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olwrathie · 2 years

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Help Me. -Faith

Chapter Two: The Time has Come For Judgment

Chp 1

***Warnings: spoilers for Far Cry 5 campaign, vulgar language, depictions of violence, and some descriptions of abuse and manipulation.

Word Count: ~2,950+

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Far Cry 5, they belong to Ubisoft. The only characters that are my own are Eve and my OC Deputy. Aside from in-game dialogue, all writing is my own. Unless otherwise stated, pictures are my own.

It didn’t take long for all hell to break loose once the doors of the church peeled open, revealing the cuffed Joseph to his flock. The ambient chatter of his followers, the tires of an approaching truck squealing to a stop, some dogs barking in the distance, all of these noises filled the small church. The voices of the cultists sounded irritated as they chatted amongst themselves in the background. However, they were soon filtered out as Deputy Hudson approached the group.

“We gotta get the fuck outta here,” Hudson exclaimed, her voice soft. Her anxiety was evident in the tone of her voice, as well as her hand that rested on her holstered pistol.

“Marshal, you take point.” Whitehorse ordered.

“On it.” Marshal stated with eagerness, and with no hesitation as he stepped forward to guide the group.

Eve couldn’t hear any of the conversation that took place right next to her. Faded blue eyes remained focused on the men and women that were staring at the group of officers. They all had looks of betrayal on their faces, and it broke Eve’s heart. Despite everything, Eve still found herself caring for Joseph’s followers, and she continued to feel protective of them. So to see them looking at her with such distrust and sorrow, it was too much.

“Stay close to me,” Whitehorse whispered in Eve’s ear, gently pulling her closer to him. Eve responded with a small nod.

The group started to walk through the compound. The voices of the cult members surrounding the officers grew louder as the tension began to grow. Eve kept her eyes on the ground, unable to look up at the people surrounding them. She struggled to keep pace with the group. Especially with Joseph’s eyes burning a hole in the back of her head, which only made her even more nervous and caused her breath hitched in her throat. Whitehorse picked up on this discomfort, hugging her closer and resting a hand on the small of her back. A simple, yet mildly protective gesture that aided in calming Eve’s nerves. Albeit slightly.

“Stay on the path, Rookie.” Whitehorse called to the officer behind him, in reference to the path the Marshal had taken. And perhaps something else.

Eve tried her best to ignore the cries of Joseph’s followers as they were guided to the helicopter. Most of them were focused on Joseph, dropping to their knees as they cried out in anger and anguish as their leader and savior was led away in cuffs. But there were a few hidden cries for Faith. Her supporters watched in sorrow as she willingly walked away from them and the Project with her old coworkers.

“Back up, back up,” Burke exclaimed as he rounded the corner. He swiftly shoved one of the bystanders when they got too close to him.

“Burke!” Whitehorse shouted, glancing down at the person the Marshal gave not even a second glance at.

“Everyone, keep back!” Burke exclaimed, seemingly unphased by the Sheriff’s tone, nor the crowd that was getting increasingly agitated.

“Rookie, keep up.” Hudson urged, a quick glance over her shoulder revealed her anxious eyes to the Rookie Deputy.

“I am a Federal Marshal! I am ordering you to stand back!” Burke exclaimed.

Eve glanced up from the ground as the helicopter came into view. A gasp escaped Eve as the Marshal staggered, having been hit by a rock thrown by one of Joseph’s followers. Burke quickly regained his composure, but the commotion had already begun. Each of the officers, aside from the Rookie, moved to grab their weapons.

“Burke!” Earl exclaimed, ��Weapons out, weapons out!”

Whitehorse pulled Eve behind him as he unholstered his pistol. He turned his back to the chopper, holding the girl behind him as he turned to face the rowdy crowd. Hudson quickly stepped in as Whitehorse and Burke swapped places. Hudson tugged Eve to her chest, holding her head down as she guided her friend to the helicopter. Trying to get her out of the way of the riot that was forming.

Eve flinched, ducking down when two loud gunshots sounded behind her. However, she wasn’t given a chance to recover as Hudson grabbed Eve’s bicep and pushed her up into the back of the helicopter Eve sat down in the middle seat, her hands trembling as she desperately tried to buckle her seatbelt. A normally simple task made difficult as Eve attempted to drown out the screaming and gunshots in the background.

The anxiety Eve currently felt made her feelings from 15 minutes ago feel like nothing. This feeling was unlike anything she had experienced before. She couldn’t focus on anything anyone was saying. Their words entered her ears, she could hear them. But the words were trapped by an invisible barrier as they entered her brain, making them sound like the speaker was mumbling a foreign language.

Eve’s heart pounded, and she felt as though she could hear the blood that pumped through her veins. Her eyes darted around frantically, barely even registering that everyone had piled into the helicopter, and that it was slowly lifting off the ground. Only realizing it when she saw the three officers surrounding her feigning off the Peggies that were so desperately trying to reach herself and the man across from her. The man she did not dare look up at.

A loud thud, followed by the shrill beeping of the helicopter's controls were the first sounds Eve was able to comprehend. They started muffled, and slowly became more and more clear. So much so that Eve brought her hands up to cover her ears to try and block the overwhelming sound. However, there was not much time for Eve to process these sounds, as the feeling of her stomach climbing into her throat distracted her. A feeling caused by the helicopter that was now spinning out toward the ground.

