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marvel-wlw · 3 years

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Another Survivor (2/?)

Claire Redfield x Ada Wong x OFC

Requested by: @blackwidowfan517

Request: Maybe for part 2 of Another Survivor it could about Maya and Claire entering the hallway from the Reception area where they found two dead officers that were killed by a Licker before continuing on until they arrived at the West Office where they took care of the zombies and explored the office. Maya would find her desk and solve the puzzle to unlock it and found an upgrade part for the Samurai Edge. (Maybe add a scene where Maya finds a spade door and made a comment saying, "Huh...what a weird fucking door.") And as they explore around other rooms, Maya and Claire would get to know each other better and Claire would learn that the jacket Maya was always wearing had originally belong to the reader. (Maybe add a flashback scene where the reader gave Maya her jacket?)when they arrived at the men's locker room only to find that the path to the shower room is blocked off by hot steam and Maya would make a comment saying, "Aw, come on! Seriously, who's the jackass that fucked this place up?" And Claire would find a portable safe box and she would try to solve it but has no luck until Maya quickly solved the puzzle and opened the safe box. When Maya and Claire head up to the 3rd floor, that was when they saw a glimpse of the Licker passing by the window and on the way down the hall that was when Maya had noticed a note left by David regarding the Licker and she would read it. And when they entered the storage room, that was when Maya found another note written by someone else, which would cause Maya to frown a bit when she realized the note was possibly written by Chief Irons as she kept the note with her before leaving the room with Claire as they entered the Library where Marvin would contact them via radio, telling them to meet him at the Main Hall. (Maybe add a scene where Claire was about to check out the room that leads to the Main Hall on the 3rd floor but the bridge that leads to it broke down cause Claire to fall but Maya quickly managed to grab her by her wrist before pulling her up to safety?)After getting the Unicorn medallion and the red book, Maya and Claire would head back to the Main Hall where they learn from Marvin that Leon was outside in the Courtyard waiting by the gate on the East Side.

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from Resident Evil.

Part one

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from Resident Evil.

Tag list: @casey-anne-j @softgamerking @morbid-gaymer @geekycatlover @rainydaysrnevergrey @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov @alphalesbianwolf @dykse @autumnjackson4 @1-danid @dynnealberto @natasharomanoffswife @aquariuslavenderhoney @spywidownat @nctxrejects

You Want S.T.A.R.S.? I'll Give You S.T.A.R.S. series.

A/N: I hope you guys like it! 😊 This gif isn't mine, credit goes to whoever made it! Also italics will be used for flashbacks or thoughts and also notes.

Maya slowly walked ahead of Claire, gun held in front of her just in case. They enter the hallway from the Reception area, what they saw made them freeze as their blood ran cold from the sight.

As they slowly made their way closer Maya knelt down next to the body of one of the two dead officers.

"Oh god." Maya whispered in horror. She stood up and looked at the dead officer that was hanging from a pipe. What the hell could've done this?

Taking a few deep breaths Maya and Claire continue on. After they climbed through the window and landed in another hallway they quickly take out some zombies in their way.

Once the coast was clear Maya let's out a sigh. She looked over at Claire. "You okay?"

Claire nods. "I'm okay, you?"

"I'm okay." Maya gives Claire a small smile.

Maya looked around and noticed the West Office. "Let's check of the West Office, see if we can find anything."

Claire nods in agreement. The two of then carefully enter the office and taking out the two zombies in the room. Once the zombies were taken care of Claire and Maya walk around the office.

That was when Maya found her desk. She tilts her head to the side slightly as she noticed there was some sort of puzzle that she she had to solve to unlock her desk.

Sighing she grabbed the note and read it. Once she did she quickly solved the puzzle and unlocked her desk. When it was unlocked she found an upgrade for her sister's Samurai Edge.

She smiled and put the upgrade on her Samurai Edge. Maya began to walk around the office a bit more and that was when she noticed the door that most likely lead back to the main hall.

But the door had a spade symbol on it. She tried to open it but it was locked. "Huh... what a weird fucking door."

xxxxx

As Maya and Claire explore around the other rooms, they both got to know each other better.

"Nice jacket." Maya said to Claire.

She smiled. "Thanks, Chris gave it to me." She looked over at Maya. "I like your jacket too."

Maya looked down, she smiled. "Thanks, (Y/N) gave it to me. It was her jacket."

xxxxx

Maya took a deep breath and knock on the door to her sister's apartment. Both Hailee and (Y/N) had shared the apartment but when Hailee was killed (Y/N) was moving in with Jill.

Maya understand when you were moving. Too many painful memories, even though they were all good memories, it would've been hard to stay in the apartment.

(Y/N) opened the door, she gave her younger sister a small smile and let her inside. Maya could tell she had been crying by how red and puffy her eyes were.

Once the door was closed (Y/N) went over to Maya and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I wanted you to come over because I wanted to give you something."

"Sis, you don't need to give me anything." Maya tried to tell her.

(Y/N) just gave her sister and smile. "I want you to have this and I'm not taking no for an answer." She grabbed the gift and went over to Maya, she held it out to her.

Maya looked at it before looking back at (Y/N), she nods and motions for her to take it. Sighing she took the gift, it was in one of those boxes you would get from a clothing store.

She slowly opened the box and gasped when she saw what was inside. She looked at (Y/N) before taking out the jacket. It was (Y/N)'s favorite jacket, there wasn't a moment she hadn't wore it.

"But sis, this is your favorite jacket... I can't accept this." Maya tried to hand it back to her.

(Y/N) shook her head. "Maya I want you to have it, please."

She knew there was no way out of taking the jacket, sighing she put on the jacket to try it on.

She looked at (Y/N) who had a smile on her face. "See Maya, it fits you perfectly!"

xxxxx

Claire and Maya slowly make their way into the men's locker room only to find the path to the shower room is blocked off by hot steam.

"Aw, come on!" Maya groans. "Seriously, who's the jackass that fucked this place up?"

While Maya was opening one of the lockers Claire had found a portable safe box. She tried to solve it but she didn't have any luck.

"Hey Maya take a look at what I found." Claire called over to Maya.

Maya walked over to Claire, curious as to what she found. "Hm, let me see if I can solve it."

Claire hands Maya the portable safe box. After a little bit Maya was able to solve the puzzle and open the safe box.

When they make their to the third floor Maya had noticed something on the desk. She went over to it and saw a spade key.

"This will definitely come in handy." Maya grabbed the key and handed it to Claire.

Claire and Maya walk through the door but freeze when they saw something pass by the window. After a few seconds they continued on.

When they went down the hall Maya had noticed a note. She went over and read it. It was by someone named David.

To any survivors,

Consider this a gift for anyone still unfortunate enough to be alive.

Keep your eyes peeled for thise creepy fucks that looked like they were skinned alive- "lickers," we call 'em. They're blind as bats, but their hearing more than makes up for that.

So long as you don't run around like a total idiot, guns a-blazing, you should be able to slip right by them... probably.

Either way, make like my grandma and creep around as slow as possible around 'em, yeah?

Anyway, not that I wanna go, but duty calls. That, and I've got a friend to avenge. - David

"So those things are called Lickers. Good to know." Maya shows Claire the note.

The two of them walked into the storage room. By the look of the room both Maya and Claire to scrunch up their noses.

Walking through the room Maya had found another note. But this note was written by someone else.

Damn those corporate assholes! They cut me off! After all I've done for them! But if that's how it's gonna be, so be it. I'm gonna have a little fun of my own as the world goes to shit.

I boarded all those filthy pigs up in a steel pen, and set some C4. All I gotta is detonate it and it's "sayonara suckers!"

But it's no fun if it's over too soon, so maybe I'll give that one raving loon something to really squeal about.

Yeah, maybe I'll give him a little toy and tell him, "Kill the guy next to you and I'll spare the others." I wonder what he'll do.

You yell about "justice" and "pride" but how many times did you go against me, your own superior?

Yeah, you're such a good cop... So good you had to die.

Man is this fun. I need some music for this.

After reading the note Maya frowned a bit once she realized the note was possibly written by Chief Irons. She decided to keep the note with her.

Soon after Maya put the note away, her and Claire left the room and entered the Library. Suddenly the radio went off and they heard Marvin. He told them to meet him back at the Main Hall.

Claire walked towards the door on the left. "I'm going to check of what's behind this door real quick."

It all happened so fast. As soon as Claire set foot on a certain part on the floor it broke. Causing Claire to fall but Maya was right behind her and she quickly managed to grab her by her wrist. Maya quickly pulled Claire to safety. But Claire ended up landing onto of Maya, their faces were so close together.

