide with surprise as he had pulled back his fist in faux outrage. the trick had been on you, not him, the jib wasn't to steal a wallet but to take a beating. you didn't want to take a beating though. this man was three times your size, he was infinitely stronger, but you had slowly been losing your sense of fear. a fight commenced, you got your ass handed to you of course, but you handled your own, you didn't leave the thug unscathed, he'd never see out of his left eye again that was for sure.
"leave him within an inch of his life". by the age of fifteen the amount of bodily damage that you had inflicted upon others was surprisingly high, higher than it had a right to be. but then you are a wolfe, and wolves get their hands dirty. it was in your fifteenth year that you were inducted into your father's business, your families business. it isn't something you would have been proud of had you been an outsider looking in, but you thought back then that it was the greatest and happiest day of your life. a man was brought before you whom had trespassed against your father, your father handed the responsibility of punishing him over to you. the look of glee on your face was almost manic as your beat that man black and blue, his arms tied behind his back, useless, he couldn't even defend himself. you look back on it now disgusted with yourself really, disgusted that you enjoyed it so much, that you felt pride in doing it, that hurting him made you feel powerful. it never occurred to you to stop, you new that when your father deemed his pound of flesh paid that he would tell you to stop, after all he had said 'within an inch of his life', though you didn't quite know how to gauge that kind of thing yet. eventually your father raised his hand and you stopped mid kick, planting your foot back on the ground, the heap of a man lying at your feet barely moving, barely breathing, and yet you still saw nothing wrong with it, with what you had done, with your father, with your life. but you would.
"send them pieces of their child." in the beginning that hadn't been the order that you had been given. it started out far simpler than that. at seventeen you were tasked with kidnapping a child, the child of a family who owed your father everything that had and much much more apparently. despite the atrocities with which you knew your father to be capable, you didn't think he was capable of hurting another's child, not too badly at least. you befriended the kid quickly and swiped him of a playground one day while his mother was distracted. you had naively believed that your father would demand a ransom and then return the child unharmed. if you had known what he really had in store you don't think you would have taken that child. when you were told to start sending the boy back to his parents in pieces, bile had turned in your stomach and threatened to rise up your throat, but you swallowed it down. appalled you tried to make your father reconsider, but that only earned you a blow to the face and an earful about never disobeying or questioning him, and how he had thought you had known better by now. but that was just it, you wanted to know better, but this, this crossed a line in your book. you were not going to cut off the fingers and toes of a nine year old boy. you couldn't do it, you wouldn't do it. your father was a monster, he might have made you into a monster, but you wouldn't allow him to make you that monster. you got your ass handed to you for letting the child go, but your conscious was at least clean of that act, and it was a turning point for you.
kick boxing. it started when you were five, though you always question why it didn't start when you were three or four, you never asked. at first it was short tutoring sessions with your father, he taught you the basics in his spare time. you didn't like it at first, but that didn't matter to him of course. a wolfe is not weak, a wolfe knows how to fight, a wolfe can defend themselves and those they care about, a wolfe needs discipline. so it continued, eventually your father sending you to a gym every other day of the week to be taught to how to fight. eventually you stood in that ring with confidence, besting men twice your size and twice your age because you knew if you didn't, you would only get it worse when you got home.
swimming. unlike kick boxing, swimming was something you liked fairly well, or rather you had at lest liked the water before your father had thrown you into a fifteen feet deep pool. you panicked at first, how could you not? he had flung you into the air out into the middle of the pool and you had never swam before. this he did at the age of four. why he didn't do this when you were younger, or better yet just enrolled you in lessons, you aren't sure, but you can guess. it is your theory that your father taught you to swim this way to violently make you abandon any and all fears, it was a test and a show and you thought you were going to die because of it. you almost didn't make it all the way back up above water. you had panicked, lost air and time and it took you a few precious moments before you found a rhythm to your frantic movements. things grew fuzzy two feet from the surface but when you broke it the lungfuls of air you desperately gulped in had never felt so good.
wood carving. not every hobby that you have was sanctioned by your father, some things had to be for you and you alone. that was what whittling was for you, a secret hobby, a secret pleasantry that was just for you. it started on a camping trip that you took with your mother and your siblings, a trip you were sure was only taken out of convenience of some criminal activity your father needed to handle or trouble he needed to get away from. either way you had time to yourself, no father to watch your every move, you stole off into the woods with your pocket knife and when you got bored of walking you began whittling into a fallen bough. you were horrible at first, everything you created was crude and rough around the edges. but there was something about cutting out chunks of this thing that had once been whole and turning it into what you wanted it to be that resonated with you. now you have a small chest filled with little figurines that you have made, everything from chess pieces to miniature busts that show the likeness of the people around you. this isn't something you share though, even now.
piano. another hobby you took up that had nothing to do with your dear old dad, no this one was something you picked up at the behest of your mother. she wanted you to be able to do something that was beautiful, something that didn't cause pain but evoked feelings, something that you wouldn't turn you dark, something you could reveal in and feel as though you weren't. she was right to push this on you, it wasn't like anything your father made you do or anything you chose for yourself. this wasn't destroying, this was creating, and it made you feel completely different all the things your father had you doing. playing the piano is something you learned to love, though it didn't take you long to do so, it's something you still do, something that grounds you in your darkest moments and reminds you that there is light.