Eve’s hands quickly came down and gripped the sides of her seat. The only reaction she had as the officers around her screamed as they plummeted. Eve, on the other hand, remained silent. As did Joseph. The two having finally made eye contact, and a new sense of dread swarmed Eve as she saw Joseph’s calm and smug demeanor. He wanted this.

~~~

Loud sobs filled the helicopter, reaching the ears of the semi-conscious officers as they slowly came too. The Rookie was the first to gain her bearings. However, her head was still pounding as blood rushed to it, but she still managed to carefully turn to face the source of the sobs. A frown pulling on her face at the sight.

Eve was beside herself, fumbling helplessly with her seatbelt. Wanting nothing more than to break free in time to escape the singing voice that was getting closer and closer by the second. No matter how feeble her attempts to escape were, the thought of ending up back in Joseph’s hands made her even more hysterical. She should have known this was too good to be true, that escaping Joseph’s clutches was impossible, and now she would have to face his wrath.

The Rookie couldn’t help but feel pity for Eve. She could see how desperate the girl was to escape, but that Eve was too hysterical to actually succeed. Even if she did break free of the makeshift bond that was the seatbelt, the approaching voice of Joseph Seed would surely catch her. But, in hopes to potentially save all of them, the Deputy found herself desperately reaching for the headset that dangled tauntingly in the middle of the helicopter. The frantic voice of the dispatcher only made the tension rise, especially as her voice pleaded with any of the officers to respond to her cries.

“Come in…this is Nancy, is everything okay? Over.”

“Please, are you there? Are you there? Are you there, Sheriff?”

“Deputy Hudson, if you’re there please pick up.”

Nancy, that was her name. The Rookie had met her briefly during her tour of the police precinct. A nice, middle-aged woman, but the deputy couldn’t remember too many details at the moment. She tried to focus hard on Nancy’s familiar voice, a feeble attempt to drown out Eve’s sobs and Joseph’s voice. The deputy tried even more feverently to grab at the headset, not even sure what she would say if she achieved her task. A simple help would do. And she was so close. But then again, so was Joseph.

“Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound…”

“Deputy Pratt? Are you there? Are you there?”

Nancy’s voice was a beacon of light, the only one the deputy could see. Unfortunately, that light was fading as Joseph’s voice became unmistakably closer. This was it, now or never. The deputy made one final stretch to grab the headset. A cry of joy almost escaped her as she finally grasped the headset in her hand. However, this hope was gone in an instant as Joseph’s hand latched around her wrist. His hand squeezed tightly, making the girl wince in pain as he pressed uncomfortably on the bone. The deputy released the headset, staring at her captor as the headset once more swung back and forth. Joseph’s eyes, covered by the now cracked yellow aviators, bore into hers. His gaze, as well as his singing slowing down so much that he spoke the words to the haunting song, it sent chills down the Deputy’s spine.

“That saved a wretch, like me.”

Eve’s sob’s increased. Even with Joseph so close, she was trying desperately to break free. Knowing the attempts were essentially useless, Eve wanted nothing more than to get out. But neither Joseph nor the Deputy acknowledged the girl or her attempts to escape, they only stared at each other.

“Earl, come in. Over,” Nancy’s voice broke as she begged someone to answer, “Please, are you there? Is somebody there? Please.”

The Deputy began to tug on her arm, and Joseph released her wrist as a result. The headset fell from her grasp and was left to swing back and forth behind Joseph. Still, Joseph was not ready to let the Deputy go. He reached his hand out and grasped her collar tightly. The two stared intently at each other as Joseph pulled the girl close. She could feel his breath on her face, which only further increased her urge to pull back.

“I told you that God wouldn’t let you take me.” Joseph whispered. His hot, stale breath hit the deputy’s face as he spoke.

“Please. I need to know what’s going on.” Nancy's voice exclaimed in the background.

Joseph kept his grip on the deputy’s collar as he turned to grab the headset. His surprisingly soft gaze turned back to the deputy as he brought the headset to his mouth.

“Dispatch,” Joseph spoke.

“Oh, God,” Nancy exclaimed.

“Everything is just fine here. No need to call anyone.” Joseph reassured.

The deputy felt as if she was going mad. Here she was, in a tipped over helicopter, having just been in an accident that happened as a direct result of the man she just arrested. And she still found herself almost believing the words he spoke. Even with his hand around her collar, his soft words and eyes made the deputy feel she could trust him, a thought she quickly shook from her thoughts.

“Yes, Father. Praise be to you.” Nancy answered after a moment.

Joseph barely acknowledged this statement, almost as if he was expecting that answer from the dispatcher. His gaze remained fixated on the deputy as he released this headset. Once again, Joseph leaned in towards the girl, also tugging on her collar to ensure she couldn’t pull back.

“No one is coming to save you.” Joseph whispered.

The deputy watched in horror as Joseph released the grip on her collar. His piercing eyes finally broke the gaze, and the deputy found herself blinking a few times. When had she stopped blinking? Her eyes felt like sandpaper, watering slightly as she followed Joseph’s gaze. Joseph moved toward Eve, his gaze now on her. The deputy looked over at her, Eve’s eyes squeezed tight and knuckles white as she held tightly onto her seatbelt.

Eve’s eyes finally opened as Joseph tenderly brushed his knuckles over her tear-stained cheek. They were a bright shade of blue, which made Joseph frown and pull his hand back. The deputy noted how he pulled away with disgust, as if he had touched a dirty dish with crusty food. The deputy was shocked, and very much confused by this reaction. Joseph’s disgusted reaction was puzzling, all because Eve opened her eyes.

“No- please.” Eve sobbed as Joseph unbuckled her.

The Rookie watched as Joseph placed a hand on the back of Eve’s neck, with the other sliding behind her. The seat belt holding Eve in place eventually came loose, and Joseph caught her with ease. He held her tightly to his chest, carrying her bridal style out of the helicopter. As Joseph bent over to set Eve down, a truck came to a stop. A handful of Joseph’s followers piled out of the truck, grins on their faces as praises left their mouths, all due to the fact that their Father and their Faith were safe.

Eve didn’t feel safe. All Joseph’s flock saw was their Father beaming at them, as he rested a gentle hand on Faith’s neck. But what Eve felt was Joseph’s hand hidden beneath her hair, holding the scruff of her neck. A small sob fell from her lips as she realized she was once again trapped, and completely at the mercy of the man she just tried to run from for the second time.

“Enough, Faith. You are safe, it’ll be okay. Joseph stated, his voice soft as he attempted to save face.

Eve took in a deep breath in an attempt to stop her sobs. The Father’s voice was calming, and his flock was none the wiser. The grip Joseph had on Eve’s neck was meant to control her. A silent threat to her to behave and be silent, or she would face the consequences later.

After what felt like forever, Joseph finally let go. A red imprint left on the skin as he released it. The only reason Joseph let go was to address his flock. Stepping up onto the hood of the truck, Joseph’s gaze immediately fell on her. His intense stare was enough to scare the girl into complying. Even though the Bliss was pretty much gone from her system, and Eve was slowly regaining control.

Eve didn’t pay attention in the slightest to Joseph’s ranting. Her mind was elsewhere. To be exact, it was focused on the officers in the helicopter about 15 feet away. Joseph noticed her eyes continuously darting back and forth between him and the people stuck. She wanted so badly to help the officers, her friends, but she knew doing so would have consequences. Taking one last somber look, Eve turned her attention away from the helicopter, and focused on Joseph as he spoke to his followers.

“And these,” Joseph stated, pointing at the helicopter, “The harbingers of doom will see the truth. Begin the reaping!”

Chills shuddered down Eve’s spine at Joseph’s tone. Arm held above him as he commanded those around him to attack the officers in the helicopter. Eve bit her tongue, wanting to urge them to stop, and try and save her friends that were struggling to break free. Before she could think more on this, a firm hand wrapped around her biceps. And Eve found herself being tugged to Joseph’s bare chest.

“This,” Joseph paused as he whispered in her ear, “This is what happens when you disobey me. Your friends are being taken, and there is nothing you can do.”

Eve blinked back tears as she watched Joseph’s men drag her friends from the helicopter. Joey was first, twisting and kicking at the men who carried her. Next out was Earl, followed quickly by Staci. They were swiftly dragged away, all of them resisting their captors, but to no avail. As the men reached in to grab the last two remaining, the fire engulfed the entrance, pushing the two cultists back.

“Let them burn, this is God’s will,” Joseph called out to the men who glanced back at him, “This is their punishment.”

There was a moment of silence as the group watched the helicopter, Eve felt tears finally slid down her cheeks as she watched the helicopter burn. She prayed, wanting those trapped inside to survive, and hopefully escape. They didn’t deserve this fate. They weren’t sinners, they were just doing their jobs. It wasn’t their fault Joseph had an arrest warrant out on him.

After a few moments, a loud thud was heard, followed quickly by a second thud. Except this one was followed by a shadow disappearing into the forest. Eve recognized the back of the female rookie deputy, who had ducked down to dodge the bullets that began to whiz past her. Eve’s prayers had been answered.

Eve had to shove down her excitement at the deputy’s escape. Unfortunately, Joseph picked up on this and tightened his grip on her arm. As hismen took off into the woods in pursuit of the Deputy, Joseph pulled Eve’s arm and shoved her into the passenger seat of the truck. He reached across her, buckling her seat belt. This made Eve feel as though she was a child who just disobeyed her parent’s in the grocery store. And as Joseph leaned back, he cupped Eve’s chin with his hand and forced her gaze.

“Behave, and maybe I’ll consider being more forgiving for your actions today.” Joseph growled.

#far cry #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfic #oc faith seed #fanfiction #fanfic #joseph seed #jacob seed #john seed #faith seed #hope county #edens gate #fc5 #fc5 fandom

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theepisceswriter · 3 years

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Doing dirty things w/ AOT characters while you two most definitely shouldn’t be (Reiner, Erwin, Zeke, Levi)

A/N: my faithful stoned thot anon, shoutout to you for this request and I hope this was something like you were imagining in your mind. I know you only asked for simple mundane tasks, but I wanted to be extra and include more situations. I can’t wait to work on the other ones you sent me !

Synopsis: Basically, you’re trying to do a task that requires a lot of your attention or you to be silent (like on the phone, out to eat with friends, etc), but your partner really really needs some attention in that moment. I suck at descriptions sorry 🥴 If you see any typos no u didn’t, but really I was too lazy to proofread.

TW: Modern AU, hehe naughtiness obviously, choking for Zeke, also embarrassment, fembodied!reader, 18+, MINORS DNI!

REINER BRAUN: Movie night with friends

Reiner just couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. The first sight of you in your silky pajama shorts and this man’s thoughts were going crazy watching you parade around the house as you grabbed the snacks and needed materials for tonight’s movie night with some of you guys’ friends. Luckily the fabric of his pajama pants were loose enough to hide the growing boner in his pants, but of course he made it known to you by approaching you from behind and pressing it against your ass so you could feel just how hard you had made him simply by looking pretty.

His hands began to roam all over your body, stealing a grope of your breast, and his mouth attached to your neck, taking breaks in between kisses to tell you how good you look and how much you riled him up. As good as it all felt, Pieck and Porco were only right down the street, so you took his hands off of your body with promises of making him feel better later in the night once they had left. You’re lucky he doesn’t like quickies like that and prefers to take his time with you or else he would’ve taken you right there up against that counter chile.

Pieck and Porco finally arrive and what was supposed only be one movie turned into two, and now here you were snuggled up under Reiner on a completely different couch than Porco and Pieck while they flipped through a catalogue on the television looking for a new movie to start up; Reiner growing more and more impatient as the minutes went on. The constant caressing on your thigh and pinches he would give your nipples every now and then giving that away completely.

You got tired of fighting his advances off a long time ago and part of you wanted him to continue, to see how far he would actually go, because truth is you wanted him just as much as he wanted you right now. You were just a lot better at hiding it.

It was halfway through the movie that he finally decides to make a drastic move, moving you to a position where your back was pressed against his chest and tapping your hips, signifying for you to raise them so he could pull your shorts down to your thighs.

“Sit still for the rest of the night and I’ll reward us both so good once they leave.” He’d whisper in your ear. The only warning you’d get before he’s slowly easing his cock into you careful not to stretch you out too much, but the wetness that accumulated between your legs all night long makes it so you swallow him completely. A shocked moan leaving both of your lips, but luckily being silenced by the action scene on the tv; both Porco and Pieck too into it to even pay attention to the two of you.

So desperately you wanted to swirl your hips up against you, create any sort of friction to make his cock hit that spot in your soft velvety walls that left you clenching and squealing and him growling into your ears, but instead you had to be as still as possible while cockwarming him. Not being too careful would surely draw the attention of the other two, but Reiner still tested the waters every now and then by shifting every so often on purpose to cause movement.

He was even able to draw a weird moan out of you once that had Porco and Pieck looking over at you like you were crazy, questioning if you were okay which you had no choice but to reply yes to. Barely able to get that out because the feeling of his cock throbbing inside of you mixed with your walls clenching around him was a whole sensation on its own.

“Careful, you don’t want them knowing that I’m balls deep in you right now would you? Or would a slut like you enjoy that; them knowing that your pussy is swallowing my cock whole right now?”

Reiner is degrading during sex sometimes and you cannot tell me otherwise #sorrynotsorry.

And when he said the two of you would be staying like this the whole night until they left he absolutely meant it. After that little moaning incident he surprisingly acted normal the whole night, like the two of you weren’t even doing what you were doing underneath the cover. Knowing how torturous it must be for him to deny you the skin to skin contact and hip bucking you needed from him.

ERWIN SMITH: In a restaurant surrounded by friends

You never thought Erwin to be the bold type to try something out in public with you. The closest thing the two of you have done to it was a quick quickie in his office once with you pressed against the window of the skyscraper building it was located in, but even then you could feel the anxiety in his muscles as he pressed himself up against you; scared of an assistant or important business partner to come barging in on the two of you.

So you can imagine the shock on your face when you were spending the night out with friends at a restaurant, preoccupied with listening to Levi’s horror stories at his tea shop when you felt the ghostly tingles of Erwin’s fingers trail up on your thigh. A hand on your knee was nothing, something he had done plenty of times as a small sign of PDA, but this was different. You looked over to him with a questioned look in your eyes, but his kept his eyes straight and responded to you physically by pressing his thumb against the cloth that separated his finger from your clit.

Almost immediately you choked on the spit going down your throat which garnered the attention from everyone else at the table asking if you were alright. Everyone but Erwin turned to you and if they were truly paying attention that would’ve been a major sign that something was up, but your quick, “I’m okay!” Response had them off your back in an instance and only edged Erwin on more, fingers pushing your panties to the side as he continued on.

The food in front of you hadn’t been touched in around 10 mins since you found yourself full before you were able to finish it all, but you had to pick up your fork and abruptly take a bite of of it when you felt Erwin’s long fingers plunge into you with ease from your wetness and curl up into you; the metal between your teeth the best attempt you had at covering up your moans.

You swear you saw a slight smirk on his lips when you glanced over at him because he’s a menace to society like that.

His hands moved so languidly inside of you hitting all the right spots and pressing down on the sensitive parts of you that always guaranteed a reaction out of you. While also simultaneously still rubbing your clit with his thumb in wide circles, enjoying every twist and turn he saw your face do as you tried desperately to hold your moans in.

At one point, to mess with you even more, he leaned in and whispered into your ear, “You think all these people know that your cunt is clenching around my fingers about to cum?” No one else heard him but you, but it definitely drew the attention of Levi who threw a confused look your way. To which you could only reply to with a smile and awkward chuckle that almost broke out into a moan because Erwin thought it would be a good idea to speed up his fingers.

You didn’t care how obvious it looked anymore, your teeth found comfort in the skin of his arm to stifle moans and your fingers had a death grip on his thighs as your orgasm hit you like a wave. Leaving you with nothing to do but grind your hips down into his fingers slowly to not draw attention as you rode out his orgasm. His fingers were covered in your slick as he pulled them off of you and instead of being discreet and wiping them on his pants or even your dress, he picked up a small dessert off his plate and turned to you. Feeding it to you and sticking his fingers a little too far in your mouth so you can clean your own orgasm off of your fingers. His thumb going between his own lips once he took his fingers out of your mouth and sucking on it gently. “That was delicious.” He would state, never breaking eye contact with you.

The tent in his dressy slacks gave away all the excitement he was feeling on the inside as he watched you squirm in your seat while he did something so naughty to you in public. He couldn’t take it anymore, placing his share of the bill on the table and excusing the both of you for the night before going around and saying your goodbyes. No one seemed to notice anything, except for when you went to Levi to give him a goodbye hug and he whispered in your ear, “Next time get a room or go to the bathroom you freaks.” You totally weren’t embarrassed and didn’t leave the restaurant with warm cheeks.

ZEKE JAEGER: During a zoom meeting

First off, sexy time stuff aside, Zeke is a menace to society and always interrupting your zooms. Whether it’s him barging into the room and asking a question like “Did you eat the last bagel?” While you’re unmuted or walking behind you with his shirt off while you have you camera on. You will never know a peaceful smooth sailing zoom meeting with Zeke in the house.

But you were immune to it at this point and he was a little too immune and comfortable with messing with you while you were in them. But hey, you couldn’t blame him! You looked all too good to him while you laid in the bed on your stomach in one of his band tees and nothing else while you payed attention to the boring lecture happening on your laptop.

Once he realized that your camera was off his hands were on you immediately, rubbing up and down your legs to signify to you that he was in a mood while he made his way on the bed behind you.

“You can’t just be walking around the house all sexy like this and expect me not to pounce on you.”

You want to say something snarky and remarkable back, but a distraction from your boring ass class is exactly what you needed. So instead of protesting this time around, you arched your back so your ass was nearly up to his face to which he replied with playfully slapping you on it and even taking a nibble of your cheek. And because you’re a menace to society you run your own hand along your clothed slit and moving your panties out of the way to put it on display for him.

“I could really use some distracting right now.” Say less, this man’s mouth is on your clit in an instant, devouring you like you’re his first meal of the day. Your hips instinctively grinding down against his tongue as he moved his focus to sucking on your clit at a pace that left you ass up face down on the bed moaning like a pornstar. Never mind his beard scraping against your thighs and possibly leaving a rash there later for you to deal with. It adds a nice touch of pain to your pleasure.

So caught up into the pleasure warming up your lower stomach, you don’t even notice your teacher calling on you until Zeke reaches out and taps on the keyboard to move your attention back to the zoom in front of you, his mouth still working magic on your clit; a mixture of his spit and your juices trailing down his chin. The site is enough to make you cum but you’re forced to divert your eyes away from it as you unmute yourself, quickly asking her to repeat the question, going back on mute before they can hear the slurping noises that Zeke obnoxiously made louder once you unmuted.

“I’m going to kill you.” “Pay attention to school sweetheart before I stop completely. Education comes first!” What an asshole, but despite the joking tone of his voice you know he’d stop in a heartbeat just to mess with you and you’re too close to an orgasm for him to up and quit like that.

From the way your hips move sloppily against his face he can tell that you’re close, but once the teacher repeats the question at you to answer he pulls away completely seemingly to cut you some slack. But, surprise, he only moves his mouth away to replace it with his cock, sliding into you with ease and thrusting into you at a steady pace that has you moan loudly into the microphone on accident.

His face lights up with a smug expression and smile, the embarrassment on your cheeks making him pick up his pace and turning him on in a way. “Now your whole class is going to know that you were getting fucked by me. Too busy getting your hole pounded to even pay attention to the lesion. What a dirty little slut, they’re probably talking about you right now as we speak.”

You’re at a loss of words, not only because of embarrassment but because you can barely form a sentence from the way Zeke is pounding into you so ruthlessly from behind. His hand even coming forward and grabbing at your neck to balance himself against the bed while on his knees.

Your morning with him is far from over and the embarrassment from this zoom is going to last with you forever.

LEVI ACKERMAN: On an important phone call

I know Levi Ackerman with his hands around our necks really get us going and the thought of dom him fucking us from behind while on the phone with our boss makes us feel butterflies in our stomachs....BUT the thought of sub Levi whimpering and having to put his phone on mute while discussing business with someone because you have his cock halfway down your throat, is an equally as hot image.

He would glance at you from over his phone and let out a silent “What are you doing?” And make a faint shooing away motion in the air to make you leave, but he doesn’t want you to leave. You know that and he knows that which is why when you went to unbuckle his pants he gladly let you, hips even raising slightly so you can pull them down enough to let his cock and balls free from the restraints of his underwear and pants.

It was such a sudden and rash decision on your end that he wasn’t even hard at all when you pulled him out, but one lick from the base of his cock to the tip of it is enough to make it stand tall. Warranting a deep intake of air that has the person on the other end of the line asking if he was okay. Between the embarrassment from nearly being caught and the pleasure exploding in his lower half from how good you’re working your mouth, his cheeks are flushed with a bright pink color.

“Do you want me to stop” “no, no, keep going, please.”

He’s so needy and close to that sweet release already, the excitement from doing something so naughty while the person on the other end of the phone has no idea has his senses in an overload. Even the broken ‘Y-Yes’s that have to leave his lips every time he unmutes his phone strikes an excited nerve in him that he didn’t know he had; wishing he could moan as freely as he could to show off how good you make him feel, but he bites back those moans with his teeth. Instead opting for a number of praises when he can.

“You look so pretty on your knees in front of me with your cock in my mouth.” “You make me feel so so good, you don’t even know how good I feel right now because of you.” “Keep that up and I’m going to cum.”

Eyes closing shut and breath picking up the closer he gets. His hand even coming down to move your head at a pace that feels godly around his cock.

Usually you would tease and pull away altogether when he did this, reminding him that he couldn’t be too needy, but you would be lying if you said this didn’t have just as much of affect on him as it did on you, thighs clenching together with each bob of your head and moan that left his lips that he couldn’t quite bite back.

He’s an incoherent mess at the end, lips not even able to move together to form sentences and his hips bucking up wildly into your throat to release his load down your throat. His hips still bucking up slightly even after he came because it just felt that good. His mind was so clouded with pleasure that he didn’t even notice the person on the phone had hung up a long time ago, something he would have to deal with later but that proved helpful right now.

“I hope you don’t think that this was it.” Oops, now you awoke the dominant side of Levi’s switch personality and he’s definitely not letting you off the hook for this one.

#Stallion don’t say ‘menace to society’ a million times in a post challenge #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot smut #aot imagines #reiner braun smut #reiner braun x reader #erwin smith smut #erwin smith x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #Spicy.#zeke jaeger x reader #zeke Jaeger smut

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Note

WOAH WOAH is your MHA reqs open?? So I wanted to request a Todoroki x Reader Angst where Todoroki sees his s/o getting stabbed by a villain with countless sharp spears like in Chiaki’s death video in danganronpa along with 1-A and just loses it? I’m sorry I’m craving for angst rn ✨✨ also love your writing and remember to stay safe <33 💕💗

My requests are open yes!! I have actually missed receiving them (and tbf I’m prolly not getting them because I’m doing daily updates on History of Us hahaha). So thanks for the request anon. I’m also really touched that you love my writing 🥰 I hope this lives up to your impression of me!

I had never seen danganropa but I just looked up what you were talking about and w o w I am in ✨pain✨ 🥲 I’ve got you anon. It’s going to hurt but I got you. Did I drag out (y/n)’s last words? Yes. Would they realistically already have died before saying all that I have them say? Probably. But this is fanfic and if movie writers can do it then goddamn it so can I!

CW for angst, somewhat graphic description of major character injury and death (reader), non-major character death, and canon typical violence

Nothing has been the same since the fall of the hero commission and the loss of faith in the Symbol of Peace’s generation of heroes. It’s been two years since Shigaraki wreaked havoc and Dabi exposed Endeavor’s crimes. As pros unused to that level of violence retired or quit, hero class students have been forced to step up and fill in the spaces they left behind. As a result, even as their faith in the pros waned, the public started to see the students as a beacon of hope. All Might, they whisper, spoiled the current generation of heroes. They argue that Endeavor is now too old to keep up, that Hawks and Mirko are too burdened by their mentors’ failures, and all the heroes aged in between are too used to the relative peace of the golden era to be effective. These current students though? Students like the famous UA hero class A, now third years who’ve already seen so much? They are the new hope. They’d grown up in the fires of a post-symbol of peace era and as such they are the only ones who can drag society out of it. It would be flattering if not for the overwhelming pressure that comes along with it.

Shoto thinks he would have been crushed beneath that pressure if not for you.

The two of you had started growing close your first year during the provisional license exam make up classes. Spending so much additional time together over the weekend had allowed Shoto to slowly open up to you until a beautiful friendship had blossomed. Even still, both of you had secretly yearned for something more. It was only after the destruction of Jaku City and the Todoroki family secrets were aired to the whole of Japan that the two of you finally acted on your feelings. You’d been such a source of support for him afterwards that eventually he hadn’t been able or willing to hold back any longer and had confessed his feelings to you late one night in the dorms. The two of you have been together ever since and fully intend to open a hero agency together after graduation. He knows the two of you are still young but sometimes when he looks at you with your blinding smile or when you’re sleeping peacefully beside him, he swears he can hear wedding bells. If the civilians of Japan can consistently forget how young you all are as they urge you to take over for the pros, then it seems only fair he should be able to forget too.

His mother was ecstatic when he asked her about engagement rings. Endeavor had said it was too early, that marriage is too large a commitment to make at 18 years old, but Shoto insisted and eventually a compromise was reached. He’ll wait until after graduation but then he’s determined to make you his forever and always.