"Y-You okay?" She asked Claire, Maya started to become flustered by the position they were in.

She nods, blushing. "Yea... yea I'm okay. Thanks Maya."

Maya blushed even more. "D-Don't mention it."

After Maya helped Claire stand up they both went to get the Unicorn medallion and they also found a red book. Once they had those two things they started to head back to the Main Hall.

"Hey you two." Marvin greets them, trying to hid his pain. "Look at this."

Claire and Maya look at the camera feed and they're really relieved to see Lean. "Well shit. He finally made it." Maya said.

"You two know him?"

Claire nods. "That's Leon Kennedy."

Marvin nods. "Ah, the other rookie. I thought he looked familiar." He move a bit. "He's at the gate on the East Side."

After Marvin told them how to get to the East Side gate Maya and Claire give each other a smile before making their way to meet up with Leon.

#claire redfield x ada wong x oc #claire redfield x oc #claire redfield imagine #ada wong x oc #ada wong imagine #resident evil imagine

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blushnote · 5 years

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at the altar | m.

⟡ word count: 7,000. ⟡ genre: smut. ⟡ contains: lots of religious lexicon, masurbation, pornography, degradation, fucking in the church, a breeding kink, spitting, choking, a slight fantasy theme.

summary: a dystopian future in which obligation to the church is indispensable in preserving society. joshua knows there is danger in straying from the enforced orthodoxy of the clergy, but cannot help in wondering how different his life would be if for once in indulged in sin rather than purity.

a/n: um. yeah. so this happened. a surge of spontaneity hit me and i was able to write this idea. i’m still wondering why i put myself through this.

it feels far too early and joshua is much too tired as he rises from his pew, honouring the arrival of his church’s reverend as he takes the slowest possible steps down the alley. the reverend is old. it shows in the lump bulging from his back and his wrinkled skin that appears to have the texture of sundried fruits. a few select spindles of thinned, wispy white hair cling to his head, and joshua wonders if the two clergy members walking cautiously behind the reverend are actually there to catch him if his hip gives out.

joshua suppresses a gigantic yawn, his eyes brimming with water while he clasps his hands together respectfully. there is a choir aligned in neat rows at the very front of the church, dressed in white gowns that float just above the ankle with thick, gold sashes drooping from every shoulder.

he has his own gown hanging up in his closet. it is obligatory after all.

in an angelic, almost disquieting tone that echoes up into the high ceilings, it’s some rendition of ‘peace is flowing like a river’, to which joshua has heard so many times he could sing it all in his sleep. he feels like he knows more songs of worship than he does numbers or letters, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing. the reverend begins shuffling past joshua’s pew. when he looks at the old, shrunken man, joshua is reminded of how tired he is. an abstract thought suddenly flies into his mind.

how close is this guy to death?

joshua knows it’s a fairly morbid question to ponder in the middle of morning service, but he can’t help it, and he’s intrigued to know if anyone else among the masses shares his introspection. he’s not disturbed at the idea of death, and he assumes it’s due to his faith, that there just might be a place for him somewhere when his physical body is no longer an appropriate shell. the thing is, he’s not having much fun. his faith is strict and if joshua wants to have a certified place at heaven’s gate, then he has to live accordingly.

no sex until marriage, no drugs, no alcoholic consumption apart from the blood of the saviour, all these intense restrictions just to sit pretty in the afterlife. some regulations don’t really bother him – the drugs for example – joshua doesn’t suspect he’ll be imploring anyone for a shot of heroin or a little ziplock baggie filled with cocaine in the near future. still, he does muse over some regulations because they seem too instinctual, too absurd to deny, like saying a baby is not permitted to drinks its mother’s milk.

joshua recalls a certain incident from when he was a teenager. he was staying the night at his friend’s house, and the whole day his friend had been irritably insisting that he had something to show joshua, except he couldn’t even give him the slightest hint of what it was until everyone in the house had surely gone to sleep. joshua sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his friend’s laptop while he chuckled, pulling up a raunchy looking website that had probably just embedded a hundred viruses into his computer.

‘watch this,’ his friend said smugly before tapping on a clip. joshua remembered it was a girl sitting on the floor, her cheeks faintly smeared with rouge makeup, loose curls of hair tumbling before her eyes as a hand moved beneath her shorts, her wrist sharply twisting. her moans leaked through the quiet volume alongside incoherent breaths about how good she felt. suddenly, she reached for her blouse that was tight around the chest, taking the buttons between her fingers and popping each one open.

the pornography had no effect on joshua, though his friend was evidently obsessed.

funny thing was, only a week later joshua witnessed him get shipped away to the rehabilitation board, his parents notoriously repeating the same damn story when weekly service came around, how ‘he just has some bad habits, nothing that cannot be cured through the guidance of our reverends at the oligarchy.’ initially, joshua was proud of himself, he believed the fortitude of his virtues had allowed him to not succumb to pornography and its unholy temptation, despite the carnal urge being completely natural.

but that was the thing, it’s natural.

the first time joshua ever had a wet dream, it was about that girl from the porn site. he slammed awake, drenched in a cold sweat, his chest heaving as though he’d just ran the five kilometer. the room was pitch black apart from blue moonlight percolating slightly through the sheer curtains, and even though he knew he was alone, he squinted into the darkness disconcertedly, petrified that someone had seen him awaken from such an obscure dream and was writing up his slip for the rehabilitation board.

no, joshua didn’t spend his time fumbling over the inevitability of death.

instead, he contemplated this unyielding piousness he had for the church, how he had probably wasted the most adventurous years of his life learning hymns and prayers. as the reverend finally got to his place behind the altar, his dry, chalky voice barely whispering to the farthest pew, overwhelming concoctions of ancient perfumes started tickling joshua’s nose, the slight claustrophobia of being packed into these ridiculously uncomfortable pews making him nauseous.

joshua then realized this wasn’t how he wanted to live.

yet he wasn’t strong enough to stray from this path he had known his whole life. he required some form of corruption, though joshua had no idea what this corruption would be.

the first time joshua sees you, his heart starts to race, and he contracts this feeling unlike any other.

you arrive at the empty spot belonging to the pew in front of him as the attendants slowly begin to trickle in. he can hardly believe his eyes. you’re a new body to the church, vivacious and sophisticated, youth agleam in the whorls of your slightly rugged skin. he’s not accustomed to seeing women in a place of worship looking so bare. joshua doesn’t believe there is a spot of concealer on your face. he can see the shallow rings beneath your eyes and the plump, morning swollenness wearing upon your cheeks. a gentle pink lipstick is translucent through a sparkling gloss on your lips, and you smell somewhat like rain.

long, lace sleeves cover your arms, even your neck is shielded by an uncomfortable looking collar, though joshua notes that unlike the popular dresses he sees gathering in clumps of white around the church, yours is cut short – literally, it’s been cut all the way up to just above the mid-thigh when it should be floating at your knees. joshua was raised not to stare, so he doesn’t, rather he takes fleeting glimpses of how the white lace hugs your torso before flaring at the hips. the way the skirt bounces at your legs, just shy of riding a little too far up, has his heart booming in his chest.

but then something happens.

you’re holding a pamphlet imprinted with guidelines concerning the morning mass, cues and prayers and paroles occupying the pages, often picked up by newcomers at the entryway. however, the pamphlet suddenly slips from your hands and hits the floor. almost immediately you bend over to retrieve it, and joshua can’t look away fast enough. he sees it, a flash of your tiny, black thong. he starts panicking as this ravenous flame engulfs his face. in a nervous tick, joshua swallows thickly and stands from his seat, but then he realizes he has nowhere to go and sits back down, raking a hand through his hair.

“excuse me,” a pleasant voice coos to him, to which joshua realizes you have turned around in your pew to stare directly at him. licking your lips, you ask, “how early do people usually arrive here?”

joshua coolly pretends as though he didn’t just see beneath your dress and pits an inference, “the most devoted don’t show up until 9:30-ish.”

“really?” you sound surprised, your eyebrows jumping. “so there’s lots of time then.”

he’s unsure if you’re still talking to him as you stare into space. quite frankly he’s confused at what you mean. time for what? he has no idea.