broken arm. for once something that happened to you that wasn't the fault of your father. no the broken arm you received at the age of nine was at the hands of your brother. you don't know if it was something he was made to do by your father, though you wouldn't put it past him to have done that. the two of your were climbing a tree together and had finally gotten to a point where you both decided to you were going to stop, but before you could climb up onto the large branch you were clinging to your brother kicked you in the head. you aren't sure if it was an accident or not, but it caused you to fall to the ground, your arm breaking your fall, bone snapping under your weight. it was more painful than anything you had ever felt up until that point.
shot in the arse. some people might think it might be funny to get shot in the ass, it's all fat, it won't hurt, probably the best spot to get shot in ever. no. just no. you know better. again you don't know if it was an accident or not, you don't think that it was, but you have no proof to dispute either side. when you were sixteen, your father took you and your brother and sister hunting. this was nothing new for any of you, you had all be doing it for years now and were all pretty capable hunters, even going so far as to challenge each other to see who could bring home the biggest buck. your father swears he didn't see you, that he didn't mean to, but your father never does anything by accident. you remember thinking that he never did punish you for that failing grade you brought home on a test the week before. perhaps getting shot in the ass was it. another trip to the hospital under your belt, and it was no fun explaining to the doctors how you managed to get a bullet in you left butt cheek.
glass in your palm. this was a mistake of your own making, a momentary increase in clumsiness that led you to having to get seven stitches in the palm of your hand. now you should have been more careful, and at this point you should have been granted frequent flier miles at the hospital, as many times as you've been in there. it's amazing your parents never had cps called on them, but you are sure that has something to do with your father threatening ever doctor who has ever seen you to keep their mouth shut. in all fairness though your father wasn't the reason for all your visits, and by the time this injury occurred you were grown, as this one happened recently. a mishap with a flying bottle of alcohol and the voice of a familiar pretty girl were at fault for his new scar of yours.
lorie wolfe. in truth your mother is an angel, and you don't understand how she wound up with a devil like your father. but some how she manages to be the light in your family, the kindest, sweetest, gentlest, woman you have ever met. in no way however does that mean that she is weak. far from it actually. your mother has an endearing strength, an encouraging and uplifting kind of strength. she is the type of woman who makes you believe in yourself because of how much she believes in you. she is every bit as tough as your father, in both some of the same ways and many different ones. she will go toe to toe with him, give him a run for his money, argue and throw hands with him if she has to. she doesn't often interfere with his plans for you and your siblings, but sometimes she guides him to making better choices, she guides all of you to doing better. it was she who convinced your father not to "put you down" pretty much after the you let that kid go. it was lorie who told your father that this wasn't the life you wanted or needed, coaxed him into allowing you to go into law school, persuaded him that who would be a better lawyer to get your guys out of trouble than someone in the family. she's saved you from your father on more than one occasion but that time she saved your life.
conrad wolfe. a name that if you know enough, strikes fear into your very soul. most people don't know enough though. those who do know to fear your father's name, don't know the man like you do. they don't know what he is truly capable of because if they did they would fear him even worse. lucky for you he got rid of most of your fear, you feat him out of necessity, to be cautious, because you know, now more than ever, that he would do away with you, but you don't fear him as much as outsiders do. perhaps you should though, perhaps you are the idiot for which they speak when they say that people who don't fear something are either brave or stupid. you might be stupid, you don't know. it is what it is though. your father is not a good man, and he created you in his image. he made you what you are today, he made you a less perfect version of himself, but you don't want to be him, and perhaps that was the biggest blow to your father's ego. you never thought anything could hurt the man, but you did, and something in you likes that you did that. you are more like him than you know, more dark than light, but you're trying to right that, right all the wrong he made you do and put you through. he doesn't think you can, but that only makes you want to try harder.
be better. you never thought that you would ever tell you father no, that you would go against an order he gave you. telling you to hurt a child though, that was too far for you, it was the thing you couldn't do, it was your breaking and turning point. you knew then if you did what he asked there was no turning back, that your heart would be black and worthless like his. how he manages to love your mother is beyond you, you're sure that she found him at a time when he was still capable of feeling, of loving, but you don't think he can do that anymore. you don't want to wind up with out anything good in your life. so you told him no. you made a very dangerous choice to do better, to be better than him. secretly you think it was what your mother wanted for you, after all she convinced your father not to disown you or worse kill you. now you are in your last few years of law school and though it's been a rocky road the end is in sight. you just have to avoid getting sucked back down into the depths of darkness by your father, who would probably like nothing more than to break your resolve to be better than him, to ruin you, to make you see just how alike the two of you are.
mor'du from brave
occupation: mafia child, law student, bar tender
pronouns: he + him
birthday: october 31st
face claim: dominic sherwood
First of all, welcome back Ellejay!! I'm so happy you're back! Second of all, omg poor Nik!!! I love his development! From obeying his father and enjoying the terrible things he had to do to realising what a monster he was becoming and how terrible his father was! This app is such an interesting read! I'm really interested in seeing how he redeems himself and works to be better over time! What a stand out character! Welcome back and don't forget your claims!