It’s an otherwise normal Saturday afternoon in the dorms when Iida and Momo get an urgent distress signal to gather the entirety of the class and head into the city. A large group of ragtag criminals, determined to become the next League of Villains, is terrorizing Musutafu and the number of casualties is climbing rapidly. The other heroes usually responsible for that area had been called away to handle a different disaster and all attempts made by the civilians to defend themselves had only led to more chaos. The entire class mobilized in seconds. Calls like this aren’t uncommon now. The villains have been banding together more and their bloodlust seems to have grown exponentially with civilians’ continued lack of trust in the current pros. By the time you all arrive to the scene there’s no time to waste. “Be careful,” you tell Shoto, carefully running a hand through his hair before resting it on his cheek. He brings his hand up to cover yours before promising, “I will.” He presses a kiss to your palm but before he can do more Bakugo sharply barks “Hurry it up lovebirds we got a fucking job to do!” before racing off. You both know he’s right. “I love you,” you tell Shoto. “Love you too,” he promises before you both steel yourselves and then take off into the fray.

It’s an absolutely grueling battle. Every time someone takes one villain down, another comes to take their place. “Pinky! On your left!” you call out, causing your classmate to sharply turn. Mina just manages to dodge a punch one of the villains throws her way and swiftly counteracts with an attack of her own, calling out a thanks. There’s no time to breathe though and almost as soon as you’re done warning Mina, you have to dive in to keep another villain off Ojiro’s back. It’s chaotic but slowly you’re starting to pick away the forces as many of the remaining villains start fleeing. Once it looks like they’ve all retreated you instinctively look for Shoto, having not seen him since the fighting had properly started. You catch sight of him and heave a sigh of relief. You call out his name to catch his attention and although he initially offers you a soft smile you notice his eyes suddenly widen. “(Y/n) behind you!” he calls out.

Every moment after that seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn around just in time for a spear to fire clean through your shoulder, knocking you off balance. You start to fall backwards but before you can even hit the ground at least a dozen more rise up from the asphalt and impale your body. You hear Shoto’s broken cry of your name but it sounds so distant to you. After a moment stuck in place the spears suddenly drop back into the ground. Shoto is next to you in a second, pulling your broken body close as you bleed out. One of your other classmates tries to call for medical support but all he can focus on is you and the sheer amount of blood you’re losing. Shoto knows his training. He knows that when a victim has been stabbed it’s crucial to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, but how can he when there’s so many fucking wounds. “You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.” He says it over and over again like a mantra. It’s both a plea to you and a desperate attempt to deny the harsh reality that the love of his life is bleeding out in his arms.

You press a bloody hand to his cheek, looking lovingly up at the man you’d do anything for, and shush him quietly. “Sho,” you rasp, voice already weak as your body tries and fails to cope with your injuries. “Don’t,” he warns. “Sho, baby, look at me,” you try again but he shakes his head, shutting his eyes tightly as tears start to run down his cheeks. “Please?” you ask and he can’t deny you, never could, so he opens his eyes and looks down at your glossy ones as you fight to stay awake just a little bit longer. “There they are. I always did love your eyes,” you tell him wistfully as your thumb strokes his cheek, smearing your blood there, though you don’t seem to notice. “You can’t leave me. You have to be ok,” he whispers but you shake your head. You can already feel yourself fading and with medical attention still several minutes out at least you know there’s no fixing this. “I need you to promise me something,” you tell him. “Anything,” he replies immediately and it brings a sad smile to your blood stained lips. “Promise you’ll find someone else after me,” you say and the scandalized look on his face would have probably made you laugh under different circumstances. “You’ve got too much love to give to let it die with me,” you tell him but he shakes his head again. “I could never love anyone else like I love you,” he swears and he means it with every fiber of his being. You chuckle wetly. “You always were stubborn. Fine, then promise to never forget me,” you compromise, tears welling in your own eyes now too. “I couldn’t even if I tried,” he swears before leaning down to press one last kiss to your lips. He can taste the tang of iron and feel your tears and his mingling on your cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips as he pulls away, but for the first time since he first said the words to you, you don’t say them back. “(Y/n)? Baby, I love you,” he tries again, pulling back to look at you properly now. Your eyes remain shut, your hand falling limp from his cheek, and when he looks to your chest the rise and fall of it has ceased.

Devastation claws up through him like a rabid animal, tearing him apart as his whole world shatters around him. He feels his grief like a physical ache in his chest, radiating out to each of his limbs as if every cell of his body is violently rejecting the fact that you’re gone. “Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya asks cautiously, putting a gentle hand on Shoto’s shoulder. Shoto’s head snaps up as he cradles you closer, as if scared your body will be taken away from him too. Before Midoriya can say whatever he was going to, Denki’s voice cuts through the tense silence. “I got him!” he crows, shoving the villain down to the ground in front of his classmates. Shoto’s eyes land on the villain and instantly his grief twists into a searing rage. He gently lays your body down but his eyes are cold and lethal as he stares down the man that took you away from him. Midoriya realizes what’s happening a beat too late and by the time he reaches out to grab Shoto, the grief stricken man has already launched himself at the villain and grasped hold of him. His right hand closes around the man’s throat, ice wrapping around it like a vice grip. He’s vaguely aware of his classmates calling his name but he doesn’t care. This man stole the love of his life from him. For that he will pay. Before Todoroki can finish the job he’s suddenly being yanked back by Midoriya and Bakugo. “Let go of me!” he demands as he fights against their hold, ignoring their warnings and empty platitudes. He manages to wrench his left arm free for a brief moment and that’s all he needs. His flames shoot out, preventing Midoriya from getting a good hold of him again, and the man who murdered you goes up in flame. His howls of pain echo around the buildings around them but the sound is music to Shoto’s ears. Let him suffer. It’s a fate he deserves.

His classmates watch on in stunned horror until the villain is burned down to ash. As his flames die out so too does all the fight seem to drain from Shoto as the crushing grief returns. Bakugo let’s him go once it’s clear he’s not a threat anymore and Shoto uses his freedom to drag himself back over to your lifeless body. It’s not fair. You’re so young. He’s so young. Why was this fight even you all’s responsibility in the first place? He’s been excitedly planning his proposal to you for weeks. Now he’ll have to plan a funeral. The thought makes him physically ill and he has to turn to the side as bile climbs up his throat and he retches onto the asphalt beside him.

How is he supposed to go on without you?

Midoriya returns a hand to his shoulder as the paramedics finally arrive. It’s too late. Far too late. One of them approaches cautiously and like a dog protecting his master Shoto immediately lashes out. “Don’t you fucking touch them,” he warns, eyes cold and voice lethal. The paramedic jerks backwards, his hands up in surrender, as he cautiously looks to the other class A students for advice. They have none. They’ve never seen Todoroki like this. They can’t even begin to imagine what he’s going through. It’s Eijirou who steps up in the end. He approaches Shoto carefully, as if his classmate is a feral animal, before kneeling down to his level. “They need to take (y/n) to the hospital on that stretcher over there,” Kirishima tells him carefully, jerking his head in the direction of the waiting ambulance. “Can you carry them there for the paramedics?” he asks. Shoto stares at Kirishima blankly as if trying to process his words before slowly nodding. “Ok. Let’s go then, yea?” Kiri asks. Another nod in response before Shoto carefully gathers you into his arms. He ignores the way your body has already started to go cold as he carries you over to the stretcher. He tries to pretend they’re just rushing you to the hospital, that they’re speeding you over to recovery girl and in a few hours time you’ll be tired but cheery, teasing him for being so worried about nothing. But as he lays you down and then watches them zip you up into a black bag, he knows it’s a hopeless fantasy. You’re gone and you’re never coming back.

A few days later he sits in a black suit with a black tie and a silver chain carrying an engagement ring around his neck. He leans against Fuyumi, who sits on his left side, while his mother grasps tightly onto his right hand. Behind him Natsuo rests a steady hand on his shoulder. His father hovers nearby, unsure how best to offer his support or if his support would even be welcome. They are the only thing that keeps Shoto from falling apart. When the time comes, he stands on shaky legs and approaches your open casket. At first he’d been insistent he wouldn’t look, but his mother had argued his last image of you shouldn’t be your broken body, riddled with holes. So he looks down at you, pieced back together by some mortician, lying motionless in the nicest outfit you own and he traces every detail of you. He tries to patch over the memory of you broken on the ground that haunts him every night since it’s happened with this image of you now. He pictures all of the good and beautiful moments you’ve shared together, let’s them swell in his chest until they’re too large to contain and pour out of him through his silent tears. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your too cold forehead and mumbles to you again his final promise:

“I love you, (y/n). I’ll never forget you.”

#this hurt me so fucking bad to write oh my godddd #it’s so long too oh man I really said ‘you want pain? I’ll give you pain’#🤡🤡🤡#anyway even though it hurt I loved writing this #thanks for the request anon #hhrequests #shoto x y/n #todoroki x y/n #shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki

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witcheswritings · 3 years

Text

Rest in me

Summary: (Modern!AU) In the aftermath of a terrible accident, Hinata and Sakura struggle to start anew.

Lenght: 3098 words

Author: CireneMQ (Nohara-Cirene)

Translator: Rainbow.feathers (Rainbowfeather)

Fandom: Naruto

Relationships: Sakura Haruno/Hinata Hyuuga

Warnings: Descriptions of severe injury, descriptions of recovery.

Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written as a commission for the very creative @wombatking who was kind enough to prompt us this beautiful idea! If you want to commission us anything don’t be afraid to ask!

September and the leaves lose their color by fall. In a tenuous way, as, little by little, the greenery gives way to ocher tones.

Intricate parallelism with reality that is not yet assimilated; the irrecoverable loss of everyday life and the illusions that take rot like leaves on the ground. Compost for pain, distant hopes that try to sustain the impending collapse of the will.

And the juxtaposition of effort and resentment, of resignation and denial.

Sakura leaves the hospital, withdraws from the care and the smell of antiseptic that for three months have kept her in a different world and now they’re part of a bubble that no longer exists. She returns to the real world with that involuntary feeling that she is living in a very long nightmare, but that sooner or later it will end.

During her recovery, she repeated herself that although it was all bullshit, life would be lighter when she finally returned home. She missed the fresh air, the school, her friends and Hinata.

Yes, her girlfriend had done almost the impossible to stay by her side.

During her stay in the hospital there was not a single day where she did not visit her, even with the pressure that Hiashi exerted on the schedule and mandatory activities for his first-born. Sakura, aware of the peculiar family situation, kept repeating to herself about how lucky she was to have her. There was nothing she could ask for that Hinata hadn't done for her. For that reason, seeing her waiting in front of the door was not at all surprising.

Hinata was there, with the kindest smile in the world and affection coming out of her pores..., and everything that Sakura anticipated that she would feel, the happiness of being free, of returning to "everyday life" with her, turned to bile in her throat; life was not lighter, the nightmare was not going to end.

She tried to smile, but the joy didn't reach her green eyes. Hinata understood instantly, trying to dilute her sadness in the subtle touch of her lips, a moment of tangible calm.

“Let's go home, Sakura.”

Suddenly the world turned upside down. Ordinary details became unrecognizable, from the drive home to sinking into the mattress; the air was different, smelled of cracked faith and a chaotic form of suppressed despair.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Well... it's not like I feel anything.” Vinegary smile that Hinata sweetened with the warmth of her own.

She arranged cushions behind her back, taking special care not to move her abruptly. Sakura gritted her teeth, annoyance stemming from the boredom of being treated with the fragility of a dry leaf, yet she said nothing. It was the truth, the plainly crude and revolting true.

The time, when "Sakura! Sakura!" was chanted by those who attend the soccer games and the adrenaline of scoring a goal ran through her blood, would never return. She was a brittle leaf under the sole of a world that was hers, but that no longer recognized her as someone capable of setting the pace.

Still in grief, she held Hinata's gaze and invoked the iron of her own character; she couldn't give up.

“My mom says the wheelchair they ordered has arrived. I'd like you to help me set it up, it'll be fun, don't you think?”

“Of course! Your strong lungs will do a lot...”

The months of hospitalization were filled with "solutions" to her situation, such as the new computer that, based on voice commands, allowed her to communicate with the world in the same way as she did before. Sakura's mother had taken the time to research all the rehabilitation therapies she could, including pseudo-sciences that promised fantastic results. Sakura agreed to practically all of them, even though they were mentally exhausting.

“I plan to go back to school, although I'm not sure how I'll do it. Mom has her doubts, and I don't want to depend on anyone for that.”

Hinata sat on the mattress, tilting her head and giving her a look full of tenderness. She had known her long enough to know that dependency was unthinkable for the usual Sakura, so she preferred not to pull that string. The Hyuga's hand raised to Sakura’s cheekbone to give her a sympathetic caress that said everything that the pink-haired woman did not want to hear in words; namely, compassion.

“Then, we will have to hurry up so you can handle that chair.”

However, things do not always turn out as you imagine them, Sakura would learn this as soon as her inert body was secured by the security straps to the device. What began with the excitement of starting over ended in tears and anger.

Her lips were dry, and she was annoyed at the failed attempts to get the wheels to obey as Hinata, standing in front of her, urged Sakura to reach her.

“Blow again, Sakura. Remember; a loud puff is forward.”

“I know, I know.”

The lips formed an "o" again and stuck to the bulb. Instantly, the girl released the air forcefully and the wheels began to move, but again drew back as she took a breath before withdrawing completely.

“You have to inhale when you have already removed the mouth from the bulb, otherwise the reader interprets it as you want to go backwards.”

Her jaw was trembling. She had already memorized the theoretical instructions, but putting them into practice was something totally different, something Hinata couldn't understand as much as she wanted to. Sakura clenched her eyelids wanting to calm down, until the sweet voice of her girlfriend pierced her eardrum with the annoyance of a bell.

“Let's see again what the manual says...”

“I already know the fucking manual, Hinata!”

The girl's eyes widened, and she recoiled from her girlfriend's outburst. The anger was evident and even understandable. Sakura Haruno, the one who was a star and was always going a thousand an hour, tied to a chair and without the immediate patience to assimilate it. Hinata looked down and fiddled with her fingers.

“I'm sorry… it wasn't my intention.”

“It’d be better if you go home, I’ve had enough of feeling useless ... For today.”

“I’m really sorry, I…”

“Please, Hinata.”

Although what Sakura said sounded more like an order than to a request, Hinata did not add anything, except for the goodbye kiss that her girlfriend received coldly.

That same cold ended up keeping the girl awake until dawn, but it was the debacle in conjugated tears that each one kept in their respective beds, which encouraged them to do something for the other.

Sakura to apologize for her attitude, Hinata to change her empathy for the love that covers everything, even if she doesn't understand it.

With their hearts set on each other, they recalled the tragic events that led them to end this way.

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

The darkness was beginning to beat the light. It was getting dark, but visibility still revealed the silhouette of two girls playing next to the pier. Sakura and Hinata, with joviality and tenderness on the cusp of falling in love at their short sixteen, sitting with their feet in the water.

“I will do it! I'll swim to the rock and show you that I could also be the star of the diving team; I don't care what Ino says.”

In between stolen kisses from Sakura and laughter that was heard alongside the first crickets. Hinata was smiling softly, enjoying her girlfriend’s energy that used to fill her with warmth.

“You don't have to prove anything to me, plus you already know Ino.”

Sakura stood up, letting go of her girlfriend's hand. Her will and the desire to feel the adrenaline that conquering every challenge left her, led her to jump into the water and submerge to start swimming to the huge rock that was on the other side.

Hinata looked at her, while she shook her head at the audacity she manifested in everything. That was one of the things that made her fall in love with Sakura; the freedom she lived with. It was a pleasure just to watch her exist, an extreme fascination that the Hyuga couldn't ignore, just like that moment.

The mauve eyes watched her girlfriend's head come out every so often to take a breath, while the distance between them grew. At last, Sakura touched the rock with her hands and instantly turned to look at Hinata and smile at her. The damp feet began to help her climb slowly, making sure twice to hold on firmly to some protrusion and fitting her feet in every nook and cranny.

The effort ended when she was able to sit on the rock and then pull herself up until she was standing on it. Hinata narrowed her eyes, barely appreciating the movement in which Sakura blew her a kiss with her hands and lowered herself to jump.

Sakura, for her part, watched the dark water and her mind made quick calculations of how far she would have to push herself in order to rid herself of the bulging rocks looming below. It was at least five meters high, and the race would have to be sped up to go far enough and land at the proper depth.

She stepped back again, counting back five steps. Good thing the rock was big enough, otherwise no one would have the courage to run and jump, as she was about to do.

3, 2, 1…

The initial impulse was good, Sakura perceived it the same as when she started to run from three quarters of the field towards the goal. It was going from zero to one hundred in just a fraction, but she was more than used to that lift off. The floor was about to run out and with that she prepared to bend her knees a little and take as much momentum as possible in the last two steps.

However, when the right leg leaned against the edge of the rock, the moisture left by herself before, betrayed her in the most brutal way possible.

The foot slipped. Sakura's momentum was nullified and she violently rushed down. The worst of the case is that she already had her center of gravity positioned forward, just a fraction of a second before she slipped. The inertia did its job, Sakura fell headfirst into the water, while the last rays of sunlight allowed Hinata to watch the crash.

Hiashi's daughter's scream occurred as she threw herself into the water to go after her girlfriend. She was never the best at athletics, but this time she didn't give up. Her arms worked their way through the water, swallowing some liquid that she ignored in her desperation to advance.

When she finally arrived, Sakura was sunk beside the rocks, inert as a scandalous amount of blood swirled around them in the scariest landscape she had ever witnessed. She took her in her arms and dragged her so that her head could be in the open air, then she gave her the kiss of life and luckily, the pink haired girl responded promptly. However, what gave her some peace soon turned into a different nightmare.

“I can’t move,”

Hinata's screams overshadowed the crickets, the sound of running water, and the music of some friends who were also enjoying the first party of the summer. Immediately, several approached the lake in order to respond to her call for help.

The next thing Hinata could remember would be the blue and red lights and the sirens that beat her intermittent crying. Paramedics who with a grimace, revealed the terrible state of her girlfriend. Upon arriving at the hospital and after the respective medical tests, Mr. and Mrs. Haruno received the sad news.

X-rays and the subsequent tomographies as well as complementary resonances that confirmed what the doctors had already anticipated: Severe neck injury.

Fourth and fifth vertebrae fractured, with oppression to the spinal cord and consequent injury to it. Loss of mobility and sensation from the neck down, on top of what all of it entailed; paralysis.

The collapse of illusions and dreams. The severed wings of the young woman and the despair and fears that came with it... In addition, guilt on Hinata, the same guilt that brought her down in the hospital corridor when her girlfriend's mother explained the situation to her.

The debacle of a newly blossomed button and the broken heart of whoever witnessed it right before their eyes.

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

With the rays of the sun lighting up the sky, Hyuga left the comfort of the sheets to gain ground on all the tasks that her father overloaded on her shoulders.

She fulfilled this, yearning to make Hiashi change his mind and give her dreams a chance. The same dreams that, with what happened with Sakura, took on greater strength and filled her psyche with decision.

Hinata would be a nurse, she’d take care of people's lives with her characteristic tenderness, but she would spice up her courage with the strength that her girlfriend showed... And she would start immediately.

She changed her clothes to more decent ones and descended the stairs with renewed will. The sleepless night and the memories strengthened her walk and she tried to stay that way.

In no time, she was, once again in front of the Haruno's front door and they let her in with their usual kindness. If they had anything to be grateful for, it was the time and heartfelt support she provided for their daughter.

Hinata knocked on the door of her girlfriend's room and the characteristic "come in" didn't wait, nor did she have to say anything before Sakura spit out the same thing that hadn't let her sleep the night before.

“Before you say anything, I need you to forgive me. Yesterday I was..., it's no excuse, but...”

“You don't have to say anything, I'm sorry to pressure you like that.”

“No, Hinata, listen to me...”

“I don't want to hear it. Just tell me what clothes do you want to wear, let's go out.”

Sakura frowned. Although she understood what was coming out of Hinata's mouth, she couldn’t digest the intention behind it, nor that firmness in her voice, something completely out of the ordinary in her.

“Go out? Where?”

“On a date.”

With more love than Sakura thought she deserved, Hinata took time to help her get dressed. As they did so, she kept talking about the activities she had planned to do together at school. Sakura's green eyes scrutinized her girlfriend's movements and expressions, her throat tightened in a knot and the feelings that threatened to break out of her orbs, condensed into tears.

Gritting her teeth, she drowned out the tears and blamed the sunlight for crystallizing her eyes. Hinata smiled, she knew she was hiding behind a lie, but she wasn't going to dig; she wasn't going to expose her.

“Alright, dear. Let's go!”

Ten minutes later, they were walking down the sidewalk on their way to the park. It was the first time that Sakura had transcended the world from her wheelchair and that filled her with an inhospitable vulnerability.

She barely spoke, the silence was filled by the banal comments of the other, in addition to the noise of the cars moving down the street.

The habit of going for an ice cream before taking a seat on their favorite bench, was a routine that both maintained as something sacrosanct, and this time would be no exception.

Hinata asked for two cones, the same flavors as always, the vendor handed them to her while looking curiously at Sakura in the chair. Hinata caught that and directed him her sharpest gaze, intimidating him with the hostility he perceived in her.

She paid and turned around, suppressing the kindness that characterized her in order to teach a lesson to the vendor who was watching Sakura with that rude curiosity. But when she got to her, she realized that it would be difficult to maneuver with two ice cream cones and at the same time push the chair.

Sakura looked away, not wanting to see her struggle accommodating both ice creams in one hand and taking her to their bench with the other. Feeling humiliated, she endured the grief of the situation until they were both face to face; Hinata on the bench, Sakura tied to her hopelessness.

“Do you want to try mine?”

In a simple question, the pink haired girl broke down. She was not even able to eat a little ice cream on her own, something so easy and absurd became impossible in her situation and that was only the watershed for everything else that would come; school, life… Bullying.

People like the ice cream vendor, who were used to seeing her energetic and unstoppable, now looked at her like a freak. Sakura's sob could no longer be contained and Hinata could see in the foreground the cry of defeat and doom that split her girlfriend in half.

In another time, she wouldn’t have thought of having the emotional strength to give a word of comfort to anyone, she’d always considered herself as a nerd without charm, a crying girl who depended on everyone; weak, invisible. But since Sakura came into her life, her perspective on herself had taken a momentous turn. That pink-haired girl, with beautiful green eyes, had supported her when needed and taught her every day how valuable she was.

Hinata could never put into words her love for her or her gratitude for everything.

Sakura had built bridges of steel in between Hinata and her inaccessible willpower. It supported her in the fight for her dreams and diluted the negative feelings that stemmed from her father's continued disapproval.

Rising from the bench, she reached for one of the wildflowers growing in the grass. She knew she couldn't ease the pain, but at least she would try to give back a little of everything Sakura had given her. Hinata squatted in front of Sakura, filling her eyes and her smile with love trying to lighten the situation.

“It's going to be difficult, but I'm not going to leave you. I love you.”

With the utmost delicacy in the world, she brushed the cheeks bathed in tears, tracing the path of the salted drops that now trickled like a spring. Sakura paused at the feeling, stunned by her girlfriend's actions.

“Go ahead and get it out. I will hold you, you can rest in me.”

#sakura haruno #haikyuu hinata #sakuhina #naruto fanfiction #commission work #taking commissions #commission #fanfiction #trigger warnings #severe injury

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revalise · 4 years

Text

After the Sun [M] | 01

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer x Fem. OC

Genre: Romance and eventual smut

Rating: M

Words: 2500+

Notes: Huge thanks to Sky @pixiewombat for beta reading this chapter!

All characters are humans unless otherwise stated in their description. Hence, Zazan is human in the story.

Masterlist | Prologue | 02

Chrollo Lucilfer gets everything he wants, when he wants-even if it means undergoing extreme measures. Nothing bothered him, until an aphrodite, Astra Gerber, appeared one night and stole from the infamous thief. In return that Chrollo doesn’t report her, he strikes a deal. But it could be more than what Astra bargained for.

BOLD

“What do you mean your necklace was stolen?” Pakunoda eyed Chrollo carefully as he sat behind his desk at his penthouse, looking over the magnificent, illuminating lights of Yorknew City, while she stood in front of him.

“It just was stolen,” he deadpanned.

Pakunoda clicked her tongue. There was no way someone could steal from Chrollo—a bandit himself, and a good one at that.

She thought to herself for a moment. ‘Is he planning to steal the poor girl’s hatsu?’

Once, he had charmed the pants off of a girl who could write fortunes and stole her ability. Despite his obvious antics, he wasn’t found out, thanks to the girl’s inexperience. But when he managed to get a hold of how it should be done, he started doing it again and again.

Pakunoda didn’t complain. Chrollo’s Bandit’s Secret was a trump card, not only for him, but for the rest of the group. When Chrollo noticed the drastic advantage the ‘strategy’ gave him, he started using it more often. To him, it felt like a shortcut.

And who would expect someone so sophisticated and pretty-boy looking?

She sighed and put the folder down on his desk.

Chrollo had asked Pakunoda to find the girl who had stolen his necklace. He remained vague about it, but knowing Chrollo, it might be something extremely important.

He looked over the files, silently reading their contents, taking them in just as he consumed knowledge from his ancient books. His fingers traced the letters of the name written in bold on one of the pages.

ASTRA BEATRIZ GERBER

Pakunoda gazed at him with suspicion. Meddling with this girl could endanger the nature of the group. She was nowhere near a simple girl, alright. The girl spelled trouble.

She was the illegitimate child of an acknowledged former lawyer, Martin Gerber, before he took over the Gerber family dynasty.

This information wasn’t exactly kept a secret. It was silent gossip within the small circle of socialites and elites. Illegitimate children weren’t news to the circle. Three out of five families in the circle had a case of their own. But it so happened that the Gerber family was known to be conservative—faithful to their betrothed, or as painted by the media.

Nevertheless, it only took that mistake to have the head of the family, Rod Gerber, wavering in his trust in Martin. To his dismay, this almost cost him the whole dynasty. Fortunately, Rod was a good man, unlike his son. To secure his position in becoming the next successor as the eldest, Martin had to keep the child and take her as his own.