“you are allowed to come in even when service has already started. some people just observe respectfully at the back if there are no seats.” he adds anyways.

your eyes flicker back to him, and your pink-tinted lips curl in a soft smile. “well, they have no choice. is service not obligatory?” you turn to momentarily gaze at the choir organizing themselves at the front of the church, continuing with, “everyone has one of those gowns, don’t they? with the perfect little sashes that make them feel so virtuous and whole and part of something they believe is a choice.”

joshua blinks. for a moment, time is frozen. he knows you’re right, it’s just so inexplicably bizarre to hear his clandestine thoughts echoed through the lips of a stranger. he clears his throat.

“yeah, everything about the church is obligatory, and you get sent to the rehabilitation board if you have anything to say about it…” he looks at you transiently, “or if you’re a real big sinner.”

flipping through the pamphlet without even gleaning anything from the pages, you snort in laughter before smacking it down beside you on the pew. then, you glance at him again, and joshua reads a naughty shimmer in your eyes. he knows you don’t give a lick about what he just said.

“you wanna know something?” you lean a little closer over the back of the pew, your voice lowering.

joshua swallows again, his hands crushing bits of lint in his pant pockets. he nods, his pulse thrumming violently, even at the vein in his neck.

“do you see that girl in the choir? at the far right side of the front row?”

he followed her subtle pointing finger.

“are you talking about august?” joshua questions, to which you agree.

joshua had known august since first grade.

her reputation was ‘purer than snow and sweeter than candy’ as described by the reverend himself. she had a beautiful voice, one that sets you in a trance, like being in the depths of underwater and watching sunlight cut through the stillness. the same friend that showed joshua the pornography had a massive crush on her in his high school years, but he let his emotions wither away hopelessly, claiming she would never be game for anything his obscenely filthy mind could contrive.

“i used to be her best friend,” you whispered, “she was a real riot. she’d steal bottles of wine from her parents liquor cabinet and we’d go into the woods to get drunk. they never suspected a thing ‘cause they only drink on holidays. i swear too, she’s blowed at least four guys on the huskey basketball team.”

oh, joshua thought. maybe his friend would have actually had a chance.

“that’s different than i remember.” nonetheless, he defended august poorly.

“you don’t have to believe me,” you responded, “just that some people aren’t who you think they are.”

joshua pricked his bottom lip with his teeth.

“what about you then?”

shifting slightly in your seat, you feigned obliviousness with a harmless grin, “what about me?”

“i mean, what should i assume about you?”

the distant reverberation of the organ suddenly flooded the room, signaling that service would be starting shortly, leaving in its deep but harmonious wake an irreplaceable feeling of sacredness. just before you turned around completely in your seat to gauge the altar, or the glowing, enormous stained glass portrait at the front of the church, you smirked at joshua.

“well, i already know what you’ve assumed about me,” you stated matter-of-factly, “that i’m a whore.”

joshua felt an intense heat prickle across the arches of his cheeks. your blatancy threw him off his axis. he hadn’t thought that exact word, but he could not deny he suspected you to live promiscuously.

“honestly,” you shrugged, “you’re not wrong.”

it’s late, around eleven thirty, and the air in joshua’s bedroom is hot and almost palpably sticky. he lies on his stomach in bed, his arms shoved beneath a cool pillow while he blinks into the thick darkness. his eyelids feel heavy but they refuse to close. it’s simply a restless night, and joshua comes to reluctantly accept this as he sits up with the blankets pooling around his hips. he takes the bottom hem of his shirt and peels it above his head, throwing it impetuously into some corner he can’t even see.

joshua muses over a distant lesson taught by the reverend when he was a little boy, attending the sunday mass alongside his faith-mottled parents who had raised joshua with scrupulous religiousness. he stands at the very front pew, watching with rounded, glistering eyes as the reverend provides a cautionary tale from behind his marbled altar. he speaks of temptation, its numerous, intently deceitful forms that skulk near the edges of one’s vulnerability, waiting to attach itself like a leech.

‘temptation is a mere embodiment of sin, and sin is a creation that has risen from the underworld. our desires cannot be silenced, but they can be overcome, as proven beneath the guidance of a patient hand.’

he’s too young to grasp the reverend’s teachings. what joshua retains is that sin is bad, sin is the devil, and to be protected from his manipulation, you must build an unshakeable devotion. the reverend continued in his monotone tales and the adults ate up his every word. what joshua found interesting from that particular mass was the reverend’s warning of fallen angels.

‘they walk among us. each of you has one. maybe they are not visible to you, but they linger, they mercilessly tempt, they plant inside of you desires that you may struggle to diminish. and if one day, you feel that you have witnessed your fallen angel face to face, then know that you have been confronted with the greatest possible test of your commitment to the church. do not lose sight of your devotion. hold swift to the healing you have received from your reverends. the life they tease you with is erroneous.’

the air is persistently warm against the slope of his back as he returns to laying on his stomach, but it’s not as compressing, and his honeyed skin seems to be able to breathe a little easier. while his mind is spinning in a whirlwind of miscellaneous thought, joshua notes that you make a bold presence among the chaos, and suddenly he’s imagining your scent, mild like spring rainwater and rose petals. then he pictures the sheen of your smooth, soft mouth, how your eyes glinted when you spoke.

joshua presses his cheek deeper into the pillow. a dangerous type of sensation is melting in his lower abdomen and prickling like a sunburn up his shoulders, yet he has no idea how to soothe it. he thinks of the wet dream he had all those years ago. if anyone even had the slightest clue he watched pornography and had been tainted by the poison of its repercussions, then he’d be sent off to the rehabilitation board just like his old friend. and if joshua knew anything about the board, it was that he never wanted to go.

despite the looming terror of such a dreadful place, it was not puissant enough to deter his racing mind, and joshua felt his heart pump sporadically against the mattress as he thought of that salacious clip in which the girl had been touching herself. but he doesn’t see her face or her clothes, he doesn’t hear her breathless voice or her whispered curses. instead, joshua envisions you in her position, your hand sliding slowly down your stomach until it slips beneath that pretty, black thong and you’re fingering yourself.

he grits his teeth. joshua knows in each of his cells what he is visualizing is wrong, it’s demonstration of sin and submission to lust. he knows through his commitment to the church that he is betraying his reverence and severing inch by inch the purity he was taught to preserve. but the ache that rushes to his stomach is a feeling far too sweet. he can’t stop thinking about you. further poisoning himself, joshua shuts his eyes and listens intently for your moans, the sound of your slick as you sink in your digits.

now, it’s a hopeless situation.

joshua grabs his pillow and stuffs it below him. his tongue pokes slightly from his cotton pink mouth as he then rustles his shorts down, just until there’s enough room for him to free his length. the second he takes himself into his hand, feels how heavy and hard he’s become in such a short time, joshua just shakes his head. the mantra is stuck in his head, he knows what he’s doing is wrong, but at this point he’s willing to sacrifice a piece of his faith just to indulge in his lust. his body lowers back to the bed, and a soft gasp trembles at his lips once his sensitive, throbbing cock rubs against the plump pillow.

painfully, slowly, joshua begins to construct a rhythm. his elbows dig into the mattress while he makes gentle ruts into the fabric, the head of his member flushed a dark, amethyst purple, beading with come. his bangs stick to his eyes, his black hair a shaggy, unkempt mess, though joshua is too concentrated on the pleasure that aches at his core to even ponder brushing the strands away. he feels so vulnerable, so filthy and stained by sin as he spreads his legs wider to accommodate more of the pillow.

a burn resides in his biceps from holding himself up, but joshua manages to ignore it, clamping down harshly on the malleable inside of his cheek. he thrusts his hips at a much deeper interval, taking his time as his cock presses into the soft material and his jaw unhinges to release a shameful, stuttered moan. it feels so stupidly good that he can’t restrict himself – joshua moves his hips faster, humping the pillow eagerly while his skin begins to glisten in the sweltering heat of the bedroom.

“f-ffuck, oh fuck, f-feels so g-ggood,—,” he whimpers with blooming desire, allowing his chest to collapse flush against the mattress, instead shoving his hands beneath the blanket to hold the pillow steady.

his teeth sink into a full bottom lip, pricking down with enough force to potentially summon tiny bulbs of blood. joshua’s hair is matted and slightly curled before his eyes while his cheek rubs against a thin linen sheet. though it’s impossible to see in the swathing darkness, his face is a beautiful, glowing shade of fuchsia and suddenly he can’t seem to keep his pretty mouth shut as he ruts desperately into the pillow. the worst part is that he’s overcome with the urge to moan your name, but he doesn’t even know it.

joshua practically cries hot, thick tears as the euphoria of his orgasm surges through his veins. his knuckles are paler than snowflakes, his fists grasping with an ironclad strength at the pillow while his cock jerks and spasms under the intensity of the pleasure. he’s incredibly sensitive, his skin is feeling enflamed, his heart pumps uncontrollably, and yet joshua won’t stop fucking against the pillow in an attempt to milk as much of his come as possible. everything is sticky and messy and the heat is tangible.

shakily, joshua pulls an arm free from the blankets and leans on his elbow, his other hand gingerly wrapping just below the head of his cock to squeeze out the last pearls of his come.