It shamed Martin to do so, keeping an illegitimate of his own accord. Though his wife was noticeably against it, she had to agree if she wanted to be the wife of the very powerful man. Cleverly, she argued that it would bring discomfort to her family if the child were to live in the same house as them. Rod then agreed that Martin would just have to sustain the needs of the child in the mother’s care.

Chrollo took all of the information in, almost feeling bad for the girl, if it weren’t for his own experiences.

The same thought as Pakunoda had crossed his mind. Her father had connections in law. If Chrollo, say for example, met the girl’s father and he decided to look deeper into Chrollo and his background, it wouldn’t really be a problem. The group knew how to cut their ties. They eliminated those who had seen them. But if worse came to worst, this could have blown the group’s cover.

The Phantom Troupe weren’t regular thieves. They were thieves with intellect that calculated their every movement. Before they acted on anything, Chrollo, who had a personal philosophy of theological dualism - the balance between good and evil - that influenced his decisions, would first weigh his options. His actions were always calculated.

It was not that they feared the law or the man himself, but the Phantom Troupe managed to blend in with the crowd, no one knew of who they were. And the group loved being free despite the criminality they commit.

From the moment he first laid his eyes on her, he knew she was trouble.

But none of the information stopped him.

***

Zazan promised Astra dinner. But it was way past dinner, and the staff of the three-star Michelin restaurant she had booked kept going back and forth, assisting and asking for her order, which she refused to give until her aunt arrived.

Her aunt, Zazan, was her father, Martin’s, little sister. For all her life, she was her mother figure. Zazan always had her back whenever her father didn’t. Her aunt loved designer and luxury items, and was a designer herself. Hence, her love for luxury and designer.

To state it simply, Astra was given to her aunt after she lived with her dad for two years when her mother died. She was only six then.

She remembers how much scorn she received from Martin’s legitimate family, and how she was treated as less than a freeloader, being an illegitimate child. Not once did her father defend her from them.

After all, she was a nobody, aside from the Gerber blood running through her veins.

Astra, at four, never spoke with anyone, not even the maids that served the family in their mansion. She remained quiet, hiding inside her room, but doing everything she was told—even standing for hours, with no food and water, beside the silver knight decorations in the hallway of their house because her older half-sister told her to. She ignored the numbing sensation in her knees until a helper saw her.

That was, until Zazan returned to the city and took interest in the meek, little girl she once was. And for the first time in two years, she spoke and her voice sounded hoarse. Her words were: “Can I come with you?”

From then on, Zazan took her as her own. Martin had no objections, nor did his family. In fact, the situation was in their favor. In his father’s eyes, as long as Astra wasn’t disobedient or brought problems—more than she already had, being an illegitimate—upon the family, it’d be fine.

However, it seemed Astra grew up to be a spitting image of Zazan’s personality. Astra grew bolder, braver, and stronger, all because she had Zazan to look up to. But Astra wasn’t nice on a daily basis. She was nowhere near a saint.

“May I take your order, miss?” a smiling boy, who looked a few years younger than Astra, came to assist her. But a girl, wearing the same uniform as him, came to them, gripping his arm.

“Sorry, miss.” The staff leaned in closer to the boy’s ear to whisper, “I’ve been trying to take her order. She’s waiting for someone, but I think she got stood up.”

“Oh...” the boy muttered “Too bad, she actually looks pretty.”

He turned his attention to Astra, about to apologize, when she interrupted him.

Astra laced her fingers together, her elbows on the table, and rested her head on her hands. With a sarcastic tone, she said, “If you’re going to talk shit about me, consider doing it somewhere else where I can’t hear you.”

“S-sorry, miss…” the staff muttered, afraid. All of their customers had power, because only the rich could afford the place. They feared they could lose their jobs. Most of all, they knew who Astra was. They knew of her influence.

“But thanks for complimenting my looks.” Astra flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Get me some champagne.”

They scurried to give her what she wanted, too obvious in wanting to leave her sight.

Astra leaned on her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She clicked her tongue in impatience. For once, she regretted asking for champagne. She felt the urge to leave. To elites like her, hunger didn’t come, anyway; she’d still have a lot of food at home. She could leave before they gave her champagne, and leave cash three times the bill, but her pride made her stay.

And she hated to admit it, but she really needed to see her aunt. She needed someone.

She needed someone to hold her at times she felt like slipping away.

As Astra waited impatiently, a man sat at the opposite end of the table. It happened so quickly, she didn’t have the time to process it. The man looked studly in his crisp suit. He wore a white shirt underneath, topped with a dark blazer and slacks.

“I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” He asked in his most polite tone while he pulled at the opening of his blazer.

Her eyebrows shot up and she clicked her tongue, but she tried to maintain her composure. After all, it was a restaurant for the high-class. Manners above all.

“Sorry, you must have the wrong table.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, have you forgotten about me, miss? Allow me to reintroduce myself,” he grinned, “I’m the man you stole from a few nights ago.”

For a moment, perplexity was etched on her face, ‘Bitch, which one?’

Yes, the man looked a little familiar, but with the amount of people she was acquainted with, it was hard to keep track of the long list.

“Oh, I see,” she said plainly. “I must’ve stolen from you when I was drunk.”

Astra leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. She whispered, “You see, I have a habit of doing those when I’m drunk.” She flashed her sultry smile.

Her hands reached for her fuchsia devotion bag made of python skin. It featured an exclusive bejeweled personalized heart closure, inspired by the techniques of fine jewelry, which etched her initials in it.

ABG

Astra clicked her tongue when her eyes met her initials on her bag. She laughed inwardly at how she sent it back to Italy when her initials weren’t in bold.

“How much was it? I could pay for it right now.”

The way the man grinned at her assured her that it’s done for. Game over. She wins. Whatever she did, she got away with it. Not because of her pull and connections, but because of her charm. And she knew it. She grinned at this.

“Actually,” the man began, “I have other things in mind.”

“Oh,” Astra had a knowing smirk. She knew of what the man could possibly ask. It was no different. He was no different from all the other men she’d met before. ‘A night, perhaps?’

“Let’s hear it,” she said sultrily.

It was the man’s turn to lean closer and rest his elbows on the table. He laced his hands together and flashed a smile. “I was thinking of jail time.”

Her hypocritical smile dropped. She was rendered shaken. Just as quick as the change in her mood, the sourness and bitterness of being embarrassed in front of the mysterious man in front of her, she showed her true colors.

‘Where the fuck is my champagne?’ she thought.

Her back rested on her chair and she crossed her arms. “Name?” her tone was as rude as it could get.

“Now we’re talking,” the man chuckled, and he rested his back on his chair as well. “Chrollo Lucilfer. I believe I already told you that. I’m hurt you forgot about me so easily.”

Astra didn’t reciprocate the demeanor Chrollo was showing. While Chrollo looked composed and polite, Astra, on the other hand, was irking in anger.

“What do you want?” she spat, so rudely you wouldn’t think that it was the same woman who had been flashing sultry and inviting smiles.

“Nothing much, actually,” he grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll discuss the matter, and I promise you it’d be done with.”

If it were only a few minutes ago, she would have gone with him at that very moment. She would’ve taken him to some backroom and let them do their business. But it was different now.

To her, it seemed like the man didn’t want any physical relationships. He was danger, nothing else.

“And if I refuse?”

“Your scandalous actions will not only be known by your father, Martin Gerber, but your little circle as well,” he replied.

“I’m impressed. You’ve done your research about me,” she scoffed.

One of the staff who assisted her earlier appeared with champagne in her hands. She kept her head down, but kept a shy smile and gave continuous glances toward Chrollo as she poured the liquid into their respective glass.

“Thanks, miss,” Chrollo flashed the girl a sweet smile.

Astra could have sworn she saw the girl almost curtsy at that. She rolled her eyes.

When the girl left, Astra arched her brow. Chrollo on the other hand, ignored her demeanor. “Shall I order you some real food?”

He was about to call the staff again, but Astra stopped him. “I’m not hungry.”

For a moment, Astra almost regretted her actions because Chrollo might be hungry. But if it’d be the same staff who keep annoying her with how they tried to get the man’s attention, forget it.

‘What is with this restaurant anyway? Why are they always the same people?’

Once the foam settled on her champagne, she drank it quickly, picked up her bag, and stood up. When she looked over at Chrollo, who still sat on his seat gazing at her, she scoffed. “I’m coming with you. Wait for me outside in a moment.”

“You’ve said that before,” he replied, reminiscing to when she said the exact thing when they met the other night, and then she was gone with his St. Peter’s cross necklace.

“You seriously have something on me. Do you think I’ll run away from you?” Astra argued. “Besides, you’ve done your research on me. So I expect you to appear wherever I am.”

“I don’t believe you,” Chrollo stood up. “Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you.”

Astra rolled her eyes. If she didn’t have something, it would obviously be his trust. And she had to get it no matter what, if she wanted to get out of the situation quickly.

She turned on her heel and Chrollo followed closely behind her. Suddenly, something rang from Chrollo’s pocket when they stepped out of the restaurant and into the lobby of the luxury hotel. Astra turned her attention to it and then to his eyes looking back at hers.

“Go,” she nodded at him in a dismissive manner. “I promise I won’t leave.”

Chrollo eyed her carefully, weighing the sincerity of her words, to which she responded with widening her eyes at him. There was a faint smile in Chrollo’s face before he finally took his phone out and turned his back on her.

Astra lightly shook her head. She didn’t notice, but there was a small smile on her face as well. And just as if the timing couldn’t be more perfect, someone she knew all too well appeared in front of her, looking down at her, mocking her.

“Dad…” she whispered.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer fanfiction #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer x oc #chrollo lucilfer smut #hxh #hxh fanfiction #phantom troupe #afterthesun

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paulfwesley · 4 years

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A Split Second (Part Four) [Bryce Lahela x f!MC]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f!MC (Dr. Claire King).

Chapter Rating: T.

Word Count: 3.3K.

Description: She might not know what her faith is, but someone reminds her how to hold on to it. TW: guns, violence, blood. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices’ Open Heart. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Claire King’s background is my own creation, based off of MC in-game’s personality.

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took so long!! And I’m also sorry because there is one more part after this XD But that will be the last part, I promise!! This chapter took on a life of its own. Bryce isn’t in it, but it’s definitely something that I realized Claire needed in the development of this story. If you’d like to be tagged please let me know! I don’t count people liking the actual post because I don’t know if that’s you wanting to be tagged XD so be sure to comment and tell me!

Tagging: @commander-rahrah @jaydito-tjjd @anotherbeingsworld @shakespeareanwannabe @bitchloveskcbaseball @wisegirl9 @rookie-ramsey @mrsdrakewalkerblog @omgjasminesimone @frenchieswiftie @jamespotterthefirst @elladines @thanialis @lucy-268 @sherrylove @bloomingsivan @lahellacute @araihc-ce @ltimeisanillusionl

Enjoy!

Claire’s favourite time of the year was Christmas. She loved decorating her home, she loved watching Christmas movies, she loved giving gifts, really loved getting gifts. But despite her favourite holiday centering around the birth of the figure of the religion, she didn’t know if she could call herself a Christian.

But that didn’t stop her from sitting in the back pew of the hospital’s multi faith room. It was a small place, roughly the size of the diagnostic team’s room, with three pews on either side of the room. She had expected for there to be a giant figure of Jesus painted in stained glass on the window, but because of the place being a multi faith room, they couldn’t. A tall podium sat at the front of the room, probably for when leaders of the faith came to speak to the people desperately seeking any kind of reprieve from the worry that plagued their every waking moment.

Admittedly there were a lot of places Claire could have gone. The cafeteria, where she could have stress ate until Bryce’s surgery was over, but with G.S.Ws there was always the chance that complications could arise, and she wasn’t sure how much her poor stomach could handle, especially when she thought about eating anything her stomach clenched.

She briefly considered a supply closet, but she could still remember the burning shame she felt when June found her there crying her eyes out at the news of Kyra’s relapse. It was too risky, especially because of the coming and going that arose with the need for supplies in there.

Then she thought about waiting it out in the resident lounge, but there she’d be surrounded by her friends. She’d have to talk with them, listen to them give reassurances that nothing would happen to Bryce, but Claire didn’t want to listen to empty promises. Her friends had seen her in bad states before: blood soaking her scrubs, exhaustion draining her face, the occasional stench that emitted off of her when she was so caught up in a case she forgot to shower. But she didn’t want them to see her like this: eyes bloodshot, nose red, tissue tucked into her sleeve for easy access when a rack of sobs hit her like a freight train. She just wanted to be somewhere she could shut her brain off.

That was when her mind flashed to the multi faith room. It was always quiet in here, save for the odd sniffle or sob that came out of a person while they prayed for their husband to make it through the night, their sister to make it through her surgery, their grandfather’s diagnosis to be anything but what they feared the most. Otherwise, it was a place where people came to find some shred of peace. The silence was comfortable; it was a recognition that everyone in the small room was suffering somehow, but who found companionship with each other in the sense that they all sent their pleas to a guy sitting on a cloud in the sky.

Tonight, though, the multi faith room was surprisingly empty. Someone had to have been in there earlier, because the collection of candles that sat on the table in front of the podium were lit, the flames of each individual candle small but creating a larger, stable symbol of hope. Each candle represented an unknown person, a life no one knew, a story untold, but every tiny wick created a sense of solidarity, the knowledge that someone was thinking of you, that this point in time, there was a place in the darkness where all hope was extinguished, but burning on as a deliberate point to prove that your life mattered, that it was being prayed for, that you were being fought for. An ember to glow with the reminder that someone wanted, needed you to stay.

All the same, she chose the pew in the very back. She huddled against the armrest, tucking her knees under her and curling into the side as much as she could. She rested her joined hands under her head in the hopes that she would be less tempted to check the watch on her wrist and despair at how long the surgery was taking. She made Dr. Emery promise that she’d page her as soon as the surgery was over, but she didn’t know how long that would take, so Claire settled in for what could possibly be the longest night of her life.

Her eyes hurt, her head aching with exhaustion now that all the adrenaline had flushed out of her system. She was still in the blood soaked clothes she had been in when she tried to cover Bryce’s wound, but she couldn’t bring herself to get up and change out of them. Instead she lay there, the high air conditioning blasting through her clothes and stiffening the material, chafing against her chest. Still she didn’t move. Her memories of Bryce paralyzed her.

She relieved every single moment backwards right from the moment he had been whisked into the O.R. room all the way back to the first time she had seen him in the changing room on her first day in Edenbrook, when she had no idea who he’d become to her. Back then, he was just a meat headed jockey; someone fun to hook up with, but who Claire thought was the ‘no strings attached’ type, which was fine with her, because as each day passed she found herself more and more enamored with Ethan. But then Ethan left, and Bryce stepped up to help, and she finally started to see him in a new light. No, he wasn’t the type to buy you a drink at the bar, flirt with you just the right amount, laugh when he knew you wanted him to, knew just what to say to reel you in, and then go with you back to your place and then be gone without a word before you even woke up the next morning.

No. Bryce Lahela was the type to make terrible jokes. He talked during movies. He bought shots for his friends because he had heard they were going to compete against each other. He laughed at everything you said: your good jokes, your bad jokes, especially your terrible jokes, the ones you made because you knew only he would laugh at them. He’d bring you back to his place, lavish you, make you feel warm and loved and safe, and then the next morning he’d bring you breakfast in bed to share, even if it was just toaster waffles and he ate all of the strawberries even though you pleaded for him to spare you at least one. Bryce was safe. Bryce was loving. Bryce was home.

And she didn’t know if he’d die not knowing how much she loved him.

The idea twinged her chest, slowly spreading through her like a parasite, devouring all threads of hope and spitting out something that was ruined and beyond repair. She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt tears brimming, and she curled herself into a smaller ball, if that was even possible. It was as if she was hoping that the more she compressed herself, the more she’d be able to crush the pain that snaked her muscles.

She faintly heard the doors to the chapel opening. The thought of sitting up crossed her mind, because she was technically in a place of worship and she really shouldn’t have her feet up in a pew, but then she thought that this was a place people came when they were desperate, when medicine and hopeful statistics and the comforting words of doctors weren’t enough for them. Those people who were in no place to judge how she dealt with her emotions. So she kept her eyes shut, drinking in a shuddery breath through her mouth.

Movement in the chapel, footsteps echoing softly on the carpeted floor. The footsteps grew louder, and suddenly the seat next to her dipped with a weight of someone sitting down, the body heat of their dress pants brushing against her feet. She still kept her eyes shut, though. If someone needed her presence just to feel like they weren’t alone, so be it.

“I’ve known you for a little over a year, yet I never knew you were religious,” the agonizingly familiar voice said and Claire’s eyes immediately snapped open. She dropped her feet to the ground and sat up, turning her head so her eyes met his soft blue ones. Ethan gave her an easy smile, the look you’d give a child to reassure them that a needle was nothing to be scared of. “You didn’t peg me for the type to be singing Christmas carols about Jesus.”

Claire sniffled, blinking heavily before finally turning to face the front. “I mean, I decorate a Christmas tree and I paint Easter eggs, but I don’t know about church every Sunday or not mixing certain types of cloth.” She tilted her head back, letting her neck rest on the back of the seat. “But when I needed a place to be by myself, to be quiet, to feel some sort of peace… this is where I ended up.”

Ethan stared at her. At the wrinkles around her eyes. The dryness of her nose that came with the repeated rubbing of tissues. The redness in her swollen cheeks. “Lahela’s still in surgery.”

Her chest dipped. When she didn’t respond, Ethan continued. “That was the last update I could get from Harper. She’s the best. She’ll do what she can for Lahela. She--”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know, Ethan,” she cut in dryly. The words came out harsher than she intended. She always spoke cordially with Ethan, professionally, nicely even, considering that their split hadn’t really been… amicable. But now, tonight, she didn’t have the room to decipher the lingering tightness in her chest whenever she looked at him. Any emotions she felt tonight were for Bryce, the man she had only become certain of when she was on the verge of losing him.

Ethan went silent. “Then what do you need?”

“Just distract me.” She turned her eyes to him without lifting her head. “How did you find me here?”

“Aurora Emery saw you in here,” he responded. “She didn’t want to disturb you, though. But when I ran into her and asked if she’d seen you, she told me.”

She wasn’t sure if she should murder Aurora or thank her. She didn’t necessarily want to see Ethan but… but even after all this time, she still associated him with comfort, especially when he wasn’t open about it, which wasn’t what she wanted.

His leg bounced, his foot tapping against the floor. “The cops were looking for you. They wanted a statement.”

She cocked a brow. “And?”

“And I told them I didn’t know where you were,” Ethan answered. He gave her a once-over, taking in her frazzled appearance. “I figured after what happened, you wouldn’t be in the mood to really talk to anyone. Besides, Sienna had already filled us in on what had happened, but they wanted an eyewitness report.”

The corner of her lips turned up slightly. “Thanks for that.”

“I know this is probably a stupid question,” he started. “But are you okay?”

“Someone pointed a gun in my face today,” she hummed. She lifted her head and gave Ethan an incredulous look. “Would you be okay?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’m honestly surprised you’re as calm as you are.”

The anger she thought she had suppressed, that she hadn’t felt in months, flashed through her. “I’m not as fragile as you think.”

“Right,” he acknowledged, the word lingering in the awkward air she had created. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking back into the weathered cushion while ignoring the discomfort of the wooden top.

After a few more silent seconds, Ethan finally said, “So… Lahela, huh?”

She didn’t even bother opening her eyes. A snort escaped her lips before she could stop it. “It’s a little late to play the jealous ex, don’t you think?”

“No, I know,” Ethan quickly backtracked, his tone filled with alarm, but with a forlorn undertone that Claire only recognized because she was well versed in the language of Ethan Ramsey. “I just meant… he’s a good guy, if you had to pick someone.”

Claire couldn’t help but wonder if Ethan was trying to imply that he wasn’t a good guy, but she didn’t have the strength or energy to launch into that discussion. Instead, she said, “He is a good guy. The best, really. It just took me a while to see it.” Her shoulders deflated. “Too long, if I’m going to be honest.”

“I’m no stranger to feeling like you’ve waited too long,” Ethan said quietly. The words cut through Claire, though only deep enough to leave a superficial wound. “But I’m sure Lahela knows how you feel.”

“He doesn’t,” she retorted. She opened her eyes to see Ethan staring at her, confusion raising his brows. Claire pushed herself up so she sat properly. “He thought all he was to me was just a rebound. But he’s not. He’s everything to me. He makes me happy, feel warm, feel safe…” To her horror tears blurred her vision. She didn’t want to be the type of person that cried to her ex about her current boyfriend (though Claire wasn’t even sure that was who Bryce was to her) but here she was. Yet instead of making her feel awkward, Ethan just waited patiently, his face neutral, his eyes betraying none of the emotions she wondered he felt hearing her talk about someone else to him. He dipped his chin for her to continue, and encouraged, she did. She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling and sobbed, “But I couldn’t do the same for him. He got shot because of me.”

Ethan put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Rookie, pull yourself together.”

That nickname. One she hadn’t heard since her final day as an intern, when he had accidentally let it slip before correcting himself with the reminder that she was no longer an intern. It was a nickname she had loathed when he gave it to her; it made her feel impossibly small and feeling like she had to live up to it. But over time she began to associate the challenge that came with the word rookie, the drive that made her want to work harder, the validation when she realized that at some point, the word had turned from a nickname that Ethan had given her because he hadn’t known her name to a name that she had built a positive reputation around. Claire King: the Rookie of the intern year of 2019. The best of the best, the woman who refused to let herself be broken. And now, with Ethan using it just now, those feelings came rushing back to her.

She straightened her back and instinctively raised her chin, like she was poised to report a diagnosis or defend her actions. Ethan gave her an approving smile. “Bryce didn’t get shot because of you. If he did, it was because he loved you, and he would rather it be him in pain than you.”

“But I didn’t ask him to do that!” Claire sobbed, unable to contain the despair slugging through her veins.

“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. “The moment Bryce had seen that gun pointing at you, he had made up his mind.”

She gave him a look. “And how do you know that?”

“Because if it were me, I would have made the same decision,” he revealed,

The tension was so thick in the air around them it could have been cut clean through with a knife. “Ethan…” she breathed.

“I know,” he said, whispered. The words were so simple. Short, one syllable each. Yet they were heavy, wistful, filled with the joyous memories of a life that had been, haunted by the possibilities of a future that might have been. If she wasn’t Claire King, junior fellow on the diagnostic’s team. If he wasn’t Ethan Ramsey, the country’s best diagnostician, and the leader of the diagnostic’s team. It was a truth that went unsaid, the mournful melodies hidden by the words of a promising love song. Their love was one that was fleeting, never meant to thrive, never meant to see the light of day, never meant to go beyond the secret wishes that things were different.

She darted her gaze away from him, focusing on the stain on the patch of carpet that she was praying was coffee. Ethan cleared his throat. “You can’t blame yourself for Bryce’s choices, or even for the gunman’s choices. All you can do is have faith that Harper is amazing at her job and that Lahela is strong enough to make it through the other side.”

She chuckled humourlessly, giving the empty space around her a long look. “Ethan Ramsey, I had no idea you were such a poet.”

Ethan snorted, and that launched the both of them into a fit of laughter, tears streaming down their cheeks and clutching their aching sides. They would finally sober up, but then one of them would break again, and then that would make them lose it again.

The door to the chapels opened, and a short old lady took one step in and turned to find the source of laughter. When her disapproving gaze landed on Ethan and Claire, they both stopped laughing. Instead of stepping inside, the woman clicked her tongue in disbelief and shook her head in disgust before stepping out. Ethan and Claire looked at each other again before dissolving into another round of laughter.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Claire’s laughs ceased. She wiped at the corner of her eyes. “Thank you, Ethan,” she said. “I needed that.”

“Hey, I’m a doctor,” he offered, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It’s my job to make people feel better.”

A smile graced her face, while the ghost of one tugged on Ethan’s lips. It was a gesture of understanding between two people who had loved and lost, and who recognized that while ending things had been the right decision, they would always need each other in their lives. It was in that moment that Claire realized that she and Ethan had needed each other, but were never meant to end up together. In Ethan, Claire had found a mentor, someone who understood her passion and who recognized her talent, who could push her to be the best she could be. In Claire, Ethan had found someone he had been wandering for years without-- a true friend. Someone who listened without judgment, who offered solutions, who reminded you of what mattered in life, someone who was just there when they needed you to be.

And in Bryce, Claire thought, she had found a true partner. In Bryce, she had found the person she was meant to end up with, who would swing their joined hands obnoxiously while they walked down the street while she apologized to passerbys but who did it because it brought a smile to her face. In Bryce, she found someone she knew she could count on to never run away. In Bryce, she had found her soulmate.

Her pager buzzed. The vibration froze her, rendering her unable to move. With an encouraging nod from Ethan, Claire sucked in a steadying breath. She was ready.

She pulled her pager out of her pocket. Looked down at the words that, regardless of what they were, would change her life forever.

He made it.

#open heart #playchoices #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfic #bryce lahela x mc fanfic #alinas fanfic #my fanfic #choices: stories you play

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

An Angel Through Time

David Milton (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of death and a near death scene

Genre: Angst, Romance

Summary: The unthinkable miracle of getting a second chance at love centuries after the first one slipped through his fingers is exactly what happens to David Milton when John’s students are taken back trough time and save him from certain death.

Requested by my dear friend @artlovingbre . Hello! I’m sorry to be posting your request so late, I hope it makes up for the wait. David is really an underrated character and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to write for him. Please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Y/D/N - Your double’s name (same first letter as your name)

I feel someone’s grip on my forearm, encouraging me to open my tightly shut eyes. When I do so, I’m met with a terrifying scene. That evil priest is here, along with that little girl and two other men - one of which is a spitting image of Daniel. The priest is saying something but I’m too busy exchanging confused and fearful looks with Daniel and Andrew who have been dragged into this mess with me.

“What do we do?“ I ask, turning around just in time to see the other man push Daniel’s double over the ledge.

“NO!“ The scream leaves both me and Daniel but while I remain frozen in place he rushes to save the innocent man from the certain death awaiting him.

Luckily, he manages to grab onto him, I don’t know how he made it, I’m just glad he did. However, he’s struggling to pull him up to safety, having his double dangle above his faith. Seeing the man who pushed him pull out a knife and begin to approach the ledge shakes me out of my trance and I rush over to help him myself, grabbing onto the rope that binds his wrists. Thankfully, with joined forces and a little help from Andrew who took a bit longer to snap out of his confusion, we pull the double back inside the belfry. We each lose our balance, falling to the ground, letting go of the rope that has cut through the skin of out palms.

I hiss at the irritating pain spreading through my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. If I had any doubt that this was actually happening, I don’t have it anymore. The pain is real. That scene was real. That man was real. This is all real and I really need to put myself together because otherwise, I’m not making it out of this place alive.

Oh God, the image I saw when I rushed to the ledge - below was a spiked fence this innocent man would’ve inevitably impaled himself on had Daniel not caught him when he did. My heart sinks just thinking of that happening.

“Hey, it’s over now. You can open your eyes.“ Andrew’s comforting voice reaches me through the fog of distress clouding my brain. I feel his gentle grip on my shoulder as if trying to ground me to the present, reminding me we left that behind.

Maybe not completely though. The first face I see is Daniel’s, thing is - a quick look to the left shows Daniel standing aside talking to Taylor. The person I’m looking at is his double. In the present. Here, with us, now.

I look at Andrew who’s offering me a helping hand to get me off the ground. He understands all the bafflement from that simple eye-contact and I can tell he feels the same.

John and Angela ask us for explanations but how are we supposed to explain something even we don’t understand?

* * *

How can this be? It’s them, it’s really them. Maybe it’s their souls looming over me as to shield me from harm. Maybe I have been compromised by the Devil himself. I have no answers, no way to understand what is right in front of me.

The late sister of mine - Tabitha and my deceased lover, Y/D/N.

My eyes may deceive me or an evil force is using me as its plaything. I can not be sure of anything anymore. So help me God, I am miraculously alive. Or I maybe aren’t. This may be my soul reuniting with the souls of my condemned love ones. One was accused of witchcraft by our own kin - our sister Mary, and the other, my dear Y/D/N was a victim of reverend Carver’s sinful, poisoned with malice heart.

We were to be married, the joy of calling her my wife so close within my reach. I remember the night I asked her to marry me: the tears glistening in her eyes, the warmth of her embrace. The happiness that inhabited our home.

And how suddenly it was taken from us.

Y/D/N warned me of Carver’s advances and intentions towards her. I told her not to fear, that I would first throw myself in the arms of damnation rather than let any harm be done to her. I will never forgive myself for not doing more to save her from the horrible fate Carver decided for her when she refused his advances and stayed true to me and our love. She let out her final breath right in front of me, looking me straight in the eye.

Her final words shall forever haunt my mind and memories.

David, my soul will love you beyond death’s grip

This is her fulfilling her last words. She rescued me from inevitable demise.

Like a guardian angel, using her love for me to keep me out of evil’s reach.

“Are you ok?“ She approaches me cautiously, almost fearfully. “That was a close call back there.“

“My eyes deceive me, no? Y/D/N, is it really you?“ I reach out towards her, fearing she is nothing but an illusion. Fearing I’ll never see her again the second my hand touches hers.

Her hand takes firm hold of mine as reassurance that I haven’t gone mad. “I’m sorry but I’m not. My name’s Y/N. I understand that you are having a tough time understanding this and believe me - we’re in the same boat there. Just trust us, we’ll....figure everything out, ok?”

Her voice - her voice opens the wound on my heart Y/D/N’s death inflicted on me. I hear the echo of the purest words I’ve ever heard spoken.

I most certainly do not feel safe nor do I understand what trickery was done to me for my soul to be sent amongst these people, but I believe they mean no harm. I have seen the face of evil - and it doesn’t look like them.

* * *

Daniel’s double, who I now know is named David, is coping with this surprisingly well. The confusion is still clouding his brain but he’s not nearly as freaked out as I would’ve been in his position. He hasn’t asked many questions, I think he’s still in shock. Regardless, he’s calm and...well, alive and that’s what matters. Every now and then I catch him looking at me with this sorrowful sadness in his gaze. I feel my heart sink a little every time I see it. He has mentioned another lady, Y/D/N I think he called her. I don’t know what relation he has to her, but he mistook me for her so I can only assume she’s my double. I’m honestly afraid to ask, I don’t believe I can handle what he’ll tell me. At least not yet.

We approach an old house. That’s a pretty generic description, considering all the houses in this ghost-town are old. This one, however, sticks out. It has clearly been shielded from the cruelty of time by many renovations. It simultaneously looks firm as a fort but also like it could crumble at any moment. It’s hard to explain, you’d have to see it to understand. Through one of the windows we see a faint flickering light, presumably from a lit candle.

“This is our house. What in God’s name has happened to it? Why is it so filthy?“ David looks the house from top to bottom with fear and hurt in his eyes. I see the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks and my heart cracks much like the foundation of the house.

“It may have been your hose back then. It’s no one’s now.“ John tries to explain to him, as delicately and carefully as one could, “It’s our only good lead, given there’s light in there.“

David shakes his head, “I refuse to step foot beyond that doorstep.” His statement is firm, not that we would’ve tried to change his mind regardless.

I look at the group who are exchanging puzzled gazes. I raise my voice to say: “I’ll wait outside with David, you guys can go in and do a sweep. If you find anything useful just holler, I doubt I won’t hear you.“

They slowly nod in agreement before entering the house. I watch as they disappear into the darkness of the hallway, paying close attention to the creaking of the floorboards that bend under the weight of their footsteps - giving me some indication of where they are in case I need to go in and find them.

There is a half-rotted bench in front of the house. It looks far from stable or useable but I decide to take my chances. I sit down and brace for impact with the ground but when that doesn’t happen I wave David over to sit down as well. He does so, though reluctantly - never taking his gaze of the house, the look in his eyes remaining as painful as when he first saw it.

“Y/D/N, she was the light of this home. Tabitha was to be wedded as well. She didn’t live to see that day. I couldn’t protect either of them.“ He rests his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in the palms of his hands. “I should’ve fought till the last undeserved breath for theirs. I should’ve done more.“

With minor hesitation, I place my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him though I know my presence is fueling his sorrow. I’m an image of someone meaningful he lost, how can he even bare to look at me? “Who was she? Y/D/N?“

His hand reaches up, taking hold of mine and removing it from his shoulder. He straightens his posture, gently holding my hand with both of his. “My late wife to be. She was cruelly sent away from this world by the town reverend. He wanted to rid me of my life shortly after Y/D/N, but...” his attention travels to my eyes, “you saved me. I would now be nothing but a lifeless body if you hadn’t done what you did. I will forever be in your debt.” He squeezes my hand in an act of endearment that makes my heart flutter. “Though it pains me to look at you or the other woman,” he tilts his head towards the house, presumably referring to Taylor, “I can not take my eyes off you. This mustn’t be a coincidence. You are either her, or an angel sent by her. I am grateful to you regardless.” His hands uncover mine and he brings it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

I feel this overwhelming need to protect him, to always be by his side and never leave him. I have known him for less than two hours; he’s been a part of this time for just as long and yet I still feel so close and so attached to him.

“Don’t worry, David. My life isn’t getting stripped away and neither is yours. I can promise you that.“ I say reassuringly, nodding to put extra emphasis to my words.

* * *

The way she puts such faith on her words, on her promise, makes me recall how Y/D/N’s voice danced in the air when she’d tell me what our future looked like through her eyes. Every letter leaving her lips carried its own meaning, none less valuable than another. All so certain and concrete. A force to be reckoned with. A force to gain all my trust in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you, Y/N“

I shall put my life in these people’s hands and my heart in the hands of this angel that survived through the walls of time. This strong woman who risked her life to save my own.

There’s no longer a doubt in my mind that she’s my second chance at love disguised as an angel. One Y/D/N’s soul sent me from the heavens where she’s looking down upon me from. I shall fulfill her wish - I shall love again.

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withlove-so · 5 years

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My Fodlansona: Written edition!

Cause who needs art skills, amiright?

(This will have the timeskip looks of Ashe, Annette, and Felix because I took a screen shot from my game and forgot I was at the time skip. If you don’t wanna see that, just avoid this, otherwise you’re good)

Also under the cut, cause this got l o n g

Anyway, my bab!

Her full name is Sorrel Abrielle Caledoria!

I edited a notes sheet for her, and though it’s possible it could change, I like where it is now.

(It’s an edit of my Annette from my game file, with snippets from other characters notes. Don’t mind the wonky stat stuff, I didn’t feel like editing/getting something to match her stat line)

As you can see, she was born in Albinea. (Which I totally made up a history for, since as far as I can tell there isn’t much to speak of beyond the plants that grow there and how freezing it is.)

Past life leading up to 1180:

Her family was the leading and unchallenged noble family for about 7 years after she was born, and even before then they were the leading family. That is until the common people decided to revolt. Her father treated his people poorly since he could do/make them do whatever he wanted without being questioned or denied. They decided to move to Fódlan since they wouldn’t be accepted in Albinea any more.

They, obviously, couldn’t still be considered nobles, so they lived their lives as commoners. Sorrel’s family struggled to adjust to this change, but since she was so young, she didn’t mind at all! She made lots of friends in Fhirdiad, and there were so many delicious treats and candies! A girl her age just couldn’t get enough of it.

But she couldn’t live happily for long, after all, her family wasn’t viewed very fondly. Her father was assassinated while she and her mother were away shopping. Her mother, who feared her life would be next, fled and went into hiding. She and Sorrel went to live at a church near the border, hoping she could take refuge there. Her mother became a priestess and followed in the church’s teachings. She begged the Goddess for forgiveness on the behalf of her husband’s cruelty and her own cowardice.

Her mother died due to a seemingly incurable illness only a few years later. Sorrel blamed the Godess for not helping her mother (or maybe even cursing her directly) despite her efforts to repent. She turned her back against the Godess and the church’s teaching, but because she had nowhere else to go, she feigned loyalty.

Sorrel wants to make her late mother proud, and tries to live her life to the fullest. She decides that since she can no longer be a noble, she may as well become close to one. She decides to attend schooling at the officers academy, this way she would be able to learn how to fight and, one day, become a knight. She hopes that attending at this academy will allow her to become close to and swear fealty to a noble.

What’s her house?

100% Blue Lions, come on now

(I totally wanna think of students for the other two though, cause I really enjoyed making this one.)

What’s she like?

Sorrel is pretty competitive and loves to show off. Gotta get those good knight points, right? She’ll challenge anyone who opposes her to a fight, and the last man standing gets to be right! So basically, she’s not the brightest. She charges in without a plan, but it just kinda works out. Probably because everyone else has to try and cover for her. Despite all this, she really is trying her best, it’s just in... interesting ways. She just wants to help the people she cares about, even at her own risk. (she really is knight material...)

Outside of fighting and training, she’s a softie. She loves eating baked treats and sweets, especially homemade ones. She loves anything and everything soft and fuzzy and won’t hesitate to pet it if she sees it. She also loves cold weather, which goes hand in hand with her love of fuzzy things. If the temperature is above freezing, she’s a sweating mess! She honestly doesn’t understand how anyone can live with it being so hot...

What’s she look like?

I can only give a description but hnnnng I’ll do my best. She’s really pale because Albinea is so cloudy and cold, most people stay indoors and don’t see the sun often. Her skin could be compared to that of a ghost. Her hair is orange and at chin’s length, though it used to be really long when she was younger. Her eyes are a light green color and she has a smallish nose. Her face is always red since she’s not used to Fodlan’s weather, even after all this time. She’s usually sweating for the same reason. She’s taller than average height at 5′5″, though not by much. (Spoiler: She doesn’t get any taller 5 years later, it’s tragic)

Stats and such:

I love gameplay mechanics so I couldn’t not include this

She starts off with an Iron lance, I’m not 100% why I chose this for her it just felt right.

These are her skill levels, including what she’s good and bad at.

⏬Sword: E

⏫Lance: D

⏺Axe: E

⏫Bow: E+

*️⃣Brawl: E

⏺Reason: E

⏬Faith: E

⏺Authority: E

⏬Heavy Armor: E

⏺Riding: E

⏫Flying: E+

I chose brawling as her budding talent cause I’m biased and she’d totally deck someone if she could.

Her default class line would be

Soldier -> Pegasus Knight -> Wyvern Rider -> Wyvern Lord

But other alternatives could be

Fighter -> Archer -> Sniper

(If the enemy gets too close she just... punch)

Fighter -> Brawler Brigand -> Grappler Warrior

(She may not be able to wield an axe, but that won’t stop her from destroying everything in her path)

Personal Skill: Reckless Charge: If unit attacks first, damage dealt to foe +3 and damage taken +3

Misc info:

I chose dancing as an interest of her because... I don’t know. To be honest. I just thought she’d find it fun and enjoyable. Twirling around and having fun, laughing and just, being chill for once in her life. It was just a nice thought, but because that’s all it was I didn’t really know where to put it. So here it is.

I chose her close allies for a few different reasons.

I chose Ashe because I’m biased and love him he admires and wants to become a knight and so does she. But for two completely different reasons. I thought the dynamic would be interesting since he wants to become a knight to help people while she wants to be one just so she can rise above her current status. And I’m biased and love him.

I chose Annette because I see her as someone who is also close to Ashe and because she is from Fhirdiad. I imagine they must have run into each other a few times back then, and they could have even been friends. Maybe they shared sweets together? The idea was just too cute to pass up! They would definitely have girls nights and just hang out together.

Finally, I chose Felix because I’m 100% sure they spar. All. The. Time. They both want to prove their strength. Sorrel wants to show off and prove she’s the best, and Felix wants prove he’s stronger than everyone, and getting stronger, so of course he’d challenge someone so cocky. Sorrel is pretty naïve on what it really takes to be a knight, so most of what she knows comes from fables and such, and Felix would definely HATE it. So I think they’re dynamic would be like a competitive Ashe and I love it.

Bonus: Caspar would totally be a close runner up. They’re both morons who love charging in, they would just enable each other and it’d be horrible.

#I love my little dumbass enabler #it's 1 in the morning now but #whatever here she is #fire emblem three houses #fodlansona #fe3h oc #not an ask

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leviosarpg · 5 years

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Congratulations, JESS! You have been accepted for the role of ODIN CLEARWATER! Jess, I must admit, I am just insanely in love with the Odin you’ve created here. My favorite thing about your app was how seamlessly and creatively you were able to weave the 1940s setting into your writing-- from the headcanon about his grandparents to Odin’s letter to Evan, I was floored by your ability to ground Odin in both the muggle and wizarding world. Furthermore, I absolutely loved the humor you brought to Odin’s character (the tidbit about him being a “chronic club joiner” had me cracking up). But it was the additional mention of his Head of House giving him a warning, that had me losing it, as quickly realized I had something very special here. Jess, you brought such a wonderful energy to Odin that I simply cannot wait to see on the dash.

Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: jess/22/she,her/gmt+10

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Odin Clearwater – I liked the description of him as a ‘renaissance’ man, with interest in a wide range of things. Someone warm-hearted but unrebellious, because I can see some interesting feelings and plots there with him being in the midst of a war – wanting to do right and help others but not really a fighter or a leader so what place will he find? Especially as a person who seems defined by not choosing a side or limiting his options. But that’s not out of cowardice or selfishness, just engagement and interest in everything and presumably, care about everyone.

extracirriculars: Hufflepuff seeker, Astronomy, Charms & Potions club member

para sample:

The Hufflepuff common room was never quiet, even at night. For one thing, the kitchens were right next door. Curfew or not, there was a steady stream of students going back and forth for a late night treat. Then there were the younger students, too afraid to put down the quills for the night, overwhelmed with work. No Hufflepuff would ever let them sit alone. Odin himself was one of the older students who frequently stayed up to all hours helping anyone who was behind. If he was honest with himself, he much preferred that to doing his own work, which he tended to find quite uninteresting.

Well, perhaps uninteresting wasn’t the word exactly. Just – very contained. Even in NEWT years, the teachers did seem to have a schedule to stick to. As for Odin and schedules, well, everyone had agreed he wasn’t best suited to be President of the Charms club. He had trouble sticking to one topic in the course of a conversation.

That didn’t matter much to him. If he’d been asked, he wouldn’t have described himself as a leader anyway. Perhaps a guide, if necessary, like now. “You’re thinking of levitation,” he said gently to the second year, as he read through the girl’s essay. “Enchanting an object to fly is similar, of course, so it’s quite a good way to start off describing it, really.” He preferred to encourage rather than dismiss anyone’s ideas – you never knew where an idea might lead you.

Unfortunately, he knew from bitter experience that professors had rather different ideas about what they expected. “But don’t forget to add a little bit at the end distinguishing the two. To fly it needs to be able to extend itself upon its own powers, levitation is you doing all the work.”

He rubbed his eyes, body weary despite his determination to stay up for anyone who needed him tonight. That didn’t matter, though, his mind was, as ever, firmly alive and vibrant.

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

No changes!

Headcanons:

Odin is a chronic club joiner, right now in addition to being on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, he’s an active member of Astronomy, Charms and Potions club. He really enjoys talking to people about his interests because there’s no better way to learn than sharing (a true Hufflepuff philosophy). He tried to join the Herbology club as well, but his Head of House gave him a little warning about overstretching himself and the fact that his classwork could use a bit more attention than he’s currently giving it.

He’s aware of the Liberation and supports them, but truthfully, he’s a bit frightened of it. Odin is no fighter and certainly not the type of person who sets the world on fire. He’s a comforter more than a protector and he knows it. He certainly understands why the Liberation are getting ready for a fight, but he truly hopes it never comes. The world has been torn apart already and Odin would hate to see it split further. He knows in the eyes of many he seems naïve, but he can’t see why it’s so ridiculous to believe that they can be better, choose better. If there’s one thing he knows, from all his cobbled together, melting pot of interests, it’s that the easiest and best thing in the world, is to learn.

An only child, his paternal grandparents were both Muggle-borns. He has some distant cousins in the Muggle world, but has never met them. As a child, he would walk down to the local village with his grandfather, who showed Odin the oddity of the Muggle post office, as that side of the family did not like to receive owls. Odin was very interested by this and wanted to send off his very own letter through this curious means. He corresponded with a cousin around his own age for a few years, discussing their lives and families, how different they were. It was an equal and lively correspondence, with affection between the cousins, but also slightly detached and forensic, as if they were studying each other as a strange and foreign creature. But it was then cut short when the Clearwaters received word this cousin had died overseas in the Muggle war. Odin felt a chill when he read this, the man who seemed so alive to him through words, to be gone now, was perplexing and devastating. Guilty that he looked on Evan’s life as a bystander, did nothing for his cousin who he could perhaps have saved with magical interference, he looks at Odette and Apollo and worries that the same thing will happen again, due to his inaction and unwillingness to get involved in a fight.

The last letter, not sent in time to be read by the recipient:

Dear Evan,

I’m writing to you from the Hufflepuff common room. I told you about the houses before, didn’t I? It’s a curious thing, to be catalogued along with your peers. But I hope we don’t make the mistake of thinking we know everything about each other because of it. It’s rather like you and I, in a way. Our differences bind us too, far more than what separated us. I can’t imagine you would have corresponded with me for so long if you didn’t like hearing about the magical world! Funny then, that you being a Muggle and I a wizard is what took our lives in different paths. We might have grown up together had things been otherwise. But it’s also brought us back together, for I have found each letter you have written to be indispensable.

I was alarmed by the tone of your last missive. Grateful as I am that you are taking the time to write to me, still, when your circumstances have become so dire, I feel I should be your last priority. Your mother, for instance, could certainly benefit from more letters from you, I am sure she treasures them. My grandfather tells me she is rather short with him in their own correspondence, apparently, she feels I take up rather too much of your time.

But there you go, I have gone off topic again. I meant to give you counsel. I cannot imagine what you are living through. Letters may have served me before in this matter, to see a picture of your life, but war is something else entirely.

Evan, you asked me what I think of death and maybe you hoped I knew something more than you did. But this isn’t like flying broomsticks, or Charms that turn dogs into rats. We don’t know a thing about it either.

I believe there are people who study it in our world, at our Ministry. They are called Unspeakables, and as you may guess, if there is knowledge they have that the rest of us do not, they do not share it. I had dreams of being one of them once, but to delve into the deepest secrets of the world and then keep it to oneself – you can perhaps see why I cannot even fathom it any longer. Why, think of all the secrets I have revealed to you! I must speak my ideas once I have them, for truly it is the sharing that begets the idea in the first place.

Ah, but I am a hopeless correspondent and talk of myself when you asked for specific answers. You have my apologies, a thousand times over. Cousin, I wish I could tell you something different. As I have described to you before, ghosts do live among us. They speak of something beyond. But they choose to remain behind, so they are as doomed to ignorance on the full truth as we are. All I can say is that I believe your kindness entitles you to a heavenly reward, if such a thing does exist. Truly, Evan. I’ve thought about it myself – you know I fancy myself something of a great philosopher, but my mind is quite unmanageable, elusive even to me on occasion, and so it seems, are any answers. I think, if there is such a place, we will end up there together. Muggle and wizard alike.

But that is not an encouraging thought. I should like to meet you, face to face, very much, but it will be in this life. It is quite against the law, naturally, but I will show you Hogwarts one day, if I can, Evan. You can show me Cambridge. I always liked the sound of it, when you described it. A place of higher learning. The wizard world could indeed learn from Muggles, just as I have always learnt from you.

Until we do meet – and let it be soon!

Your faithful cousin,

Odin

#bio rp #bio rpg #lsrpg #skeleton rp #skeleton rpg #accepted #odin

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witch-of-letters · 6 years

Text

Alliances don’t come cheap - Part I

I’ve decided to (almost) completely rewrite the series ‘cause I felt that something was off about the story (the way it sounded, the descriptions etc.) This time though, the details should be well-written and the characters well-described. I’v also taken the liberty to add the actual scenes and dialogues from AC: Brotherhood here. Hopefully, the description of things is better this time.

P.S. The feedback is always appreciated. Don’t only tell how much you’ve liked it, say how well the characters were written, what do you think of the main character (i.e. the Reader) and what do you think will happen next?

Synopsis: Arriving to Rome was not what you had imagined. Some painful memories are brought up, but that doesn’t make you lose your focus. The Apple is safe in the Assassins’ hands, but for how long?

Theme song: The Seccession - One Hundred Strings

Bold italics - Spanish/situation/places

Italics - thoughts/Italian/emphasizing

Previously on ADCC:

“Promise you’ll come back.” You looked at him. You didn’t want to leave him either but duty called, and you’d be a fool if you chose to ignore the threat the Borgia posed.

“I cannot, Aguilar. The Borgia must be brought down. It’s now or never.” with that you stabbed the map, right on the spot that you’d be visiting next. Rome.

Rome, 1500

Roma. The city of long gone centurions, senators, and gladiators, looked captivating as though it was built by the God himself. Ancient structures were still standing, now but a shadow of their former selves. You, now a ‘respectable’ ambassador (the title of which you earned through shrewd manipulation of people and well-thought tactical plans), were currently looking at the horizon, watching as the sun was slowly descending down the sky and illuminating everything with its orange glow.

Everything was as you had predicted. The forces of the Borgia were stationed throughout Rome, terrifying its citizens into submission; Corruption was running rampant among the ranks of both nobility and priesthood; The presence of the Assassins was weak - and nothing was being done about that. It would be up to you to find the solution to all of the above. With or without the local assassins’ help.

Stepping down from the roof, you walked all the way to the port in silence despite receiving strange looks from some of the passerbys. It was a known fact that Italians looked down upon the Spanish, demeaning them in almost everything, be it fashion, commerce, or the way of ruling over the something. And you chose to ignore it - for their own sake.

It didn't take long for you to find the exact spot where the messenger would intercept you and give you a letter with the most recent updates on the current situation. You let out a quiet but amused hum as you once again realized how used you were to carrying out the duties of an assassin while disguised as a seemingly harmless bureaucrat, whose persuasiveness could rival any of the diplomats'. ‘What would mother say about this?’ A tinge of sadness struck your heart at the mere mention of her. You were still heavily mourning her, as though she died only a week ago...but in reality, it has only been eight years since it happened. Neither you nor your father, who disappeared after your twelvth birthday, were ever the same after her initial disappearance when you a three-year-old. But while you were on duty here in Rome, you refused to let your mind be consumed with these thoughts. They would only interfere with your life and make you lose yourself.

“Signorina, signorina!” a shout was heard from behind your back. ‘Finally.’ you thought. The young man, wearing only a pair of pants, boots, and green rags, handed you a sealed letter as he tried to manage his breathing. You looked at the sky once more. He was fast, you’ll give him that.

“Grazie, I assume no one followed you?” This type of questioning was always necessary in this line of work, so that no lose ends would be left to tie up. At your words, he looked around, trying to make sure he was indeed not being followed.