“s-shit,” he rasps and winces in sensitivity, especially as he draws a careful thumb over his swollen tip and pushes downward. somehow, the pain feels good. it thrums throughout his flesh and gifts him this electric sensation. joshua bites his lip as his warm seed spurts onto his thumb. he’s not short of utterly immoral thought, and imagines smearing your pink-stained lips with his come, your eyes fluttering up at him before your tongue licks it up gratefully and you beg him to fill your throat next time.

joshua knows he should put forth an effort to clean himself, but for the time being, he just can’t.

and in the afterglow of his orgasm, he goes back to bed.

joshua sighs as he comes to a halt in the middle of the aisle, staring up at the stained glass portrait that is brought to life through the warmth of morning sunlight. different shades gleam at him, from the scarlet reds to the cream, waxen whites and sapphires. he doesn’t feel at ease like he usually does upon observing the glass portrait. joshua chalks it up to his betrayal of purity. however, as filthy as the transgression was, as much as should yearn to seek atonement and visit his reverend, he feels indifferent.

it’s going to bother him in the future – knows it will, that the weight of his capitulation to a venereal pleasure has the ability to swallow him whole. he betrayed his promises to the church, and if he does not dampen this ember of immorality, then surely joshua will be sent to the rehabilitation board. suddenly, he hears a dainty voice behind him, and is overwhelmed with a lilac, summer scent. upon turning around, joshua finds himself staring at august, wrapped in her snow white gown and glimmering gold sash.

“sorry,” he mumbles, “i’ll move.”

“thank you, joshua,” she nods politely, “enjoy the service.”

“you too.”

august begins to slip past him. she smells overwhelmingly of lilac. he can only think that a person would lather themselves so generously in such a scent if they were attempting to fool people. august can smell as pure as a field of flowers, but that does her no good if joshua already knows what she’s hiding. anyways, it’s not his business. he has no room to be scornful or even the slightest bit judgemental when he had sinned himself. maybe she repents on her own time.

“y’know,” august pauses and smiles back at joshua, “we miss your guitar playing for choir. it was so lovely and showed magnificent spirit. have you ever considered picking it back up?”

joshua scratches his neck, “not really,” he admits, “i’ve already committed my mandatory service hours, so i guess i feel like i don’t need to play much anymore.”

“oh, how unfortunate…,” she frowns, “but, just because you’ve completed your hours, that doesn’t mean you should retire that part of your faith. a dutiful connection is a strong connection, and the church is a place to practice it. don’t let chances to embrace your spirituality slip away from you.”

“uhm,” joshua feels like he’s gaping at her as he uncomfortably replies, “okay, thanks.”

“no problem.” she lilts before continuing her way toward the front of the room.

for some reason, anger is beginning to froth beneath his skin. who was august to tell joshua that he should practice a strong connection to the church? that he should maintain his dutifulness? his spirituality? how can she stand before him and preach such advice when the entirety of her faith is based on dishonesty and extracting hedonism through sin? joshua knows he isn’t a perfect little replica of church ethics, and he certainly doesn’t go around advising people how to maintain their devotion.

the longer he stands in the church, the more joshua wants to leave.

but he can’t. service is obligatory.

as joshua chews his tongue and tries to relax, he glances for a place to sit, though in lieu of finding an empty spot on a pew, he sees your short, lace dress. you’re across the church, standing at the luminary table that is flickering with rows of candles dripping in shiny red wax. joshua nearly trips over himself shuffling into a pew, muttering insignificant apologies to all the legs he bumps in his haste. finally, he gets to approaching you, the mildness of your rainy scent soothing his earlier anger.

“hey.” joshua huffs, coming to stand beside you.

the flames reflect in your eyes like tiny orange stars. he watches your glossy mouth flutter into a smile, and his chest feels swollen with an intense appreciation for how beautiful you are.

“are you following me?” you giggle.

“definitely,” joshua follows along, “it’s not like we’re forced to be here or anything.”

your expression seems smug. “so you’re accepting it now, huh?”

he furrows his brow. “what?”

“the absurdity of it all,” you gesture from the candles to the church pews that are stuffed with perfumed, elegant bodies and solemn, expressionless faces, “that we have to be here. i’m assuming beforehand you used to embrace service as an enhancement to your life, something that you felt you needed. but now, you see it’s true colours.”

“oh,” joshua says in a bit of a haze, “i mean, there’re some good parts to it.”

“like what?” you challenge. “you think it’s good that there are people like august judging the strength of everyone’s devotion when she can’t keep a cock out of her mouth?”

joshua almost chokes. he has no idea how you even heard that conversation from across the room.

“n-no,” he fumbles for the right words, “not that. but—take the luminaries for example. they give people hope, closure, that there really is something bigger than them that’s gonna protect them.”

you give the candles a cold glance and shrug. “yeah, they give people a sense of something, but what good does it do for you?”

and at that moment, joshua had to admit you cornered him. he nestles his hands in his pockets, watching as you stretch out your index finger to a clump of wet wax running down the edge of a red candle. the hot liquid welts onto the softness of your skin. joshua tenses his jaw, suspecting you to pull away in rash discomfort. however, you allow the wax to build on the edge of your finger, almost until you get bored of the heat and there’s hardening red patches stinging numbly at your skin. joshua scrunches his nose.

“doesn’t that hurt?”

you end up sliding the wax off your finger after it’s been reasonably cooled by the chilled, church air. the pews are now bulging with families and couples, adolescents and the elderly. joshua assumes he’s going to have to stand for this service. before you slip away to bury yourself quietly in the density of the crowd, your body suddenly presses against joshua’s, chest flush with chest, so tight he can feel how your heart beats and the firmness of your breasts. his pulse stops. he can hardly breathe as your lips touch his ear.

“i like it when it hurts.”

and then you’re stepping away from him, a faint smirk curving wickedly up your mouth as joshua is left to subdue this concupiscent sensation pooling into his abdomen.

“wait—,” joshua yelps and quickly pivots.

you look over your shoulder.

“how come i’ve never seen you before?”

“i’m sure you have,” you purr, “you just never realized it.”

joshua doesn’t care about the church anymore.

it’s recently dawned on him that there are so many wonderful possibilities to life in the absence of a dictatorial clergy scheming to control the population. their equivocal methods of preaching have now fallen deaf to his ears. joshua feels he has broken free from the spell of fear he used to live by, that any smidgen of sin or unethical behaviour would conjure disappointment from the church, and he’d be sent off to the rehabilitation board or subjected to weekly, brainwashed counselling from his reverend.

he understands why august lives the way she does. she’s free as long as the clergy doesn’t catch her, as long as she appears to fit the angelic portrait painted of her by the church when she participates in service. august is never a suspect, and she knows exactly what she’s doing as she peers directly into joshua’s eyes and tells him to embrace his spirituality. she’s almost mocking him, provoking him to question if he really, truly believes that a strong connection with the church is the only connection he can ever maintain.

almost in spite of the doctrine that’s been chiselled into him for years, joshua finally decides to have fun.

with none other than you of course.

it’s early. a fiery light shines dimly through the stained glass and spills across the floor. joshua sits at the very front pew, his adam’s apple prodding sharply at the column of his throat as you take his cock as far down as your gag reflex will allow. his hand is threaded in tight, fistfuls of your hair, not forcing you to stay in position, but reminding you that he was close. joshua learned alarmingly quickly that your mouth was a lush sensation he valued more than any teaching his reverend had hacked in his dry, crumbly voice.

it was silk, warm and wet, and when you slowly pull your spit-slick lips up his shaft with a trail of saliva attached from your tongue to his head, joshua only falls in love with you that much harder. your nails curve into his thighs, imprinting flustered, red crescent moons. then, he hears you inhale a deep breath before fitting his cock back into your throat again. a shudder races down joshua’s spine. the flat of your tongue drags upward and suddenly you’re lapping up the thick come beading at his tip.

you gaze at him through your eyelashes while your tongue circles his sensitive slit. momentarily, you break contact and murmur to him breathily, “is your whore making you feel good?”

joshua cards his black fringe from his eyes. he holds it away from the perspiration on his forehead as you cushion your wet lips around his head and suckle softly. his hips cant upward, and a litany of curses threatens to pour from his mouth. joshua releases his burning grip on your scalp. with a gentle passing thumb, he strokes your warm cheek, his tone deep and slightly husky, but still true to its sweetness.