“No, signorina, I was alone all this time. Even if anyone followed me here, they’d be no match for you. Everyone in the Thieves’ Guild knows that.” he whispered last bit excitedly. Indeed, if anyone dared to go against you, physically or with words alone, they would instantly regret doing so. They didn’t call you a Spanish Mentor and Master Assassin for nothing.

“Bene. If you see La Volpe, be sure to extend him my thanks. I really appreciate his help.”

“I will.” The young man left your presence in a hurry, as though carrying the message to its current receiver was a matter of life and death. The thief in question though, was even more elusive than ever. While he has responded to a letter you had sent him from home, so far, he still hasn’t met up with you to discuss various important things. How could you reorganize the underworld network without the Master-Thief and a long-time friend of yours at your side? You hoped you would receive an answer to that question soon, before everything crumbles beneath the heavy feet of the Borgia.

The Vatican Vault, in the meanwhile

Ezio was confused by Minerva’s words. Who was she? Who were ‘Those who came before’? What were the Apples made for? Why did she call him ‘the Prophet’? And who was Desmond? She showed him various things through her projections that he couldn’t make sense of, and then disappeared abruptly, leaving him with many unanswered questions. But he didn’t have time to ponder on that, the Apple and the Papal Staff had to be dealt with, so he left the secret chamber, only to find that the Staff was still standing in the center of the platform. He tried to pull it out, but the mechanism clicked, and it was quickly pulled down and sealed off. So much for trying to get it out. Suddenly, the platform started to lower down, and bringing forth the walls, making the circle Ezio was standing in even smaller. Mario appeared up on the edge of the Vault.

“Better in the hands of the Earth, than in the hands of man.” Ezio didn’t expect him to appear there.

“Uncle?”

“What can I say?” Mario continued while gesturing with his hand, “We sent a single man against an entire army. I was worried. Quick, climb up. We have to get out of here.” Ezio did as he was told. There was no time to waste. Once he was finally up, he turned back to his uncle.

“You would not believe the things I have seen, Mario,” he began but was quickly cut off.

“Then be sure to stay alive, that I might hear of them!”

“I expect opposition.”

“And I expect the Borgia to mourn the loss of many lives tonight.” With that, they quickly left the room, running through the illuminated halls, only to stumble upon a big group of monks standing near the exit. One of them exclaimed: “Che cosa fate qui? (What are you doing here?) Assassini. God will see you pay for your crimes!” Another one said: “You have desecrated the sanctity of this holy place." Ezio was quick to respond.

“You condemn what you do not understand.”

“We must go, Ezio. Now!” Mario sternly reminded. They ran through the group, pushing a couple of monks aside, and once outside, Mario voiced his concern over his nephew.

“Did Rodrigo manage to hurt you?”

“Barely, my armor blunted his attack.” Again, another group of religious men was mumbling amongst themselves ‘For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.’

“Be ready to fight.” When they opened the doors, they were met with a bunch of Borgia guards. They attacked them immediately on sight.

“What are you doing?!” exclaimed Ezio while running a sword through a guard’s gut.

“Saving you, from the look of things,” replied Mario.

“Not bad for an old man.”

“Agreed. You still have some skill.”

“Buona questa. (Good one.)”

“Excellent!” They kept fighting them off, one by one, untill all of them were dead and bleeding. When Mario started running away, Ezio was quick to follow him, climbing up the crates and portruding beams. On their way, they were again met with some guards, who were dumb enough to unsheath their swords. They were dead within moments.

When Mario finally stopped, Ezio found himself standing at the edge of the tower, overlooking the Tiber river, and holding the Apple in his hands. He was hesitating to throw it into the river below.

“This decision is yours alone to make, only do so quickly.” Ezio kept holding the Apple over the edge, but he couldn’t unclench his fingers. Something didn’t seem right about just throwing it away. Seeing his hesitation, Mario offered a solution: “Give it to me. You can do with it as you will later.”

“Bene.” He handed the Apple over to his uncle.

“Jump!” They jumped off the ledge. It was time to go home.

Later, in the evening

It was getting dark. Torches were burning with a golden glow, not only attracting moths to themselves but also illuminating the way to your new residence, courtesy of your another long-time friend, Niccoló Machiavelli. If you were honest with yourself, you had quite the strange relationship with him. While you knew each other almost like the back of your hands and you still kept secrets, it felt as though he knew what they were. Knew how heavily they weighed upon your shoulders. Even so, he was a very good friend - one that would never dare to betray you (despite a certain fox thinking otherwise in the nearest future).

Once you stepped through the front door, you immediately went upstairs, taking off your clothes, and subsequently drawing yourself a hot bath. It was a privilege to have one, since not every person could afford buying one, and frankly, some people were apparently still believing the superstition about washing their own body being bad and sinful. Idiots.

Allowing yourself to relax in the water, you heard a knock coming from downstairs. ‘A guest? Now? *sigh* Can’t you let a woman enjoy the relaxation time?.’

“Come in!” you shouted. While the nightly visit was a surprise for you (you never expected guests so late), you were thankful for it being done before you went to bed. The footsteps were getting louder and louder, and soon enough the door opened, revealing the Niccoló Machiavelli himself, without a stain of dirt on him. The bastard. You gave him a look. He threw a sincere apologetic smile your way.

“Couldn’t let me scrub myself clean, amigo? I’ve never pegged you for being that kind of man, Nic.” you velvety voice sounded sweet but with a hidden tone of annoyance and warning in it. He produced a paper from beneath his red robes.

“I only wanted to give you this letter with instructions, Y/N. Besides, you would never kill me, I’m your friend.”

“So you are saying but don’t let my calm voice and facial expression fool you, I’m still pissed off about you coming here at night. I prefer to receive visitors in the daytime. And besides,” you mocked him, “you could’ve sent that letter with a messenger. I received one from Volpe today.” You began washing your long hair, applying an almond-scented oil, which according to the merchant you had bought it from, would make your hair shiny and soft. He wasn’t lying when he said that - that much you knew.

“Really? What did it say?” he stepped closer to the window. “I assume those were the updates on Roma?” Your silence was an answer enough.

“Then you know that he has to do it as quickly as possible. This city hasn’t been in a good state for quite a while now, and I fear the situation will become even worse.”

“That much is clear. The Borgia have always been up to something. If they want power, they will stop at nothing to achieve that. The unrests in Madrid and Barcelona were handful enough after the end of Torquemada’s Inquisition eight years ago. He was a fool. The king was a fool. I was a fool, Niccolo.”

“There’s nothing wrong with-” you swiftly cut him off.

“You don’t know what happened in there! It…It was a mess. No, worse, un montón de mierda (a pile of shit)! If things were different…maybe all of the Borgia would already by lying deep beneath the earth, forever trapped in the darkness…” you stood up from the bathtub, not caring if your current visitor saw you naked. He focused on something in the distance, allowing you to cover yourself with a simple white nightgown. Once you were done, you approached him.

“I will start gathering the intelligence myself tomorrow. Preparations will take time but as always, it’s better to be ready than making up everything as you go.

“I will take my leave then. Buona notte, Y/N.”

“Buona notte,” you whispered back once he closed the door. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, that much you knew. But before laying down under the warm covers, you went towards your writing desk and sat down. For days now, Cesare has been gathering his forces near Castello Sant’Angelo. While his motives were somewhat unclear to you, you knew that nothing good would come out of this. If you were correct - and with those things you usually were - he would set his sight on Monteriggioni, since just earlier today, you heard of Ezio defeating Rodrigo in the Vault. And now his son would try to get the Apple back...If Mario doesn’t receive the letter you’re about to send him, you fear Ezio will experience a great tragedy once more. As if the man hasn’t gone through enough.

Taglist: @sassenach-on-the-rocks, @kisstheassassins, @creednight, @assassins--and--hidden--blades, @thelastemzy, @tarjanisfrye, @iceboundstar, @thebgassassin, @undertastic-dork, @mavrisfanfics @, @ermergerd517, @galaxycat-1459, @clara-oswhy, @peanutbutter-kitz, @kittitt, @sazula, @writingsofawaywardnerd

#ezio auditore x reader #ezio auditore imagine #ezio auditore #ezio imagine #ezio x reader #assassin's creed #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed brotherhood #userwayward #niccolò machiavelli #la volpe

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losersincollege · 6 years

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College AU Roleplay - Character Introduction 4/8

Mike Hanlon will be played by @mikehanlonstan

Under the Cut: descriptions of physical and mental characterization; background on what Mike’s been up to between the summer of IT and the start of the RP.

-Character Description-

Physical:

He doesn’t shave often; usually has facial hair, but at least he keeps it neat.

He always forgets to, or procrastinates, getting his hair cut so it tends to get messy, but it’s cute.

Wears glasses; big round ones. I’d say he wears them like 60% of the time.

Big eyes and the most gorgeous smile you'll ever see.

Freckles. Just a lil’ bit of freckle on his nose/cheeks.

Fashion sense has greatly improved since his teenage years. He’s actually pretty damn FASHIONABLE (for now).

He’s not ripped, but he’s pretty fit and toned from years of farm work and playing football. Also, he runs very fast.

Rough hands. True farm boy.

Personality:

Mike is just a genuinely good person. He’s nice to everyone, but especially caring when it comes to his friends and family. He has a strong sense of justice and will stand up for himself and anyone who needs it.

He always thinks about everyone’s needs before his own and will go out of his way to help a friend, and will usually be the one to try and resolve any tension in a group.

Even with people he dislikes/hates, he’d rather ignore them than start shit. Don’t be fooled, though; he might be a lover, but he won’t hesitate to fight someone if they get on his really bad side. Everyone has limits.

He’s a romantic and always wants to see the good in people, but not to the point where it’s considered naive. He’ll give second chances and the benefit of the doubt, and has the empathy to understand where someone might be coming from, but that’s about it.

He’s very loyal, but not to a fault. He won’t hesitate to call someone out if they’re wrong, even if it’s someone very close to him.

He’s nice to new people, but always somewhat hesitant and suspicious, since he was bullied pretty much his entire life.

He tends to be a bit of a pessimist, but tries not to.

He’s very curious, loves to read and learn, and questions EVERYTHING; he never takes anybody’s word as gospel until he’s done his own research. He’s very smart and quick-witted and finds his way out of sticky situations easily.

He’s not one for blind faith; like I said, he questions everything, and won’t believe in anything without solid proof. As a child he didn’t mind going to church with his mom, believing in the supernatural/paranormal etc., but he quickly grew out of that around the age of 12-13. All that being said, he won’t deny the existence of anything either; he just needs proof to be 100% on board. Somewhere between skeptic - believer, I guess?

Mike admires and looks up to his father very, very much, lives by his lessons and the values he’s passed on to him, and tries his best to make him proud.

Misc: Sings like an angel, horror/sci-fi fan (Alien is his favorite movie), listens to a wide variety of music genres (but MJ is king and always will be), hobbies include reading, photography, bike rides/driving early in the morning, cooking and playing the same 5 chords on the guitar over and over (he’s trying to learn, shh) etc etc.

Family:

William & Jessica Hanlon (parents): AKA the two people he loves most in the world. He’s got a very tight and loving relationship with both of them, especially his dad. He probably calls them like every night.

Bambi (doggo): The family’s border collie, a very good boy. They adopted him when Mike was 16, because that’s how long it took him to get over Mr. Chips.

Leroy & Shirley Hanlon (grandparents): Also very close with them, despite not seeing them as often as he did as a child anymore. Talks to them on the phone often and loves them both dearly.

4 uncles from his dad’s side: Not as close, since they all live scattered around the country with their families, but still family.

2 aunties & a grandma from his mom’s side: His mother and her family don’t really get along. He barely knows them and rarely speaks to them.

Amnesia Status:

Doesn’t remember the summer of Pennywise.

Sometimes he has nightmares about it, and wakes up to his back hurting where the bird scratched him, or his palm stinging. But he immediately forgets and the pain fades.

He has a general feeling of unease literally just from being in Derry, but can’t explain why. It’s just a constant bad feeling in the back of his mind.

Often gets the urge to revisit locations where he encountered IT, but it passes.

Subconscious fear of large or weird looking birds. He’ll fight a chicken no sweat.

He vaguely remembers going to school with the Losers, but only knows them as acquaintances/classmates, not as good friends or anything more.

-Pre-RP Background-

High school:

Mike graduated from Derry High School and didn’t leave Derry until his third year of college.

Without the losers, he went back to being a loner for the rest of middle/high school, despite being in the football team and actually pretty popular. He remained close friends with Stan until Stan moved away for college and they began to forget eachother, and then he just never established any meaningful connections. He still had to deal with racist bullies, but over the years he learned to deal with it better; although he’s still terrified of Henry Bowers to this day.

Transitional Years:

Will was diagnosed with lung cancer during Mike’s senior year. It was very scary and, coupled with his low funds, made Mike reluctant to leave home. So he stayed in Derry and went to community college.

He continued playing football, worked part time/ summers at the library to save money and bought an old used car… but otherwise slowly watched as his dreams and ambitions rotted away day by day in that miserable, prejudiced town. :)

But he really wanted to spend as much time with his family as he could, since he was scared his dad might die any day. So despite everything, it was his choice to stay and he stood by it.

Moving away/Current status:

As Will became more stable and started to get better, his parents started urging him to transfer out of state and finally get out of Derry, because it was obviously fucking depressing him, despite what he said.

He was reluctant to transfer at first, but since he didn’t have the funds to move out of state anyways and he wouldn’t be too far from home if anything were to happen, he decided to do it.

And so, he transferred his credits to the University of Maine, and Mike finally left that little shit hole of a town. He’s thrilled to finally have that awful weight off his shoulders, but he will still phone home every night and visit as often as he can.

#losersincollege #mike hanlon #stephen kings it #the losers club #losers club rp #it rp #character bios

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ernmark · 6 years

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Hi I love all your penumbra metas. In the latest episode I'm still confused by what actually went wrong with the dome, was it the society or the dome that didn't work?

Is this gonna be a thing I do?

I am totally cool with this.

Again, major detailed spoilers for Promised Land under the cut.

And an anon asked:

Thanks for explaining the end of the episode! I’m a little confused about what happened with the dome in the first place. I mean, I know the free dome wasn’t real. And Erin tried to get her son(?) to get it to work and he was a giant dick trying to torture people looking for it. Did Erin set up the dome stuff prematurely? Did it ever exist? Marshall’s son felt really bad and wanted to warn everyone. Where did the hallucination gas fit in? Did Erin and company think they had it but didn’t?

One thing to keep in mind is that we’re deliberately not given the full story, so all we’re left with is bits and pieces that we can glue together to kind of get a vague impression of what happened, but the way I put them together won’t necessarily be the way you put them together.

So let’s get to it, shall we?

Why was the Free Dome important?

Real estate on Mars is expensive, outside of super low-income neighborhoods like Oldtown, The Boiler, etc.

This is because 90% of Mars’s surface is uninhabitable. If you want to live somewhere, you better be willing to fork over a ton of cash for a tiny place, or else you’re going to be buddying up with your immediate family/seven of your closest friends/etc.

JUNO: Mars only has a couple cities and a few desertoutposts cuz the radiation will bake you like a potato if you stay out theremore than a few hours, and Domes can’t be built just anywhere. So if you want anew city, you’ve got to figure out how to build a place to build it. You haveto invent a better Dome.

Life cannot exist underground, because the ambient radiation is just too strong:

PILOT: A lot of space in this subway. I wonder why I neverbuilt anything down here. Some housing or something.

PIRANHA: People lose their marbles if they live under Martianground too long. Radiation burns, Brainswell…

STRONG: You know whatbeing under all this radioactive sand too long does to you? Drives you crazy.Makes you see things.

This is likely why the subway has been closed off everywhere except Oldtown– most likely it wasn’t safe for the people working there, or for the people using it for transit.

Oldtown was the only part of Hyperion City that still had a connection to the Old Subway, behind a boarded-up door in a nondescript office building. (Stolen City)

This is probably also why the only thing that lives in the sewer are giant mutant rabbits.

Notably, though, both the subway and the sewer system are in fairly good repair because they’re both under Hyperion City and its protective dome. The same doesn’t hold true for structures built outside of that protection:

People hadbuilt things down here, signs and lights and tracks, but the radiation hadclearly done damage even this deep below the surface. Fixtures corroded. Trackslike time had taken a blowtorch to them.

Even the existing domes are fragile. We know that Hyperion City’s has some places that are protected better than others.

RITA: Well… sounds like a pretty bad sandstorm is gonna hit this afternoon. You’ll probably want to be out of Oldtown by then; the shield over there’s about as strong as used tissues. They went into lockdown three times just last month. (Day That Wouldn’t Die)

Our Man-Who-Wasn’t picked a good neighborhood to set up shop in: the Old Industrial District, a place blasted by sandstorms and cosmic rays so hard that not even the roaches would live there anymore. The shields protecting the rest of Hyperion didn’t reach this far, and so neither would most of its citizens. It was the perfect place to do bad business – so long as you didn’t mind a tumor or two. (Prince of Mars)

That’s important: You can’t build domes just anywhere, and the domes that do exist have to be heavily shielded from sandstorms and cosmic rays.

If you can solve those two problems, then you can build a dome wherever you want, you can build as many of them as you want, and all the unclaimed land on Mars is effectively yours for the taking– and that means that you now have the power to decide who gets to live there and who doesn’t. Do you give affordable housing to anyone who wants it, like Erin Marshall D’Arc? Or do you do like Pilot wanted, and make the hyper-wealthy pay top dollar so they can have their own personal golf course? Either way, that’s an incredible amount of power.

The Family D’Arc

So we have three main characters in this story: Erin, the scientist; Marshall, her son; and his kid, Domer 3 (they’re never given a name, but that’s what the script calls them).

We started in a reception hall that didn’t lookprepared to receive anybody. There were portrait frames on the walls, but mostof them were empty, and the ones that weren’t just showed family photos. A momand her son –- the D’Arcs, probably. The kid all grown up, moody, wild-eyed.The only full portrait in the room had the face scratched out – and theydidn’t look like Erin or Marshall.

Erin was a military scientist who thought she had a solid technology on her hands, and believed in it enough to run away with a group of other believers. Erin was an optimist who seemed to genuinely believe in her Utopian dream.

After her death, her son Marshall took over leadership of the dome.

MARSHALL: Cuz Ma might’ve had allthat crap about everyone being her neighbor or whatever, but guess what? She’sdead.

The character descriptions in the script talk about how Marshall was a believer who wanted desperately to be good enough, but neither he nor the Free Dome ever lived up to expectations, and that broke him.

But all of that is background information. From what we see in the episode itself, Marshall was… not a nice person. His tests were murderous, sadistic, and full of gaslighting and victim-blaming, and the way he addressed his prospective “neighbors” was nothing short of abusive.

So you’reprobably wondering why I stopped you out in these irradiated badlands, with allthe oogidies and the boogidies waiting to getcha. I’ve got three answers forthat. Answer one: it’s none of your business. Two: my testing materials havegot to last a long time, forever probably, and it’ll help wear-and-tear if lessof you make it to them. Three: it’s still none of your goddamn business.

“Anyone whowishes to enter the Free Dome must be generous, and give more of themselvesthan they can afford. So sit upon this Chair of Charity and give to us… fromyour blood.”

Congratulations.You’re a very generous idiot. Here’s the Dome… and here’s your blood back,weirdo. Just do me afavor: if you feel like you’re gonna bite the big one, show yourself out,alright? We’re already behind schedule without cleaning up your carcass.Marshall out.

That’s it!Easy, right? Just hold the Dome and walk straight. No matter what. You hear me?No matter what. (AN UNDERCURRENTOF DARK, DARK ANGER) And if youknow what’s good for you, you’ll listen.

That’s way beyond unreasonable. But it wasn’t just toward the test-takers. His kid flat out tells us that this was regular behavior for him.

Dad was a good guy, too. I mean… well, no hewasn’t.

I never met her, but Dad… Dad wasn’t good beforethe radiation either.

(Notably, this is the same kind of language that Juno uses to describe his own mother.)

We don’t know Domer 3′s name, but we know that they lived outside of the dome with Marshall long enough to know him (and his abuse) before the radiation made him worse; we also know that Erin didn’t live to meet her grandchild.

After Marshall presumably died, Domer 3 seems to be the last person here. They recorded warning messages to keep everybody away, and encoded a kill switch into the final recording so that once it was activated, nobody could enter the Free Dome again.

There is a fourth character here, but we only know them incidentally. I don’t know whether they were Marshall’s ex-partner or his co-leader, but Marshall really did not like this person:

MARSHALL: … a test tosee how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Notlike that weasel Malvin, I swear ifyou’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

Alright, fine.Test of Faith. You’ve got to do whatever I say exactly, right? That’s how youprove you can be faithful. That you’re going to listen when I tell you to dosomething. That you’re not just going to run out. Malvin.

I suspect Malvin is not Domer 3, because otherwise Domer 3 would have been given a name in the script. Also because Malvin clearly left on their own terms, whereas Domer 3 was clearly the last one there.

So what went wrong?

As near as I can put it together, there were two main problems, one structural and one societal.

Structurally, the dome tech just didn’t work.

I’m sure it did in the short term– after all, the dome sample that Pilot received was powerful enough to protect them from most of the dangers of the third trial, and it was stated to be a much less powerful version of the real thing.

I genuinely believe that Erin set up her city on the other side of those doors in the end. But what worked in a lab setting just couldn’t hold up to the brute force of sandstorms and constant cosmic radiation. As soon as the dome failed, everybody had to rush back into the relative safety of the underground areas on the other side of the door. The ruins of the city were likely warped by radiation and ground up by sandstorms until they were reduced to nothing at all.

Underground, Erin kept trying to fix the dome tech, and then brought in her son to give it a go. Both of them failed.

I wish they made it. I wish it was possible. Erin, I think she really thought, even if she couldn’t do it… maybe Dad could. She believed in him so much. And when he realized he couldn’t make it work, he just… (BIG SIGH) It was bad. He was… bad.

They were underground in the facility long enough that they started to hallucinate death millipedes, undercrows, and from the sound of it, the functioning dome itself:

I don’t know how it happened. The undergroundradiation, maybe, making them see things, or… maybe they just wanted to see it.

What exactly happened to them isn’t elaborated upon, but the implication is that they assumed that the tech worked and walked into the desert unprotected, which killed them within a few hours.

(Just to clarify: there was never any hallucinatory gas; the hallucinations were a result of the brainswell, which was in turn a result of the underground radiation.)

But there were some societal issues at play, too.

I’m gonna step back for a second into the real world: historically, there have been a handful of experimental Utopian colonies over the years, with varying degrees of success. A common thread, though, is that a lot of them tend to fall apart when people stop dividing things evenly and start hoarding and hiding an unfair share of the goods for themselves (among other things). The test of charity suggests that this is one of the things that went down here. Once again:

MARSHALL: … a test to see how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Not like that weasel Malvin, I swear if you’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

But it’s not the only thing that went wrong.

Erin’s answer to a galaxy-ending conflict wasn’t to address any of the existing problems that broke the world, but to just pack up and move somewhere else. Which is not that great of a strategy.

Your wholething is that the world’s a train wreck, so you open up a new city and just letanybody who wants walk in? That’s not anew world. That’s not a utopia. That’s the old one all over again. Justsmaller.

Erin’s strategy was apparently to please everybody, which is also not a great leadership strategy, especially in a small place with limited resources. Marshall had a lot of things to say about that, but he wasn’t much better. Apart from being seriously abusive, Marshall wasn’t the kind of leader that could command respect, which he clearly resented.

… what isthis, second? Uh, Test of Faith, how about that? Listen to whatever I say.Somebody’s got to. Somebody should.

Hey, you listened. Nice work. If you’re alive. Which you probably aren’t. Because you probably didn’t listen. Nobody does. Why would you? Why would anybody?

On a societal level, the Free Dome was doomed to fail even before the brainswell started making people hallucinate and taking away their ability to think rationally.

From the sound of it, people stopped listening to the D’Arcs, they started hoarding things, and then they started leaving or dying, until the only ones left were Marshall and his kid. And then it was just Domer 3, who shut down the whole thing and walked away.

#the penumbra podcast #penumbra meta #yelly-the-jelly #abuse mention

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aivaehdaevis · 4 years

Text

The More Things Change: Ch 11

The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelg��nger herself, Elena Gilbert. Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus Rating: M Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death. Master List External Links: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad

Chapter Eleven

Warning for mutilation. Please skip this chapter if such a subject bothers you.

Cheer practice was a disaster.

Not that this surprised me. Between my nerves being shot from the night before, the circle’s under Bonnie’s eyes and her continued avoidance—made worse by my avoiding her, and Caroline’s transformation into a drill sergeant from hell, it was the embodiment of misery. I’d tried to quit before we’d even started, but one stern glare from Caroline made the words die in my throat. I figured it was better for ‘Elena’ to perform so badly, Caroline might toss me off the squad herself. Hopefully not from the top of a pyramid.

Not that I could’ve balanced well enough to make it to the top in the first place.

Stefan wasn’t with the other guys on the field. I thought he wasn’t around at all when, during a water break, I spied him up on the bleachers, watching. The knowledge I had him as an audience to my failure made everything that much more humiliating.

As soon as Caroline declared the day finished, glaring at me in a way that made me happy she wasn’t a vampire, Bonnie hurried off. If I remembered the episode right, she should’ve gone to dinner with me and Stefan. And then Damon and Caroline show up.

Guess that was off the agenda.

Instead of heading straight off to my bag, I shuffled to the stands. Stefan met me halfway down, folded arms resting on the railing as he leaned over. “Hope you enjoyed the show,” I said, sour.

He smiled. “I take it you weren’t a cheerleader?”

The night before, we hadn’t had time to talk about me at all. Which I was thankful for. Thinking of my life reminded me that I no longer had it. Family. Friends. Job. Everything I’d worked for. If I started down that road, I’d fixate. I doubt I’d be able to function. “No.” I bit my lip before admitting, “Soccer.” Before he could comment, I hurried to add, “I was terrible. I was only allowed on the team so they’d have enough players.” I grimaced. “I can kick well enough, but only so long as the ball isn’t moving. And no one’s running at me. And I’m not running.”

Stefan dipped his head to try and hide his grin. I found a patch of dirt fascinating. I dug a toe in. “Anyway,” I nodded to the team. “I see you’re not on the field.”

“Too big a chance I’d be revealed.” Stefan watched the team practicing for a moment before adding, “I’m surprised I’d even consider it, let alone try out.”