“so good,” he chuckles, “pretty whore likes to suck cock? likes it when i paint her throat with my come?”

“mmhm,” you hum while tracing a thrumming vein up his shaft, “love it so much.”

in addition to no longer caring about the church, joshua also doesn’t care that you’re a fallen angel. he knows the reverend would have clubbed him upside the head with the heaviest scripture in his library if he caught wind of joshua’s complete and utter betrayal. but joshua no longer sees the point in pretending as though the natural demands of his body are related to sin. he wants to feel good, and he wants to know the sensations that the church has restricted for solely those who are married.

the thing is, he trusts you more than he has ever trusted his reverend, even if you are a malevolent being.

joshua exhales shakily as you kiss up and down his hard length, your pink lip tint smeared away to reveal the natural pigment of your mouth. you’re adorned in the usual attire, that lace church dress you cut to make notably shorter. except, the dress has experienced some wear and tear. the chest no longer buttons up as tightly as it used to. the buttons always fly open whenever joshua handles you roughly. while you swirl your tongue around his engorged, purple head, joshua can see the soft swell of your breasts.

he knows you have all the time in the world before people begin filtering in for service, but joshua is overwhelmed with the desire to fuck you now.

“hey,” he grunts, and you lift your face from his stomach, “how about we fuck up there?” joshua nods his chin toward the altar.

you smile at him your agreement, though return to taking his cock in your mouth. joshua suddenly grasps onto your hair and pulls you up. your brows furrow.

“now?”

“yeah.” he insists.

your smooth palm is still stroking his shaft, spreading his arousal as a lubricant. frowning, you mewl in half-hearted protest, “but i want to taste you.”

truthfully, you are beyond endearing, and usually joshua would be fucking your face at this point until his seed coated your throat, tears flooding your eyes as you swallowed every drop. but he’s leaning toward something different tonight, something that will truly separate him from the orthodoxy of the church.

“i know,” joshua coos, “it’s just that tonight, i want to be inside you so fucking badly, sweetheart. i want to feel you. i promise i’ll do you right, i’ll come inside, okay?”

instantly you perk up, like a kitten that sees its owner approaching with a bowl of cream. “really?” you exclaim and lick your lips.

joshua nods, “mmhm. does that sound good, baby? you want me to fill you up and really make you my whore? will that make you happy?”

you’re scrambling to your feet. joshua knows that any opportunity to cram more rebellion against the church is like nectar to a fallen angel. your footsteps reverberate to the very back of the room as you hastily shuffle to the altar. its surface is cold, blonde marble that reflects the morning light. you hardly flinch as your bare thighs touch the stone. in a single tug, you rip open the remainder of your dress. it splits down your chest and joshua watches you lustfully as you toss your bra aside.

the process begins of shedding all clothing. in the end, you’re sitting atop the marble, joshua standing between your legs with his cock weighing heavy in his palm. your whole body jerks in impatience and sensitivity when he rubs his flushed, throbbing head to your slit, allowing your arousal to spill onto his length. joshua smirks as he pumps his shaft, purposefully pushing out creamy pearls of his come. he then guides his flushed tip to settle against your clit, circling the wet, sticky region until you buckle.

“p-pplease joshua,” your voice warbles, “it h-hurts, need you to just f-fill me up and fuck me, please.”

satisfaction simmers in his gaze. leaning over you, joshua parts your lips with his tongue and wraps your legs around his waist. when your heels click at his back, he starts pushing inside you, the sensation akin to smooth, slippery velvet squeezing all around him. already you begin to clench down and joshua chuckles into the kiss. he pulls his tongue from your honeyed mouth, looking deep into your eyes to see how glazed they are with pleasure. smirking, he bites down gently on your bottom lip.

“relax, baby,” he groans, “i’m almost there.”

you take a moment to breath before joshua can feel your walls easing around his cock. there remains an enveloping tightness, but it’s deliciously wet and warm, and as his hips succeed in thrusting as far into you as he can, your fingers scratch burning, scarlet rivulets down his biceps. joshua loves it. he loves that he gets to fuck you like this, the sound of your skin roughly colliding echoing throughout the church. the stained glass portrait stares down at you, and it only spurs joshua’s desire to indulge his pleasures further.

“o-oh f-fuck! ri-right there, right t-there! h-harder, please, pl-please, fuck me h-harder—,”

what joshua adores is that you’re unafraid to scream for him, to ruin your own vocal chords in these filthy, desperate cries. it’s difficult to fathom that in merely an hour, this same church will be filled to the brim with townspeople, all powdered up and dressed in the most honorary of clothing, singing timeless hymns and lowering to their knees to utter private thoughts and prayers into their rosaries. joshua glides his tongue up your neck, circling the wet muscle at your thundering pulse.

then, his hand is wrapping firmly around your throat, his fingers pressing against your windpipe and altering the tone of your reckless mewling. in a beautiful curve, your spine arches into him, a hand even flying from his bicep to grip the edge of the altar above your head. consequently you bump over a golden chalice and a candle stick. they clatter to the carpet with a thud, completely disregarded as joshua thrusts his hips against you fiercely, watching your fingers splay against the wrist that holds your throat.

“r-right there, yeah?” joshua mocks you with a smirk flitting up his lips. “you gonna come then? is my little whore gonna come from being f-fucked right on the altar?”

though joshua has you tightly pinned against the stone, you still manage to squirm under him, the once cold marble turning to fire that scorches your skin. your fingernails sink into his wrist. the air is light and flickering in colours as it twirls above your head, but it amplifies the ecstasy until you can only think in fleeting morsels. sin has never felt so fulfilling. joshua knows his orgasm is teetering on the edge of a collapse. he’s inconceivably eager to breed you, to create a new connection beyond the clergy’s control.

how obscene, he casually thinks, to knock up your own fucking fallen angel.

“bet it feels nice, doesn’t it? knowing m’gonna pump all my come into you.” joshua grins as the head of his cock consistently thrusts into that one spongey spot. it makes your body yearn to convulse and violently twist. evidently, you’re nearing an earthshattering orgasm.

“you’re gonna look so pretty,” joshua rests his forehead against your own and gently squeezes your throat, his voice tinged with an unprecedented tenderness as he can’t evade from his rambling, “so, so pretty carrying my baby. you’ll be glowing, s-so precious and beautiful. t-they just can’t find out, c-can’t ever let them know i got you like this, yeah? g-gotta keep it a s-se-secret—,”

joshua is interrupted by the strength of his own orgasm. it bursts in his abdomen, his hand slipping from your throat and latching onto the altar’s edge. you’re quick to mimic his release, the contractions forcing the silk of your walls to tighten around his cock as his warm come spills inside of you. your heels dig into the base of his spine unforgivingly, keeping joshua pressed fully against you while you fumble and squirm out the blissful waves that have shaken even the marrow in your bones.

in the time it takes your bodies to regain a notable strength, heavy breaths wander to every crevice of the church, morning sunlight rippling across joshua’s back in the rubescent shades of the stained glass. he slowly peels himself from your searing skin. when he glances down at your panting chest and the cloudiness of your eyes, the light bathing across your supple flesh, joshua knows in the pit of his core that if he is going to turn away from the church, you are the person he must be with.

his own fallen angel.

he didn’t realize how much he’d emptied into you until he spots the slight bulge in your stomach. you wince as he attempts to draw his cock from your opening. joshua pauses quickly to check your state. rather than a breathless warning for him to be gentle, you start smiling, and in slow, attentive movements you begin to sit up. joshua grasps your hips while you hold onto his broad, amber shoulders. something molten expands in his stomach when you peck him softly before murmuring against his mouth,

“spit on me.”

in the moment, it was the last, fleeting act of complete immorality that would transpire at the altar.

joshua then obeys, and he spits onto where his cock is still buried in your heat. fastening your teeth into your bottom lip, you thrust your hips faintly, the added stimulation coursing akin to an electric shock through both of your bodies. joshua’s spit mixes with his come and your arousal. you squeak sharply when he rubs it further into your clit with his thumb, though joshua silences you with a warm, deep kiss in which he can taste the remaining strawberry tint pink on your lips.

he feels that corruption suits him, especially as he sees the sacred items you earlier knocked down in the pinnacle of pleasure.

“joshua,” you hum while he picks up his clothes and slips them piece by piece back over his body.

turning around, joshua sees you still sitting on the altar, gripping between your legs, desperate to not let his come further spill in sticky trails down your thighs.

“what should i do?” you question.

his laughter echoes into the high ceilings.

“i never thought this far.” he admits, ruffling a hand through his black tresses, “do you have any fallen angel powers that like… stop it from coming out?”

you fold your arms over your chest and pout. “it doesn’t work like that.”

“well,” he comments, picking up your tattered dress on his way toward the altar, “whenever you want to tell me how it does work, i’m right here.”

joshua plants a kiss on the tip of your nose.

besides, it’s not like he can’t just fuck you full again. joshua is sure there’s enough time to escape home for another round before he has to trudge back to another mandatory service. however, he’ll definitely resonate with a different feeling in comparison to all his past sunday’s stuffed within the church. because instead of worrying over how faithful he’s been, or how much he should concentrate on strengthening his devotion, he’ll be reminiscing on your sexual endeavours that transpired right at the altar.

yeah, joshua convicts in his head, being corrupt doesn’t seem so bad after all.

#joshua smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #joshua scenarios #hong jisoo #svt fanfic #svt smut #joshua hong #seventeen imagine #kpop smut

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viktcrr-archive · 4 years

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MAXENCE DANET FAUVEL / NONBINARY. — viktor samuels is really making a name for themselves as a tier 3 shepherd. i think that he/they are studying english + visual arts in their senior year at lockwood, living in peregrinis. originally from rochester, new york, viktor is known to be observant & ingenious, but can also be reticent & dependent. — james / 20 / est / she/they.

3/5 !!! once again ... little edits

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

a e s t h e t i c s

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts.

general info !!

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′0″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: uuuhhh god … probably pan tbh

stats

biography !!

okay so … born and raised in rochester, new york to the well known samuels family. preacher father, a mother, a twin sister born 15 minutes before him - aka tatiana samuels, who died back in january.

kinda … grew up as a really awkward, quiet kid? like … just didn’t really interact with other kids super well, preferred being alone and like … digging up bugs in the dirt. only friend was like … his own sister.

grew out of this as they got older, instead sort of … becoming a bit of a dick? to compensate for years of awkwardness? will bite the hand that feeds him. was a full on nuisance by middle school. tatiana was not, at least, noticeably.

has always been a fan of darker materials, y’know - grim and creepy, morbid shit. big fan of tim burton ever since he was a kid, which isn’t … a good look for a preacher’s son, but he’s never really felt ~in~ with the rest of his family, anyway.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid probably tbh that prompted one or two or five phone calls home 2 assure everything was fine.

has always been really … good at art, in general - from drawing to painting to playing with clay, that’s always been viktor’s Thing.

aNyWaYs. being tatiana’s twin brother was kinda hard sometimes. tatiana and him were near opposites besides their same mean-spirited trait. she was better in the public than he was, but viktor was arguably more talented than tatiana. they both loved each other deeply and found each other as competition for their parents’ attention - a rivalry, of sorts.

high school is when viktor really started to act out - started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service. almost had an exorcism performed on him, probably.

the only redeemable trait was like … his sheer talent with art. was in a 3d art AP course, specialized in sculpting - could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because his parents would be focused on disciplining him for his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with stuff easier. so like, y’know, that’s on the bright-side of things.

never been particularly motivated to do much - wasn’t planning on attending lockwood but his parents kinda … did and sent in his application for him b/c they were Not on board with him Wasting Away (wanted him out of the house asap)

actually pretty smart !! just doesn’t like … want to apply himself ever. double majoring in english and visual arts because they’re like … two of his only interests :/ plus he wants to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s

he’d been experimenting since high school but college is where he really started to like … crack down on himself and figure himself out. was out as pan & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college, just … not to his family, necessarily. thinks tatiana always knew, but didn’t … really use it against him, blessedly enough

always felt like the whole twin - connection thing was … both wack and also not-wack? sometimes it felt believable but sometimes he had no idea what was going on in tatiana’s head. but he felt oddly transparent to her, always - like he was predictable to no one but her.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

but when tatiana disappeared - it was like, like viktor knew. the moment she had been kidnapped - felt something deeply wrong in his gut. and when tatiana died - viktor felt something cut so severely in him. he knew, he always knew exactly when. he couldn’t put his finger on how - but he knew. even when everybody else held out hope for her to be found - he knew.

went on a bender around the same time, had always struggled w/ drug addiction but it got worse the longer tatiana went without being found.

( also struggled heavily with his mental health, too ?? has manic and depressive episodes. will fixate on a sculpting project for six months and then purposely knock it off the table and destroy it in the matter of seconds once it’s finished for. no fucking reason. impulse spends A Lot. )

when her body was found, viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing and being hospitalized where he spent the next like … however long months … until they deemed him better.

stayed out of school until very recently b/c he just … didn’t want to go back. didn’t want to deal with it. didn’t want to be known as the dead girl’s twin. but then his mom kinda just was like ‘u go back 2 school or god so help me’ n he was like FINE.

so ya !! viktor’s back after being gone since tatiana’s body was found. that’s it, that’s him, a lil glimpse of his life.

trying to finish his senior year b/c he … obviously left before he could.

finding out that it was george who killed tatiana has ultimately ... caused viktor to spiral. his lows are some of his lowest, his highs are ... very high, but very bad. unstable & unpredictable in his actions it’s ... a whole thing :/

personality !!

the human embodiment of a gremlin, fed after midnight. a goblin, if u will. one of those cats with a narrow head and big ass ears. that’s him.

b i g horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies. probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than he should. love those vertically striped pants!

fashion alternates between e-boy (would b tik tok famous if he were like … 17), millennial beetlejuice, and like … goth in a crop top and sweatpants. big fan of crop tops. big fan of sweatpants.

he can be fucking mean. petty, aggressive, instigator. will literally spit in ur face or no reason. kind of person who’ll stick his gum into other ppl’s hair. other than that he’s like … pretty okay. he’s not always mean, he’s just a dick like … 70% of the time lmao

i mean yeah okay he’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except He Feels Like It And Believes It. it’s fine he’s fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact tht he’s probably getting into fights whenever - considers himself 2 be a lover n not a fighter but that’s just because he Fucks a lot. kind of uses it like a coping mechanism, like he’s this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ may have a problem w/ hypersexuality but it’s nothing he’s fully. aware of.

the preacher’s whore son, basically

like i said he’s pan & nb, switches between he and they pronouns but like … he has such a fragile grip on his identity that u could call him ‘dog-faced bitch’ and he’d turn like hey wassup :)

vastly impulsive, like i’ve mentioned … destroys his own creations 4 the fun of it, spends all his money on useless shit, will cheat on someone bc he feels like it. screams into the night sky frequently, like a cat in heat.

i mean he also creates useless shit for no reason too. spent six months sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of him and then took a sledgehammer to it.

dramatic fuck. used to play the organ at the church like … when no one was looking after him and service was about to start. just these creepy as melodies. would do the same thing at home on his keyboard w/ the organ setting whenever he got grounded until his parents took away his keyboard sadjfkg

won’t talk about his time away b/c it’s not rly anybody’s business but ofc nothing is sacred to the watershed app, y’know, nothing’s private.

still like - he absolutely refuses to talk about tatiana’s death and like, his mental health or his addiction (he’s fallen back into it tbh but it hasn’t gotten bad again … yet) or like … anything involving his own emotions

will literally just change the topic! abruptly, no warning, asks about the jonas brothers instead.

that being said he’s obsessed with tatiana’s death. tatiana was very much a rock for him, kinda dependent on her in a way? just … being there, y’know, kept him grounded.

so he obv became a shepherd bc he wants to know Everything there is abt the app, wants to be deep inside it, wanted to know Who Exactly Killed Tatiana and like … not saying he wants 2 commit murder but :/ yknow. he’s very upset.

emotionally unavailable while also like crying twice a day.

will tell you straight up what he wants from you, no bullshit, no beating around the bush - just blunt. if he wants to just fuck, nothing else, then that’s that. if he feels deviation he’ll ghost in like. less than a second. kinda awful like that! feels no shame.

but like … also is emotional ?? as shit ?? it’s confusing. he’ll cry on a whim and then flip u off if u try to console him or like. ask him anything. will bite you.

he goes to therapy but he generally fucks around and wastes most of the time until the therapist threatens to like … idk what therapists r allowed to threaten. to send him off to another therapist? idk.

likes being intimidating but like … not with his body or nothing ‘cos he’s a TWIG, but like … uses his love for horror n creepy shit to his advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before.