“I think you wanted to impress Elena. Make her happy.” I remembered. “And you ended up bonding with Matt.”

He glanced aside, towards the figures hustling across the field. “Elena’s ex?”

“He’s a good guy,” I defended.

Stefan looked back. “There’s other ways to make friends.”

Sure, but none so quick as bonding on a team. Ah, well. I wasn’t going to worry about Stefan socializing enough.

“I didn’t come just to watch you at practice,” Stefan said, pulling me from my thoughts. “I thought we could go back to my place.” He held up a familiar leather-bound journal. “Figure a few things out.”

I swept the back of my hand over my slick brow. “I don’t know, Stefan,” I said, nose crinkling. “Jenna probably noticed that I never came home last night.”

“I’ll have you back before late afternoon,” Stefan assured.

I considered it. Eventually, I nodded. “Okay.” I glanced in the direction of the parking lot, blowing a piece of loose hair out of my mouth as the breeze kicked up. “Did you come in a car or…?”

“Or,” Stefan said with a self-effacing grin. “Mind giving me a ride?”

I shook my head. “Let me get changed.” I would’ve liked a shower, but that would have to wait.

Standing, Stefan slid his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be outside the dressing room.”

Changing didn’t take long. Stefan was leaning back against the wall outside the locker rooms. We fell into step, his longer legs adjusting their pace to accommodate Elena’s shorter stride.

“Will you talk to Damon?” I asked, stepping from the sidewalk onto the parking lot’s blacktop with a tap of my sneakers.

Stefan rolled his shoulders high. “I can try.” His tone suggested he didn’t have much hope of getting very far.

“I suppose I’ll have to go over it all again,” I sighed.

He kept his eyes on the pavement. “Damon’s in denial.”

We reached the SUV. I unlocked the door and climbed in. Stefan followed a moment after. Placing my bag in the back, I paused before settling in my seat. “Why aren’t you?”

Stefan met my stare. “Why should I be?”

I arched a brow. “It’s nuts?”

“Exactly,” he agreed, lip curling every-so-slightly upward.

I held his gaze for another moment. Facing forward, I started the car. “Maybe I’m an outrageous liar.”

“Those stories you told me. About growing up.”

Foot on the brake, I paused.

“Were they true?”

I stared out the window before forcing myself to check the rearview mirror. “Yes.” I eased out, shifting into drive. “Different names. Caroline and Bonnie wouldn’t know about anything I told you.”

“I’m sorry.”

I focused on cruising down the lane and turning into traffic. “What’s done is done.”

“That doesn’t make it any less unfair.” I felt him watching. For what, I wasn’t sure.

I exhaled. “I can’t think about that, Stefan,” I admitted, grip tightening on the wheel. “If I start, I won’t stop.”

“Okay.”

An uneasy silence filled the car. Flashes of my life kept creeping up on me. I tried to focus on the road.

Still, I felt I owed him something for his faith. “Heather and Erica.”

“Hm?”

“My best friends. Their names.” I cleared my throat, blinking back the tears that threatened to blur my vision.

The quiet became a little lighter.

“Charles,” Stefan said a little later.

I glanced at him. “A friend?”

He nodded. “His parents were sharecroppers. They farmed a section of land a few miles from the main house. We were about the same age, so his mother tutored us together.”

“What happened to him?”

Stefan traced his hand along the dash. “I don’t know. After I turned, I stayed far away from him.” He looked out the window.

“I bet City Hall has records.”

“Death certificates.”

I realized his point and made a non-committal hum. Thinking of the friends and family I left behind, I wondered, “How do you do it? Live on past everyone you know?”

Stefan’s brow furrowed. “Honestly?” At my nod, he said, “Don’t get attached.” He looked at me. “Otherwise, you move forward, one day at a time. Until you learn how to live without them.” He stared back out the window. “No other choice."

If that wasn’t the loneliest thing I’d ever heard, I wasn’t sure what was.

We passed through the rest of Mystic Falls in silence.

The boarding house was quiet as Stefan led me through the front door to the library. I shrugged off my jacket, mildly startled when Stefan took it. I ignored the buzz of pleasure the old-fashioned move engendered in me. “Where’s Zach?”

Hands still holding onto my jacket, Stefan paused by the coatrack in the hall. “Downstairs,” he said, a frown in his voice. Before I could ask what he was doing in the basement, Stefan had left.

I wandered down the steps further into the room. Several pictures sat on the various tables spread out across the room. I took up one beside the sofa nearest the fireplace. The picture was old, early nineteen hundreds, at least. A portrait of a man stared back at me. He was clean shaven, dark hair arrayed in the style of the day. His eyes looked lightly colored, possibly blue, though the photograph was sepia toned and impossible to say for sure. There was something in the shape of his jaw and eyes that reminded me vaguely of Damon.

A pair of footsteps sounded outside the still-open door. Setting the photo down, I wandered towards the entrance.

“—going down there,” Stefan said.

“He needs food. Water. Changing the bucket.” My nose crinkled as I realized why Zach would have to change a bucket. “We can’t lock him up and ignore him.”

“I’m not suggesting that.” A touch of impatience entered Stefan’s voice. “I told you. I’d take care of it.” There was a beat of silence before he added, “Or don’t you trust me?”

Another poignant moment passed. “Of course, Uncle Stefan.”

A wry Stefan replied, “It’s fine, Zach. Probably wise not to. But do me a favor and stay away from the cells.”

“Whatever you say.” Zach wasn’t pleased.

“It’s only for another day or two,” Stefan assured him.

As their voices drew nearer, I returned to the side table with the mystery descendant’s photo. I sat on the end of the sofa as Stefan appeared. Zach wasn’t with him.

“Sorry.” Stefan jogged down the steps and joined me at the couch.

“Something wrong?”

Stefan sat on the edge of the opposite end. “I found Zach speaking with John.”

“What about?”

“I’m not sure. They quieted when I reached the stairs.” He frowned. “Actually, Zach did. John said hello.”

That didn’t sound like John. “Weird.”

Stefan twisted slightly to face me. “The vervain should be out of his system in a few days.”

“Then we’ll have one less thing to worry about.”

“Speaking of,” Stefan said, leaning forward. “Do we have the time to be worrying about Katherine?”

The question startled the huff of a laugh from me. “Stefan, we’re way ahead of schedule.”

His frown deepened.

“We have the time to reassure Damon.” I reached down and undid the laces on my sneakers. “The sooner he accepts Katherine left him long ago, the sooner he’ll start looking for a new purpose. This town,” I finished as I slipped my feet free. I would have been worried about the smell after practice, but was too enamored with the idea of getting off my feet altogether.

“The town,” Stefan repeated, doubt slowing his words. The same doubt made his stare all the weightier.

“Yes. The town.” I wasn’t Elena. I was under no illusions of that. “What we need to be ready for is Esther.”

Pulling my feet up until I was sitting cross legged, I reclined against the arm of the sofa. Stefan was still leaning forward, elbows planted on his knees, hands folded. “It doesn’t sound as if the Original family is safe to deal with.”

“So long as we give them what they want, they’ll be reasonable.” I thought for a second before amending, “Well, Kol and Rebekah might be problems. But they don’t have to be involved."

Stefan’s gaze hardened. “What they want leads to your death.”

I was already dead—but pointing it out wouldn’t help my cause. “Elijah has a way around that.” Maybe. I left that part out, too. Stefan had a real save-the-damsel complex. “And Klaus will have a powerful reason to make sure I survive.”

“Turning you into his human blood bag.”

“I’m more worried about you,” I said, hoping to change the subject. “Klaus wants the Ripper back.”

Stefan peered across the room towards the bookshelves. I doubt he really saw any of the titles, though. “It sounds like I don’t have much choice.”

“Then you know where I’m coming from.”

I found myself fixed in his sights before Stefan rubbed his brow. “You have no idea when Katherine comes back.”

“No. Isobel and John were her agents. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she pops up sooner rather than later.” It seemed to be the way things were going lately.

He nodded. “She might send more to test the waters.” He leaned back. “You’re sure an alliance with the Originals is feasible?”

“One with Elijah is. So long as it doesn’t threaten his family. Since we’re offering to help protect it, it’s all but a guarantee.” That much I was sure of, at least. “Klaus is a wildcard. I think he can be persuaded. My compliance and knowledge in exchange for his help—it’s a good bargain.” I was prepared to tell him my name if it came down to it. Klaus would like to have that extra bit of insurance hanging like the sword of Damocles over my neck. He had to feel in control. “We need their near invulnerability and strength.”

“Near,” Stefan muttered, mouth thinning.

“Let’s just focus on the tomb for now.”

“One thing at a time?”

I didn’t think, with all that was coming, we could afford to do it any other way. Too many chances for something to go wrong. Too large a chance I’d forget some detail. “Getting your brother to stop plotting against you will go a long way towards helping.”

We spent another hour sketching out ideas. Solidifying our plans for opening the tomb. Who to contact first between Elijah and Klaus. How to get word to them. How much to reveal. We tried to come up with ways Esther might interfere.

As supper time neared, I said goodbye to Stefan and—after collecting my jacket and being escorted to the door—returned to Elena’s.

I managed to beat Jenna and Jeremy, which I supposed meant it was my turn to cook. Thanks to a seasoning packet and shells I found tucked in a cupboard, I ended up making tacos using the vegetables John had prepped that morning. Eating a lone dinner, all the leftovers went back in the fridge.

I was vegging in front of the television when the front door opened. Following after the clomping footsteps, I found Jeremy in the kitchen grabbing a box of cereal. “Tacos in the fridge.”

Jeremy rerouted. He didn’t bother with the microwave, just shoved the meat straight in the shell and loaded it with hot sauce. My nose wrinkled as he bit in. I caught a glimpse of his eyes as he fixed his second. Red, glazed, and half-closed. I had a feeling I’d smell something distinctly herbal if I were to get close enough to catch a whiff of his hoodie.

“Uncle John left.”

Jeremy frowned but shoved the last of his second taco in his mouth rather than answer. He immediately started making his third.

“Leave some for Jenna,” I said.

Jeremy gave a thumbs up. I left him to it.

I filled the rest of my evening with homework until fatigue dragged my concentration too far down to focus.

That afternoon was the first time since appearing in this crazy world that I hadn’t woken up drenched in sweat and terrorized from some forgotten nightmare. I hoped this was a new trend to be repeated.

And then the light died.

I jolted awake to find a man leaning over the bed.

I gasped and drew in a breath to scream. The bedside lamp clicked on. “Damon!”

“Hello Not-Elena,” he said, belly flopping down at the foot of the bed.

My stomach plunged. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

“Mm,” Damon hummed, grabbing hold of a pillow and making himself at home. “Charm. In pocket.”

I eyed him with naked skepticism.

He huffed before pulling something out of his front jean pocket and tossing it towards me. “There,” he muttered before burying his head in the pillow.

It was a small bracelet of woven leather. I caught a glimpse of writing on the inside of the leather strips with what looked like a sharpie. Literal charms had been woven into the twining straps. Beads that I realized were carved from different crystals. Lavender amethysts, sea green turquoise, rose quartz, and tiger’s eye. Interspersed were small metal discs, each one etched with a different symbol inside of it.

It was beautiful.

“It’s acts as some kind of restraining order for ghosts,” Damon said as I fastened it around my wrist, turning it this way and that to see the light gleam off the beads. “Smaller range,” he amended. “‘Round a few hundred feet.”

“And there were no… issues?”

One of Damon’s eyes cracked open. “Like what?”

I guessed Bree was still alive. Good. “Nothing.” Damon’s one-eyed stare narrowed, but he shut his eye again before questioning me about it. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” he mumbled.

“You can’t sleep here, Damon.” I was about to push him off the bed with my feet, then thought better of it.

“Mph,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Long drive. Tired.” He started shucking his jacket. Twin thumps hitting the floor said he’d toed off his shoes.

“Damon,” I began, using my most commanding tone, “I mean it.”

“Fake-lena,” he sighed, “I drove fourteen hours to ensure your spirit stalker couldn’t haunt you.” He tossed his jacket off the side of the bed. “At least let me get in a few hours before I fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Do vampires even need sleep?”

“If this show of yours followed my life, I know you saw a bed.” Damon snuggled down. “Now shhh. Sleeping.”

“It wasn’t just your life.” He didn’t respond. With a disgusted sigh, I threw back the covers and grabbed my pillow, marching to the door.

He turned his head to follow me. “Where are you going?”

“To the guest bedroom.” I realized its bed probably already had a pillow. I kept hold of mine anyway.

Damon muttered, “Don’t be a child.” His eye opened. “You’re not a child, are you?”

“I’m tempted to say yes so you’ll leave me alone.”

He nodded to himself. “Didn’t think so.”

“First of all, I don’t sleep with men who threaten others get my compliance.” Damon shut his eye and flopped a hand against the mattress. “Second, I don’t get involved with men who are in love with other women.” Damon shrugged. I ground my teeth. “Third, and most importantly, this isn’t my body.”

“Finders keepers,” Damon replied into the pillow.

“Okay, that’s a five-year-old’s logic.” I opened the door.

A large pale hand pushed it shut. An annoyed vampire stared down with tired eyes. “Fine. I’ll go.” His brows rose. “But if something terrible happens on the way, I want you to know—” he leaned in, “you are completely responsible for it.”

I pushed him in the direction of the window. “Good night, Damon.”

“Good night, Not-Elena. And you’re welcome.” He was gone in a flutter of curtains.

Walking back around to my bed, I saw his shoes and jacket gone, too. I shivered and went to back to bed wondering just how fast he could move.

The next morning, I felt better than I had in days. No pulse pounding terror or sweat-soaked sheets. Then I remembered it was game day.

I didn’t bother with the cheer uniform. Thankfully, Damon didn’t know anything about it when he picked me up that morning. I was certain I’d never hear the end of it if he did.

At school, I could see the relief on Caroline’s face all the way from the parking lot. “Oh, thank god,” she said as I approached.

I went straight to the point. “I’m quitting.”

Caroline didn’t even bother to put on a show of disappointment. “I had no idea how I was going to drop you from the squad.”

I hiked my bag further up my shoulder. “Problem solved.”

“Who would’ve thought missing one summer of cheer camp would make you so bad,” Caroline went on.

“Yeah. Go figure.” I spotted a familiar figure with his stupidly handsome little smile sitting on his favorite table. “Oh, look. There’s Stefan. I’m going to go say hi.”

Caroline looked as if she had more to say about my suddenly abysmal cheer abilities, but I rushed off as fast as I dared without making it look like I was running away. I mean, I was, but I didn’t want her to know that. Stefan’s small smile unfurled into a full grin as I neared him.

“Morning,” he greeted, eyes gleaming.

I huffed. “You heard that.” Despite being too far away. For a human, I supposed.

Stefan lowered his head a bit. “I did.” He glanced over. “I think you made a wise decision.”

“Uh huh.”

“There are lots of alternative after school activities.” The gleam in his eyes took on an amused tint. “Maybe Mystic Falls can start a soccer team.”

I scowled. “I know where you sleep, Salvatore.”

I felt ridiculously proud when he chuckled. The sound of it made my skin tingle and grow warm all at once.

The rest of the day passed like the others. Bonnie was definitely avoiding me, but the memory of Sheila’s face just before Stefan killed her made me grateful for the fact. I had no idea how to talk to her as if everything was normal. Had Sheila’s absence had been noted by now? I wondered what Damon had done with her, and then decided I was better off not knowing.

The murmurs of the other students were, weirdly, becoming familiar as well. Now the topic was Elena quitting the squad. I was learning how to tune it out. Why these people cared so much about what one girl was up to baffled me.

What’s more, I began to suspect the rest of Elena’s friends at lunch were beginning to freeze her out. They asked less questions, didn’t bother trying to include me in conversation. I couldn’t really blame them. I’d been so worried about saying the wrong thing, I’d been saying very little at all. They were learning to ignore me.

It was enough to make me glad to hear Damon’s camaro for once. I hurried into the passenger seat without even token resistance.

Head down as I buckled the seat belt, I didn’t realize anyone else had approached until the back door creaked open.

“What are you doing?” Damon drawled.

My head was up and around in time to see Stefan slide into the back seat. “Getting a ride from my brother.”

“Get out,” he said with a perfectly pleasant tone while grinning. There was an edge to the way he held himself, though, that made my stomach drop. He was too still, like a panther getting ready to pounce.

“We need to plan, Damon,” Stefan said, tone staying reasonable. He nodded to me. “We can do that back at the house.”

“What’s to plan?” Damon asked, still in his faux pleasant mien. “We get the crystal, I call the witch, we open the tomb.” His sunglasses tilted down as he lowered his chin. “Besides, haven’t you been feeding on Bambi blood? You can run home.”

“Just drive,” Stefan replied archly, settling back in the seat.

Damon stared for several more seconds before another fake smile flickered on his face as he turned back around. “You really ought to get that engine looked at, brother.”

Stefan hummed as he watched the other cars glide by.

An awkward silence brewed under the rush of wind as the camaro sped through the streets. With my hair down, it fluttered and whipped all over. The sky was clear and bright, the trees sparkled as sunlight peeked between their leaves. The further towards Wickery Bridge, the fewer houses we passed, until it was just woodland.

It was a beautiful Virginia day.

If it weren’t for the two vampires determined not to interact in close quarters, it’d been a lovely ride. As it was, by the time Damon pulled into the garage, I swept the hair out of my face and exited as soon as the car stilled. Shutting the door with my hip, I attempted to tame Elena’s hair with my fingers, using the side mirror to judge my success.

Thankfully, Elena lacked the naturally wavy hair I’d had. It was far more forgiving and fell more or less back into place with a minimum of fuss. As a lifelong owner of a certifiable tangled mess whenever the slightest breeze kicked up, I hated her. Staring at the big brown eyes in the reflection, I wondered if I’d ever get used to seeing her face staring back at me. Or how long I’d have before Elena found a way to kick me out for good.

Hopefully not before Esther lost the means to cast her spell and kill the Originals.

Assuring myself that’s what I was here to figure out how to stop, I straightened up and found the brothers waiting for me to finish primping. Fighting to keep the slight flush at the back of my neck from spreading any higher, I forced a tight-lipped smile and hurried over.

While Stefan immediately took my jacket at the door, Damon strode straight the library. I waited while Stefan finished hanging our jackets up and dropped his bag off on a small bench pressed against the entryway wall before following Damon.

“What’s amazing,” Damon started from the wet bar as he poured himself a generous drink, “is that you think I care about any of this.”

Stefan folded his arms, his dark t-shirt giving an impressive view of his biceps. “You should. You’re involved.”

“I’m not convinced Fake-lena is on the level.”

I hesitated next to the sofa. “I’m right here.”

Damon’s eyes flashed towards me as he picked up his drink. “What? Would you prefer I talk about you behind your back?” he asked as he wandered around the bar. “I want in the tomb. That’s it. The rest,” he waved his glass between the Stefan and I, “you two can figure out.”

Brows pinched low, Stefan ambled down the steps. “You don’t want to know anything about what’s coming?”

“Big nasty witch who wants to do some spell on the first vampires and kill us all,” Damon replied as he sat on the arm of the sofa. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”

“It’s true,” I insisted.

“We’ll see,” Damon replied, lifting his drink and taking a sip. Before Stefan or I could get in another word, his attention flitted to the door. “Hello, Zach.”

The front door drifted closed with a click. The rustle of plastic announced Zach before the tallest Salvatore appeared in the doorway holding several grocery bags. “I was about to make dinner.”

“Thank you, Zach,” Stefan replied, still staring with furrowed brows at a smirking Damon.

“Will Elena be staying over?”

“Oh, um—”

“Of course.” Damon’s smirk twisted higher.

Lips thinning, I fixed Damon with an unamused side-eye. “Only if it isn’t any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, is it, Zach?” Damon was the picture of pleasant courtesy. I didn’t buy it for a second.

But Zach shook his head. “No.” He lifted the bags a little higher. “But I’d better get started.”

“You’re not going to take any of this seriously, are you?” Stefan immediately asked as soon as Zach left, diving back in headfirst.

“Nope.”

Feeling a familiar pressure, I stood up. “Mind if I use your restroom?”

The way the conversation was going, I doubt I’d miss anything important, anyway.

“No. Of course not.” Stefan moved off the stairs. “Down the hall, third door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Stefan nodded as I passed.

Back in the main hall, I could hear the sound of rustling plastic from the kitchen across the way. Passing it and the main staircase, my sights roamed over the artwork on the paneled walls. The old-fashioned light fixtures that had probably once been set up for candles before being converted to electric lights.

The bathroom was as sumptuously decorated. Ornate mirror over a standing sink. A toilet that looked like it was from an earlier century. No tub or shower. Those must have been kept to the rooms upstairs.

After washing my hands, I was about to join the brothers back in the sitting room when the sight of a door near the staircase caught my eye. I thought it looked somewhat familiar from the show. Curiosity overcoming my manners, I slowly pulled it open and found stairs leading down. It must have been the way to the basement.

John was down there.

I thought of his odd behavior the day before. Why had he taken off the family ring? Or didn’t seem at all disappointed to see me and not his daughter? And with Damon here, was he being treated humanely?

The questions nagged at me enough that I found myself sneaking down the first step, and then the second, so on and so forth until I reached the bottom.

The basement didn’t start out looking like a dungeon, not with normal finished walls and a concrete floor. It was a large space, but one stuffed with furniture and antiquities. Following the room to a door across from the staircase, going through finally led me to the more… iffy portion of the basement.

Here the older foundation of the boarding house could be found in the exposed brickwork and a narrower hall. The cells were immediately visible. Huge wooden doors with barred windows, like something out of an old movie.

Mindful that Damon and Stefan would probably discover what I was up to within minutes, I stepped up to the first cell door and peeked through the bars.

Pressed into the corner of the cell, John’s head leaned all the way back as both eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was dressed in a plain button-down shirt and pair of dark slacks, the same clothes from the day before. Every muscle was relaxed. If it weren’t for the brick walls and dirt floor, I wouldn’t have guessed he was a prisoner.

I was about to slip away when his eyes rolled down. “Elena.” He smiled, sat straighter. That stare fixed itself on me, now. “E-lay-nah.” He folded his hands. His ring was still missing. “Pretty name, isn’t it? Do you like it?”

I looked back towards the open door and the storage room beyond. “I guess.”

“That’s good. Since it’ll be yours from now on.” The tap of shoes scraping against the dirt drew my gaze. “I’m glad you came to see me.”

I moved back a step. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

His grin widened. “For a man who tried to banish you?”

Yeah. It sounded stupid when put like that. I grimaced. “I guess it’s a perfect duty.”

“Mills,” he said, delighted. For some odd reason. “You know philosophy.”

“A semester of it.” I’d taken the intro course mostly out of vague curiosity. Well, that, and as a freshman having felt insecure enough to want the intellectual bragging rights. Which turned out to be incredibly ironic, because all philosophy did was make me feel like an idiot. Long dead white men pontificating on the nature of things does not make for an easy or entertaining read.

“So, tell me,” he shifted his weight, leaned nearer the door, “what did you learn about Hell?”

Okay. Talk about your light conversation topics.

“It was introductory philosophy. We didn’t delve deep into the theological stuff.” And I was done with it by then.

“You must have thoughts. An interpretation,” he insisted.

I guess it was a subject I should give graver consideration. Considering. “I don’t know. I suppose there’s the classic lake of fire. A realm made of your worst nightmares. Dante’s circles.” I thought for a moment. “I guess the one I’ve always gone with is the absence of God.”

John’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “Yes! For what is God, if not everything? And in the absence, nothing.” A fervor entered his eyes. “No up or down. No hot or cold. Long or short. Never or always. Not even pleasure or pain. Just-“ he gestured all around the cell with his hands, “being. And nothing.”

I eyed him. “That would—qualify. Sure.”

He stood, strode to the door. A hand curled around the bar. “Now, imagine this. Existing in nothing. Not even time, because there’s no way to mark it. It’s eternal and yet never was.”

“I don’t think I can,” I said slowly.

“No, I suppose not.” His head tilted. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

I’d say so. What he described sounded like a sensory deprivation chamber, and those were supposed to drive people to hallucinate if left in long enough. Who knows what being stuck in one ‘without time’ might do.

“But what would such a pitiful being think when, out of nothing, comes something.” He turned rapturous in his intensity. “Something wonderous. So bright that, for the first instant in an existence that never knew time, the darkness was chased away by this—this star.”

Unable to imagine it, I stuck to reason. “It’d probably be overwhelming.”

“Inadequate,” he insisted, fervent as a snake handling preacher. “It’d be everything, wouldn’t it, Elena? Everything it had ever known, and for the first moment, would ever know.”

Yeah. He was nuts. “Uh huh.”

Some of the brightness dimmed. Shoulders slumping, John looked aside with a bitter smile. “This… is…” he shut his eyes. He swallowed hard, smile turning euphoric. His neck began to flush, while his hand squeezed the bar.

My stomach turned. Feeling oddly voyeuristic, I stepped aside. “I’m… going to go.”

“NO!”

His hand shot out. I jumped back, startled. I needn’t have. I’d been far enough from the bars that I was well out of his reach, but seeing his hand appear before my face… not fun. I eyed him again, taking another step back.

“Don’t go, Elena,” he pleaded, eyes wide and beseeching. “Please. Please don’t go.”

“But visiting hours are over.” For once, the sound of Damon’s voice brought relief. He draped an arm over my shoulders. “She’ll have to come back, oh,” his eyes narrowed, “never.”

John’s hand retracted, slow and steady. A grin filled his face. “We’ll see.”

“Hmm.” Damon gave a crinkled eye smile back. He then guided me down the hall and towards the stairs. “Say bye-bye to Uncle John.”

I shot an uneasy gaze behind me. “I’m not sure that was Johnathan Gilbert.”

Back through the antique room, he dropped his arm as we reached the stairs. He fell behind to let me go up first. “Well, if not dear ol’ Uncle John, who do we have locked in our basement, Not-Elena.”

“Not-John.”

He snorted. “How many of you body snatchers from outer space are there?”

I glared at the top of the stairs, only to be met by that stupid smirking face. “I’m not from outer space. I’m from another dimension.”

“Yeah, because that’s so much better,” Damon shot back as he passed. “Come on then. Before Stefan spontaneously combusts from worry.”

I blew out a breath and followed Damon towards the sitting room.

A scream halted us both in our tracks.

Damon disappeared. Left gaping in the middle of the hallway, I hurried off in the direction I thought I heard the shout come from. The kitchen.

I didn’t have time to take in details beyond the impression of a large dining room table off to one side and a long counter to the other. I did notice the small island stove to separate it from the rest of the room. Mostly because it was lit, with a pot and several pans on top.

Zach was over a sink in the center of the counter, Stefan and Damon to either side of him, supporting him. Several blood-soaked towels hung off the sink’s edge. Another was wrapped up to Zach’s elbow.

“Elena, stay back,” Stefan half-called half-snarled, veins bulging around his eyes.

Zach had more blood smeared over his mouth, the two holding his hand over the sink. “It hurts,” he said, voice airy and weak.

Damon carefully unwrapped the towel. What he saw made his eyes narrow and his nose wrinkle. “Mm. Yeah. He’s going to need a doctor.”

“I fed him my blood.”

“Don’t think that’s gonna grow them back, Stef,” Damon countered.

I walked further into the room, over to a pan that was starting to smoke. Grabbing an oven mitt, I made to pick it off the flame and turn the rest off. Then I glanced down.

At first, all I noticed was a mix of sautéed vegetables and chopped meats. Then I saw them. Small and round, burnt on one side, they looked a bit like mini sausages. Except for the nails. “Oh my god,” I breathed, recoiling back into Damon. At the sour taste and the pressure in my throat, I hastened to cover my mouth.

Damon twisted to look over my shoulder. “Huh. Never seen that before.”

Stefan glanced at us and asked, “What?” but from the wary look on his face, he probably already suspected.

Damon said it anyway. “Three guesses as to tonight’s mystery meat, Stefan.”

I couldn’t swallow it back anymore. I raced to the wastebasket at the end of the counter and discovered Elena’s body experienced the same lightheadedness that I’d always felt when vomiting.

I heard Damon click his tongue.

“What the hell, Zach?” Stefan asked.

“I wanted to see if it would hurt.”

Despite still feeling sick, I was so taken aback I had to look up through watery eyes at Zach. We all stared, dumbstruck. Even Damon.