( also a big fan of sfx makeup, has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids with a chainsaw (w/o the like … chain … or w/e … so it’s not actually Dangerous) around halloween

he’s generally never doing good, both mental health wise and morally.

would probably steal candy from a baby for the fun of it.

i don’t know if there’s a good to him, deep down, and i don’t know if he sees any issues with himself either !! nothing really breaks through to him anymore, the only person who ever really made him stop and Think about his actions was tatiana.

kinda introverted, recluse type who doesn’t rly like most people or going out, but he’ll go to parties if it means he’ll be high as shit.

pretty observant. likes to analyze people even though he’s probably not … fully right.

connections to the victims !!

tatiana samuels / his twin sister, other half - the only one able to control viktor.

george craig iii / close family friends ... they could appreciate each other, when viktor wasn’t being an outright asshole.

hana williams / ‘friends’ with benefits, their relationship was rocky at best but she was a good lay. have often fought due to their clash in personalities and viktor’s history with christoph.

christoph wainwright / an ex-hook up, an infrequent occasion whenever christoph wanted to tick off hana. viktor was often on board, never the one to consider others’ feelings.

wanted connections !!

he lives alone currently but like … ex - roommates where viktor was just. a nightmare to live with.

feel like a lot of enemies is also a possibility !! viktor’s messy.

people that like … knew tatiana. dated tatiana, even, and viktor would pretty much try to intimidate / scare them at any given chance :/

close friends of tatiana too

people who hated tatiana but liked viktor. people who hated viktor but liked tatiana

people who take pity on him and he Hates it viciously and vocally.

a band of hooligan gremlin kids who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers even though they’re all early to mid 20s.

the girl he lost his virginity 2 in high school lmao … a distant memory

fellow rochester locals, from church or school or whatever

exes from the past !! good terms and bad terms, but i love bad terms a whole lot mainly b/c viktor’s a jackass.

don’t know if he’s soft towards anybody but we can try. we can Try.

friends, old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. etc. all of it

hookups !! so many hookups. fwbs, one night stands, whatever.

uuhhhh god. i don’t know. im so sleepy rn. people in the same major or similar majors.

maybe a ride or die.

people he’s a bad influence on / an enabler towards / all around toxic for them / each other.

people he’s fought !! people who’ve seen him get into random fights and were like ‘uh wtf’

fellow shepherds !!

literally anything im not picky.

#wshintro #grief tw #death tw #overdose tw #addiction tw #hospitalization tw #hypersexuality tw #religion mention #mental illness tw

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changingourdestiny · 4 years

Text

Forsaken Part 3: Jett Black Ashes

Summary:

Rae and Adam attempt to strike down all the Barons at once, but end up failing and have to resort to killing them one by one. However, words from the mysterious mercenary, Jett, has thrown off Rae slightly. Who is this mysterious figure? Why are they so against Uldren being killed? ...and how do they know Cayde?