Though he didn’t stay speechless for long. “Right.” Damon moved the pan off the stove. “Cooking privileges revoked. Forever.” He let the pan fall onto the countertop with a clatter.

Stefan shook his head. His veins had at least started to recede at the shock. He wrapped another towel around Zach’s hand.

Dinner was forgotten by everyone without ever needing to discuss it. Damon and I spent the rest of the afternoon into early evening cleaning the kitchen while Stefan saw to Zach. Damon offered to take me home, but I didn’t want to leave when things got tough and bloody. I’d be running regularly from the Salvatore house—and the Gilbert house, and the high school, and the town—if I did that.

Instead, while he took care of the pan from hell, I did my best to wipe up the blood. And I had to clean it up well enough that Stefan wouldn’t smell it whenever he got near the kitchen. I used a lot of bleach.

I’d just finished up and moved back to the library with Damon for a much-needed glass of his five-hundred-dollar tequila when the front bell chimed. He pushed himself off the sofa with a, “Be a minute,” to me before hurrying to answer. I reclined, looking into the lit fire. Glass rubbing back and forth against my forehead, I wondered what the hell had happened to Zach. Damon and Stefan both thought he’d been compelled by Anna as a warning, but I couldn’t figure out why Anna would do that. I was mulling it over when footsteps approached.

“Elena.”

“Jenna?” Hastily lowering my glass, I turned to stare over the sofa and found Jenna in the doorway, Damon lingering behind her. Lips pressed into a thin frown, she wore the most serious expression I’d ever seen on her face. In person, at least. I immediately wondered if she knew that John was here. From Damon’s crazy eyes just behind her, I realized he was thinking the same thing. Not good for Jenna. Frantic, I blurted, “Stefan and I were just studying—”

She interrupted with, “Tyler Lockwood’s in the hospital and Jeremy’s been arrested. For assault.”

#fanfic #the vampire diaries #tvd #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #the more things change #damon x ofc #stefan x ofc #elijah x ofc #klaus x ofc #elijah mikaelson #klaus #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #elena gilbert #jeremy gilbert #jenna sommers #tw: mutilation

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maidenoftheforestlight-blog · 7 years

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So...I was reading an article the other day in which a critic noted that American film adaptations of British classic literature often seem to downplay the element of classism that is typically so pervasive in... well, British literature in general, but definitely anything written before the mid 20th Century. That made me think about GOT as an adaptation of ASOIAF, and the way that class is depicted as an element of the world building in the books vs the show.

In the books, of course, most of the POV characters are of the nobility and pretty much all of them would be considered “classist” to a modern audience, at least to some extent, because they do not mix with the “common people” and subscribe to the social hierarchy of their society. A notable exception is Arya Stark, who is “class blind”, so to speak. Especially at the beginning of the series, Arya seems both largely ignorant of the realities of class distinction and also seems not to care about class as social construct at all. This, of course, is largely because Arya is a child and has not yet been made aware of the ugly reality of the social order which places her very near the top of the pyramid (as a Lord’s daughter) and her friend Mycah pretty near the bottom (as a butcher’s boy) and therefore makes their friendship extremely difficult to sustain, even impossible to sustain, once the idyllic bubble of her Winterfell childhood is popped. And Mycah’s death essentially was the result of the social order, the status quo, punishing him for daring to play with another child so far above his station. This is something Arya still doesn’t quite grasp after the fact, but it is quite clear to reader. There is to be no justice for Mycah. No one is going to fight for his parents in court, and proclaim the injustice of an innocent child’s murder. No one.

You see, because Mycah is lowborn no one will seek justice for him, “no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father” thinks Arya in despair. All these men are “good” men by Westerosi standards, but all of them understand the social order, subscribe to the social order, and will not fight the Crown on the issue of a murdered peasant child. Basically, it isn’t a deal breaker for them that their king allowed it to happen and it would be for most people today who hope to be worthy of the description of “good person”. This is because all of these men that Arya wants to step up and fight for Mycah’s right to live as a human being are classist. Now, they are “good” Westerosi men, and would never kill an innocent child themselves, but they are classist nonetheless because they uphold the classist social order. The fact that Arya, as an innocent unbiased child, cannot understand this at all makes it quite clear to the reader that the social hierarchy is both inherently stupid, unjust and morally bankrupt. Yet, at the same time, it highlights that being without class based prejudice is not on the Westeros checklist of what constitutes a “good guy”.

You see the same sort of thing in stuff like Jane Austen novels. Was Darcy a good gentleman landowner who looked after the people who worked for him and were tenants on his land? Yes, he’s a good dude. But is he “classist” and only hangs out with people of his own social status or higher, also pretty much yes. By modern standards that is. Darcy is still pretty progressive by Regency standards (which Austen was making a point of) for being friends with the Bingleys and marrying Elizabeth. Yet a modern reader can’t help but note that Bingley is still rich dude and is planning to become a gentleman landowner himself, and Elizabeth... well her mother may be middle-class, but her father’s status puts her and Darcy on equal ground, if only in name. So is Darcy classist? Yes! Even Elizabeth is by modern standards (Lydia is probably the most open minded of all in that regard!) and this is almost always downplayed in modern adaptations, particularly American adaptations, which brings me back to the point of this whole post...

Ahem. So the article I was reading that made me think of all this, quoted Robert Irvine, a British critic, whose opinion was (in my own words) that American film adaptations of Jane Austen’s work did their best to downplay the classism in them because of the fact that American culture plays up the egalitarian nature of their society, where anyone can do anything if they just believe and have the grit and determination to pursue their dreams. Essentially, he was saying that it was believed that the American audience could never truly accept or like classist heroes or settings, where respect and authority is blatantly passed down through ancient family names, wealth and land ownership. Clearly, this take on things can easily be related to ASOIAF and GOT because the setting, Westeros, is based on medieval Britain, and the social situation is very medieval indeed, feudalism, kings, queens, lords, ladies and knights, oh my! And of course, peasants...the great unwashed masses...

What I find interesting, is that GRRM in writing ASOIAF generally tried to stay fairly true to what medieval nobles might actually think about class, and indeed, the sort of sentiment that might exist among peasants towards the nobility. The show on the other hand... All of this is out the window! What exactly does class mean in the GOT universe? They seem to have reduced it to, “if you care about class then you’re a baddy” (I’m assuming this based on the fact that the few times it’s ever brought up as an issue it’s by someone we’re not meant to like). Otherwise, they have low born people being besties with nobles and sassing them like equals and nary an eyelid was e’er bat. This kind of thing might work to make your noble born protagonists more likable to the modern audience, but it really messes up the worldbuilding when it comes to the presentation of the smallfolk. This is especially evident with the way the whole Sparrow movement was dealt with in the show. The writers apparently decided to use that aspect of the plot to reinforce everyone’s hatred of religious extremism and the Sparrows basically became Christian fundamentalists. The problem is, the Sparrows are actually more of a “by the people for the people” kind of deal and in the pseudo-medieval setting, they represent how religion could actually empower the medieval lower classes through the messaging of the destructive powers of wealth and greed on the nobility and the equality of all men under God. The Sparrow movement emerged out of the downtrodden masses and just because they organise under the banner of their faith, it doesn’t mean that they can just be dismissed as evil extremists! They have every right to “fight the power!�� They’d been suffering under these shortsighted nobles for yonks!

Except... this is made obvious to book readers... not to show watchers. You see, as far as any casual viewer of the show is concerned, being a peasant in Westeros ain’t so bad. Nobles will be friends with you! You can sass them all you want. Look, they’ll teach you to read and say you can be their family and come live with them in Winterhell! I’m specifically pointing out the characters of Bronn, Davos, Gendry and Hot Pie here because these are pretty much the only members of the small folk we see represented as developed characters in the show. All the other small folk are basically just extras, the “fickle mob” who are so incredibly stupid they don’t even know to hate the people who blew up their holiest site and murdered the leader that was fighting for their rights... but I digress. With these specific characters, we get just one shade of the noble/small folk dynamic. Arya is “class-blind” and doesn’t care about her friend’s low social status, ditto Stannis for the most part, and ditto Tyrion (and how hilarious that is if you know anything about book!Tyrion). Without any other evidence to the contrary, it is possible for a casual viewer to assume such relationships are not unusual in Westeros and that, indeed, it may even be a fairly egalitarian society where with enough grit and determination, YOU TOO CAN BE A LORD! A similar thing happens with the show’s portrayal of institutionalized sexism and misogyny... but that’s another issue...

What I’m really getting at here is that it is quite interesting to see how class is handled in the books as opposed to the show. GRRM, though he is an American author, is pretty content with writing classist “heroes”, but D&D are most certainly not. Likewise, GRRM, though an atheist, is apparently ok with depicting a religious movement with roots in the lower class fighting for their rights, but D&D are not about showing the poor rising up when they can just beat us over the head with the evils of organised religion. So what is this about? GRRM is an american author so I thought, “It can’t just be something in American culture that prevents them from being able to understand or sympathise with classist character...”. But then I thought, “Oh, but GRRM is deliberately making his heroes complex and problematic, he wants the reader to squirm over their faves”. However, the show blatantly avoids class based issues, definitely erases classism from those character’s we’re meant to sympathise with and demonises it in those characters we’re meant to dislike. So it seems as if they, at least, believe that classism is just too off putting in a supposedly “good” character. So I put this to any American followers I have. Is this the case? Is Robert Irvine right? Is a classist mindset something you simply can’t get down with?

Speaking as someone who grew up with full awareness of class and its impact on everyone, it really isn’t a deal breaker for me on whether or not I like a character. This is despite the fact that I strongly believe in equality and don’t hold with any “good breeding” nonsense. It still seems natural to me for a character to have class based biases because I grew up in a society where that is pretty much expected of everyone to a certain degree, though it is, of course, frowned upon to actually express these biases in polite society. Especially if I’m reading historical fiction or fantasy! Gosh, nothing annoys me more than when writers try to force me to like a character by making them so much more “modern and progressive” than anyone in their society has any right to be!

But let me know how you feel! I’m truly interested from a cultural studies kind of standpoint as, I admit, it’s something I’ve actually noticed a lot in American cinema and television.

#random essay #but the thought just came to me and I thought I ought to write it down #and get some opinions from you all #GOT #ASOIAF #american literature #british literature #classism #books vs show #culture

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onwardintolight · 7 years

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Han Solo, ENFJ

For the second in my series of posts on commonly mistyped Star Wars characters because I just can’t help myself (see my first about Leia as an INFP instead of an ENTJ or ESTJ here), I’m moving on to our favorite scoundrel. Once again, I think people tend to base their typing of him on how he appears when he’s under stress (and also, in Han’s case, on who he pretends to be), rather than on how he actually reveals himself to be over the course of the movies.

This post was inspired by @charming-tothelast’s excellent post on Han’s character here, as well as this AMAZING conversation by @bestmixtapeintherecorder and @imrix.

Most people seem to type Han as either an ESTP or an ISTP. I admit that, when I first read the descriptions of both of those, they seemed to fit really well, particularly ESTP. Adventurous, thrives in the moment? Check. A knack for mechanics? Check. Charming? Check. Not particularly fond of rules? Check. Commitment issues? Well, yes, for an ESTP, but contrary to what many assume, I believe that Han, while certainly an adventurer, actually craves commitment as well.

I’m going to argue that, while Han may outwardly at times appear to be an ESTP, he’s actually a true ENFJ who is often in the Fe-Se loop, or otherwise in the grip of his Ti.

I’m going to be drawing evidence from not only the movies, but also what I see as widely accepted fanon (some of which may come from the original EU). While I will be drawing evidence from Disney canon, which on the whole I believe supports my argument (at times very clearly), I will not, however, be drawing from the kind of post-TFA fanon that contends Han was a terrible husband and father, as I think that’s a baseless assumption rooted in a mistaken, pop-culture view of Han.

First let’s take a look at each of the ENFJ cognitive functions and how Han exhibits them, and then I’ll do some further expounding.

Dominant Function: Extraverted Feeling (Fe) Han may constantly try to hide it, but he cares about people, a lot. In fact, throughout the movies and the books, we see him consistently attaching himself to people and doing everything he can to take care of them, at great personal cost. He talks a lot to the contrary, of course, and tries to make himself out to be a loner and a mercenary, but his actions show a person who, at his core, is drawn to people and motivated by his heart for others.

We see this in the way he constantly looks out for Luke and Leia throughout the original trilogy, anticipating their needs and dropping everything to take care of them (something that’s referenced over and over again throughout multiple books and comics). His giving up of his Imperial career when he was younger to rescue Chewie and his subsequent bond with the Wookiee is also evidence of this, as is the way he takes Rey and Finn under his wing in TFA. We also see it in Bloodline in his mentor relationship with Greer. These are just a few examples; there are countless others throughout canon. Han may say he’s only out for himself, but the scores of people he takes under his wing like a mother hen speak to the contrary. Despite his blustering talk, he is happiest and most himself not when he is “solo” or seeking out sensory thrills (though the latter is definitely a part of who he is), but when he is in relationships where he can be a good friend or mentor, attending to the needs of the people he loves.

Fe-doms are empathetic and often have a good sense of what others are feeling. They are often more comfortable with and have a better understanding of others’ feelings than their own. While it’s hard to peer past Han’s words into his mind to see just how empathetic he is, a scene that I believe illustrates this perfectly is the famous “I love you” “I know” scene in Empire. In that moment, Han is entirely concerned about Leia. He senses her distress and wants to reassure her that he’s known what up until now she’s been unable to say. There may be several reasons why he doesn’t say “I love you” back: He may have already told her in the past, and consequently he thinks it’s more crucial for her to hear “I know” at this point. Or perhaps he’s gently trying to prepare her for the likelihood that this might be the end for him, and by withholding his “I love you” somehow make it easier for her to go on without him. There’s also the possibility that he may be somewhat confused about what he himself feels (I personally don’t think this is as likely, considering his longtime pursuit of her, but that’s an argument for another time). Either way, he shows an empathy and an emotional awareness in this scene that are in accordance with high Fe.

Han also exhibits Fe (together with his auxiliary function, Ni) in that he is excellent not only at reading people and picking up on the vibes of a room, but also at turning things to his favor through his interpersonal skills. He is charismatic, charming, and persuasive, and is often able to talk his way out of a bad situation. While he won’t hesitate to pull his blaster if necessary, he prefers harmony and will use his people skills to try and maintain it if he can.

People with high Fe tend to pay especial attention not only to other people, but to their physical surroundings. They often like to exert a degree of control and order over their personal spaces, preferring them to be just so. Han may exhibit this with his care and attention to the Millennium Falcon, and his protectiveness over it. He doesn’t take kindly to just anyone messing with his “baby.”

Finally, Han may say otherwise, but he cares deeply about others’ approval. This is partly why Leia’s barbs hit such a vein with him. Additionally, her comments such as the one about him being “quite a mercenary” in ANH really sting, not only because it’s a sign of her disapproval, but because it’s a reminder that he’s suppressing his best, most authentic, caring self.

Auxiliary Function: Introverted Intuition (Ni) Han frequently has hunches and acts on them, and those hunches often prove to be correct. He doesn’t tend to pay too much attention to objective logic, preferring to ignore the odds and follow his extremely well-honed intuition. He often gets a “bad feeling” about a situation and is proven right. Conversely, if he has a good feeling about it, he’ll jump into situations that other people might consider incredibly fool-hardy, such as flying into an asteroid field and landing inside an asteroid to evade Imperial ships. He is able to fly by the seat of his pants because his intuition is so good at giving him foresight and predicting outcomes. This, in concert with his other three functions, also makes him really good at sabacc.

People with auxiliary Ni often have their head in the future, aspiring to things and making plans. They also tend towards commitment. Because Han is often in a Fe-Se loop, we don’t see this as his preference at times (more on the loop later). However, I think we do see that in spite of himself, Han ends up committing to things. At first, he’s committed to the smuggler’s life, taking care of himself and his own (Chewie), and he struggles when the Rebellion pulls him away from that. His commitment to pay back Jabba and follow his previous dreams then wars with his desire to stay with the Rebellion. He ends up sticking around and eventually committing to the Rebellion, perhaps because it so deeply lines up with those core motivations of his Fe that he has trouble bringing himself to admit. Finally, he commits himself to Leia, marrying her and staying faithful (despite the rough spots and absences implied by TFA/new canon).

Tertiary Function: Extraverted Sensing (Se) While Han’s Ni ultimately leads him to commit, it’s his Se that often tries to tug him away. Han thrives on adventure, exploring and traveling the galaxy with Chewie, and he enjoys a good thrill. While this is definitely a part of who he is, it is even more overt the less emotionally healthy he is (see my thoughts on the Fe-Se loop below).

He is very in tune with his senses. He enjoys hands-on, sensory pursuits such as flying, racing, tinkering with his ship, and even (according to a lot of fanon) cooking. He generally prefers a hands-on approach to theorizing, and may forego planning and practical concerns in favor of just diving in. We see this many times, including in ANH when he chases stormtroopers down a corridor of the Death Star (note that his purpose for doing this is to divert them from Luke and Leia — in this case his Se is serving his Fe), and the “Hey, it’s me!” scene in ROTJ, when he impulsively attempts to take down several scout troopers on Endor. He’s a doer who lives in the moment, often dropping everything to go help someone or do something he thinks is right, such as on Hoth when he rushes out to look for a missing Luke, or in Aftermath: Empire’s End when he makes plans at a moment’s notice with Sinjir and Temmin to sneak off and go rescue Norra and Jas.

Inferior Function: Introverted Thinking (Ti) Han isn’t particularly concerned with impractical theories. As I’ve already said, he prefers using his intuition (Ni) to straight-up logic. That doesn’t mean he never uses critical analysis, though, particularly when there’s a concrete, practical application (such as all the theoretical and technical knowledge it takes to fly his ship well).

The inferior function often rears its ugly head during times of stress, taking over for one’s other functions and making someone behave in ways they otherwise wouldn’t.

According to this post by @mbti-notes, particular stressors for an ENFJ would include “feeling misunderstood by others, feeling unappreciated or taken for granted or not taken seriously, being treated impersonally or dismissively, feeling an absence of trust, feeling pressure to conform to rules or standards that they disagree with, experiencing situations that do not provide closure, having relationships with unresolved issues/conflicts, feeling stifled and having no opportunity to apply skills/talents/abilities, having too many demanding deadlines or extra responsibilities… experiencing excessively negative disagreements that are perceived as personal attacks, being unable to persuade others or get their point across when necessary… dealing with uncooperative or aloof people…” etc.

In response to triggers such as these and others, an ENFJ with inferior Ti like Han would likely become cold and detached. They would tend to insist doggedly on their own views, refusing to open their minds to others’ perspectives. They might act out of spite and bitterly lash out at people. They might leap to conclusions, see themselves as a victim and become very critical of others when those people don’t meet their expectations for a relationship. And they might be tempted to just break things off or walk away if things go bad.

We definitely see this happen with Han. At the beginning of ESB, we find Han arguing with Leia, trying desperately to get her to admit to her feelings. He is hurt by her coldness and aloofness, frustrated by the failure of his expectations for their relationship, and probably generally feels unappreciated. He also may be feeling stifled, stuck on the base at Hoth with a Rebellion he’s still wrestling with being committed to. He snaps and decides he’s had enough. He determines to leave, but first he and Leia have a confrontation where both their inferior functions cause them to come out swinging, lashing out at one another with sarcasm and biting remarks. I’d guess that most of the times Han gets angry and snaps at Leia, especially in ESB, this is the cause.

Later, on Endor in ROTJ, Han confronts Leia after seeing her talking on the bridge with Luke. He immediately gets suspicious, afraid that Leia is in love with Luke instead. He’s afraid of being shut out, uncertain of the status of their relationship, and he takes her refusal to talk about it personally. He lashes out in anger. Leia, as an Fi user, needs time to process her emotions internally about her conversation with Luke before she can talk about it. Han has trouble comprehending this, and is tempted to walk away. However, when he gives himself a moment to calm down, he is able to sense how distressed she is, stop feeling victimized, and let his Fe take over as he comforts Leia.

The Fe-Se Loop You might be wondering, what about all the times Han shows disregard for people’s feelings, acts like a cynical, sarcastic jerk, and prefers flying around the galaxy to doing anything for anyone’s idealistic cause?

Well, again, truth is, we don’t see him actually doing this all that often, despite what he might say, especially as his character growth progresses over the course of the story. We do see this somewhat in ANH, and I think it can be explained by the fact that he’s in a Fe-Se loop.

Han has had a rough life. In order to survive, he’s learned to look out only for himself (and Chewie, once he enters the picture). As he says in the Han Solo comic, “Special people… they end up sticking their necks out and doing things that make them dead.” He’s had to be cynical, because being otherwise is dangerous. He’s learned how to play the game, and he does it well. Ironically, his Fe is part of what makes him so good at it — he can easily conform to act like others, and can fit in perfectly with the crowd of smugglers he hangs around. (I have a theory that Lando, unlike Han, is a true ESTP, and Han unconsciously imitates him in a lot of ways.)

Because of all this, he’s pushed down parts of himself, suppressing his dreams of being a hero, of committing to something bigger than himself. His compassion often leaks out, but he manages to keep a rein on the parts of him that are deemed “unsafe” most of the time.

Consequently, he finds himself in the “loop”. An ENFJ in the Fe-Se loop becomes heavily influenced by their Se, chasing sensory thrills and excitement even more than usual. They are impulsive, rash and competitive. Inside they may feel confused and insecure, but they push that down in favor of looking outward, and can live somewhat superficially according to whatever public persona they take on. They are very concrete, and may lack nuance and understanding when it comes to other people’s perspectives. They may excuse harmful behavior because they don’t want to think too deeply about it. A lot of the features of an inferior Ti grip may be present; they may be oversensitive and feel victimized, and lash out at the slightest provocation. In short, they might look just like Han at the beginning of ANH.

I think Han is so used to being in the loop that it takes some effort to get out of it. And even once he’s out, it can be tempting to go back in, especially during times of stress — it has, after all, been his safety net for so long.

This is why we see him struggling at times to commit. I think this may also explain some of his struggle in the Aftermath series with settling down after the war. He’s just not used to it, and all the changes, while good, are stressful. It will take time for him to adjust. And even then, he’s going to need an outlet for his Se (which he later finds in racing and his shipping company).

The loop is why he’s often typed as an ESTP or ISTP. When he’s in the loop, he looks more like one of these types (only with a more negative and unhealthy spin). Even when he’s not really in the loop, it’s part of the persona he tries to project. This is how much of pop culture tends to see him. But as soon as you look deeper, beyond the facade, a very different Han Solo comes to light.

I want to wrap up by taking a look at the (absolutely wonderful) Han Solo comic, because it illustrates everything I’ve been trying to say here. (Obviously, the following has some major spoilers.) During the whole comic, Han has a running monologue about who he is and what he wants out of life. “The way I look at life has always been simple,” he says. “You can run, or you can die. Dying ain’t an option. Which means I’ve gotten real good at fighting and running. Seems like that’s all I ever do.” Han has clearly learned to be a certain way in order to survive. Running and fighting don’t leave a lot of room for compassion and idealism. And yet: throughout the comic, we consistently see him doing selfless things, looking out for other people, and doing the right thing because he knows it’s the right thing, even though it costs him.

Later he says, “All I ever wanted was freedom. I ain’t noble. Definitely not a hero. I got one priority, and only one. Me.” That may be what he’s telling himself, but the panels those words are on tell a completely different story as he puts himself on the line, telling someone with a grudge against Chewbacca to shoot him instead.

We also see him standing up for other people who had previously mocked him and put him in danger, mediating conflicts, using his empathy and intuition to discover the identity of a killer, putting his mission and the lives of a few Rebel spies above his chance of glory, and ultimately, sacrificing winning a race because he realizes what’s at stake for another pilot and decides it’s the right thing to do. At times, he literally can’t help but be selfless. If this comic shows us anything, it is that Han Solo is not the person he says he is.

While just a few pages earlier he’d previously referred to the Falcon as “home,” when the race is over, and the announcers are debating about whether the three winners (Han included) should compete further to earn the glory and prizewinnings or be content to split it, Han simply smiles, and says, “We did it, Chewie. Let’s go home”— and by “home” he means back to the Rebellion. I think in the Rebellion, he sees not only the home with others he’s secretly longed for, but also the place where he really can be a hero, where he can help people, be with his friends, follow his heart and do more than just survive.

The way he ends his monologue is revealing: “You create walls. You manufacture rules. You live a small life, while lying to yourself that you’re as open and free as the stars. You tell yourself the reason is survival. Good reason, right? But sometimes survival is about telling yourself lies… until you can’t lie anymore. And then you have to make a choice about who you really are and what’s worth living for. Lies are easier, that’s for sure.”

Han Solo is beginning to find out that he can’t lie about who really he is anymore — not to others, and not to himself. Han may be a “Solo,” but he is selfless at his core. Han may be an adventurer, but more than that, he is also a compassionate idealist who would do anything for the people he loves. For this and all the other reasons I’ve argued, I conclude that Han is best typed as an ENFJ.

#Han Solo #MBTI #ENFJ #Star Wars #SW meta #my SW meta #if possible I almost feel even more strongly about this one than the Leia one #because I feel like so many people see Han as pure machismo #they give him a bad rap #and a lot of times they love him for it #but I think they're so wrong #thoughts #writing

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