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

Rae panted heavily as the Scorn before her crumpled to its knees, defeated. Her attention was drawn to Fikrul the Fanatic, who was watching from behind a barrier. Rae had hoped she and Adam could’ve taken out the Barons in one go by attacking the stronghold, but they had all now scattered before they could even lay a hit on any of them. Rae glared at the Fanatic with anger and frustration as he spoke to the two Guardians, “I do not fear the dead. I CONTROL death. And YOU… more use to me alive. Go. Pursue your vengeance. I claim your Fallen victims for my Scorn army.” The Fanatic transmatted away as Ghost piped up, “The stronghold is secure… but the Barons escaped. This was our best shot at ending this. And now they've scattered. What are we going to do now?” Rae clenched her fist before slamming it into the wall, “Damn it!!” ——————————————————————— Petra saw Adam and Stormbringer enter the Spider’s lair, “How’d it go?” “Well-” Adam was cut off by Ghost’s voice from outside the entrance. “Rae! Slow down! Ah! Don’t just ditch-!” Adam, Petra and Spider watched as a Sparrow went cartwheeling past the lair’s entrance, a loud bang shortly following. “Oh…not good then.” Petra spoke up. Spider chuckled, “I’m surprised she got that thing past the barrier. That’s impressive!” Rae walked into the lair, “I, uh…I might have lost my temper.” Ghost popped up beside her, “Understatement of the year!” The Spider laughed, “Oh, you really showed them, didn't you? Piece of advice, eh? Know your enemy before you… deal with them.” “Something tells me you know more than us.” Rae raised an eyebrow, “Any tips?” The Spider held up a series of cards, tossing them at Rae’s feet one-by-one. Each had a picture of the Barons. “Reksis Vahn - the Hangman. A silent sadist. Used to dock the arms of Dregs with his bare hands. Kaniks - the Mad Bomber. Emphasis on "mad." Demolitions expert with an irritating way about him. The Trickster - Araskes. A liar and a schemer. Friendly advice: trust nothing she touches. Hiraks - The Mindbender. Has a rep for manipulation. Has a morbid obsession with the Hive. Yaviks, a.k.a. the Rider. The leader of a bombastic gang of Pike-riding heathens. They sow chaos everywhere they ride. The Rifleman - Pirrha. The only Fallen alive who could make the shot that mortalized…Cayde-6. Elykris - the Machinist. The scourge of Solis Descent. This one sits atop a trove of tech and heavy armaments stolen from me! The Fanatic himself - Fikrul. The leader of the Barons and the first of the Scorn. His dark magic has no place on my Shore. No place! Last and most certainly least… Uldren Sov. Traitor to his people and the man who pulled the trigger. He may be in the wind, but his Barons are ripe for the picking. Divide. Conquer. Isolate Uldren. He'll wind up at your feet. And all you have to do…is pull the trigger.” “You make it sound easy.” Adam spoke up. “It is…” Spider replied, “…if you know how to do it right.” “So even the Red War’s hero has limits?” Everyone spun around to the lair’s entrance – the Fallen guards holding their weapons at the ready – as the cloaked figure turned the corner into the Spider’s lair, “Kinda funny. You slayed the Black Garden’s Heart, took down the Red Legion, killed multiple Hive gods…and yet a few undead Eliksni pose a problem to you?” Rae glared at the masked figure as the Spider chuckled, “Causing trouble as usual, Jett.” “Jett?” Adam asked. “The Shadow of the Shore. Our partnership is…complicated. Usually if there’s trouble in my Shore, they’re not far behind. Of course the moment new blood appears here stirring things up, you want part of it.” Jett chuckled, “Heh. Don’t go inflating their egos. I just wanna make sure these motes know their place. Though I’ll give ‘em this: I’ve never seen someone fail so spectacularly at hunting down a few Scorn.” “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?” Rae growled. “You’re the one with the grudge.” Jett shrugged, “Wouldn’t wanna take away you’re chance at a killin’ spree. Besides, the Barons pay good when they need stuff done.” Rae went for her gun, but was interrupted by Jett, “Oh relax, will ya? I never said I was on their side. I’ll help anyone if the price is right and it’s in my interests.” “And yet, you seem to hold Uldren in high regard.” Rae removed her hand from her gun’s holster. “I’ve my reasons. Reasons that are none of your business. Like I said, go on your killing spree. But if you insist on killing Uldren…you’ll have to go through me first. Got it?” “I don’t die easy.” “Neither do I.” Jett turned to leave, “If you need me, Spider, you know where to find me.” “Nobody knows where to find you.” Spider replied. “Exactly.” Everyone watched as Jett left the lair. However, they stopped and glanced to the right, “Huh…someone was cranky…” before turning left and walking away. “Well, aren’t they a joy?” Adam rolled his eyes. “Anyway…” Petra began, “Back to business. Cayde's killers are still out there, but the hunt is not over. You take down the Barons. Thin the herd. As for Uldren… Did you see that Awoken spire when you landed here?” “Oh yeah…” Rae spoke up, “What was that?” “It's called the Watchtower. I shouldn't be telling you this, but… my people's greatest secrets lie beyond that spire. There's no other reason Uldren would come to the Tangled Shore. Sooner or later, he WILL go to the Watchtower. We must stop him BEFORE that happens.” “Alright. You can count on us, P.” Adam nodded. “I know I can. Good hunting.” ——————————————————————— It was difficult, but time seems to fly when you’re out for vengeance. The Barons quickly fell to Rae and Adam, some more difficult than others. Soon all that remained were Fikrul the Fanatic…and Prince Uldren. Rae, however, was slightly unnerved. She would catch glimpses of Jett watching her and Adam from afar and their words would echo in her head. ‘If you insist on killing Uldren…you’ll have to go through me first.’ There was something eerily familiar about the mysterious mercenary. But Rae couldn’t put her finger on it. Either way, she didn’t let it distract her. Right now, her focus remained on striking down the Fanatic and Uldren. After slaying the Machinist, Rae and Adam received a message from Petra saying that she knew where Uldren was headed and quickly returned to the Spider’s lair to regroup. “Petra, we’re here!” Rae and Adam ran up to Petra inside the lair as Rae spoke, “What’s up?” “Well…first I need to explain a few things.” Petra began, “After the war, everyone in the Reef mourned our Queen and our prince. Except me. I didn't believe they had died. I couldn't. But then...Uldren returned. He told me he could hear the Queen's voice in his head. That's when I knew he was changed. I could have prevented all of this. But instead, I hid him away in the Prison of Elders. And now…Cayde was almost lost forever. The Reef is in ruins. And I've confirmed that Uldren is on his way to the Watchtower. It's now or never.” “So that royal runt Uldren wants into the Watchtower.” Spider, who was eavesdropping in on the conversation – which wasn’t hard since he was only a few feet away – spoke up, “I always wondered what secrets and treasures the Awoken stashed in that ersatz spire. But my friendship with Queen Mara, while she lived, stayed my hand. Well, that and a locked door. Thus I am honour-bound to send a selection of my finest to help you find that ever-elusive closure. I must say... I cannot wait to see how this ends.” “We better get prepped up.” Adam spoke up before turning to Rae, “You ready?” “I…I’m ready…” Rae began, “It's just...that Jett person…do you think they’ll stick to their word?” “If Jett wants to take us on, let them.” Adam replied, placing a hand on Rae’s shoulder, “But whatever Uldren’s up to, we need to stop it. We can’t let this Jett get in the way.” Rae took a deep breath, “Okay. Let’s do it!” ——————————————————————— Rae and Adam approached the entrance to the Watchtower, guns at the ready. “You made it.” Rae spun around to see Jett slowly approach them from behind, slowly clapping their hands. “I’m impressed. You took ‘em all down. I guess you really did earn your little title.” “You here to kill us then?” Rae asked, gripping her gun tightly. “Nah. Not yet anyway. I’m just here to enjoy the show.” Jett shrugged, “Can’t say the same for him though.” Rae and Adam jumped as a voice echoed around them, “You enjoyed killing them?” Fikrul appeared at the Watchtower entrance, staff in hand, “You enjoyed putting them in dirt — where you belong? Did it make you feel good?” The Fanatic fired bolts of electricity at the two Guardians while summoning Scorn. “Scatter! He can’t get both of us at once!” Rae called out as the two ran in different directions, dodging the Fanatics attacks and getting shots of their own in. Jett watched silently from a distance as the two Guardians struggled to take down the Baron. “Kaniks. Reksis Vahn. Yaviks. Pirrha. Araskes. Hiraks. Elykris. Tell me that killing my friends made you feel good. TELL ME.” Rae and Adam felt themselves being lifted into the air by Fikrul’s staff as he dragged them towards the Watchtower, “I will pay any price… to be there when you die…” As they were dropped to the ground, Adam quickly put up a shield to protect himself and Rae as they dodged out of the way of Fikrul’s attacks. “You brought this on yourself!!” Rae yelled out, her voice cracking in anger and fear, “You chose to follow Uldren. You chose to lead the Scorn! You. Killed. Cayde!!!” Fikrul was about to fire another shot of lightning at Rae but was stopped by a blast of fire hitting him in the head. Fikrul glared towards the source of the attack. Jett. “You…did…what?” Jett growled through gritted teeth, “You better hope for your sake that’s a joke. Did you really kill Cayde-6?” “What’s it to you?” Fikrul spat in response. Jett clenched their fists, “I was a fool…I never once considered the reason why they’d kill him…but now I know whose side I should’ve been on this whole time.” Suddenly, Jett was engulfed in a burst of flames, “This time…YOU’RE GONNA STAY DEAD!!!” Jett lunged at Fikrul and grabbed onto his face, letting their flames scorch him, “LOOK AWAY!! THIS’LL GET UGLY!!!” Rae and Adam did as Jett told them, although confused by Jett’s sudden change of heart. They could hear the roaring of flames, the pained yells of Fikrul, and the angered screams of Jett. And then silence. Rae and Adam turned around to see what happened. Jett stood in front of Fikrul’s smouldering body. The Fanatic was dead. Jett panted heavily, shoulders slumped, as their mask and bandanna fell to the ground, broken and scorched by the flames. Adam noticed that within the bandanna was a voice modulator. Rae stared at the exhausted mercenary, “Who…who are you?” Jett stood up straight and slowly turned around and lowered their hood. Rae gasped at what she saw. A light-blue-skinned face with a scar on the chin and familiar pale markings on the face. Long, red and gold hair that was dishevelled and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in forever, part of it covering the right eye. Tear-filled eyes that once held a fiery glow, now had bags underneath them, as if they hadn’t seen sleep in years. A tired, weak, no-longer distorted voice spoke out, “I’m sorry…” There was no denying it. Rae knew all too well who Jett really was.

“Blaze…?” To Be Continued...

#changing our destiny #destiny 2 #destiny forsaken #rae drakyx #adam bergfalk #scorn #destiny scorn #fikrul #destiny fikrul #the fanatic #destiny the fanatic #Petra Venj #destiny petra #the spider #destiny spider #jett #???

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jotunlokisuggestion · 5 years

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I’m gonna illustrate to you the Thanos-problem not so quickly.

The studio went to Kenneth Branagh in 2010 and told them they want a villain as good as Magneto for their Avengers film.

And almost 10 years later the MCU wanted to write an interesting, political villain called Thanos for Infinity War/Endgame.

Now, when Kenneth Branagh got the (really annoying) custom-order for a good villain, he didn’t look at the villain the studio liked and copied him. Instead he had the brains to write Loki as a character. With his own personality traits, qualities, quirks, a unique backstory that appeals to Branagh’s strength as a writer, whose origin story can be used and re-used in future films and plots, who has unique and adaptable strengths and weaknesses and who is played by an actor who is really good at playing roles like that.

Meanwhile Thanos is just...going through the Killmonger/Loki/Magneto motions of: political villain: ✅ tragic backstory: ✅ destruction: ✅ big baddie speech ✅ --- but there is no heart to any of that, no sense of detail, no moment for him to shine no personality.

And you know (I really tried to stop myself from adding this) in the 90s we had this flood of dark, gritty anti-heroes with their giant guns and ten thousand pouches. And some of them like Cable were really good while later characters became pale imitations of Cable (think of that famous video of Liefeld inventing a character and he just draws Cable number 8948320 and his backstory is that he’s a cyborg) and all those rehashes of the Killing Joke. And in the end they all lost track of what made these characters good in the first place.

And in the late 2000s and early 2010s we had this wave of young, hip, funny for the lulzs supervillains who just had quirks and no reasons and personality and in the end, basically nothing of substance remains of any of them - an epidemic starting with Heath Ledger’s Joker but were later replaced with young men in suits who were also kinda pop-culturally - ironically Leto’s Joker hopped onto that bandwagon like 9 years late with a starbucks

And I understand why in the last few years, political villains have entered mass-production, but a villain like that doesn’t work unless your writing challenges their ideas. Okay lemme give you another example: Since the (in)famous Far Cry 3 with its very 2012 villain quirky-crazy-Joker-y villain Vaas we now had Far Cry 4 playing in the land of a slightly quirky fashionable young man dictator and Far Cry 5 and New Dawn with an evil Christian cult right in the US.

The transition from early 2010s to late 2010s is obvious but - these are video games and by the time we fight the final boss, we have automatically actually spent a lot of time in their respective worlds. We know why these are horrible people. We are challenging their methods and ideas already when we encounter them. In the MCU, we see Killmonger actually rule over Wakanda and we know while his ideas are good. his methods aren’t - while at the same he challenges Wakanda and forces T’Challa to accept that his father was not perfect. Each time we see Loki rule over Asgard, imperialism is challenged - in the first time when he actually attacks Jötunheim (thus executing exactly the things he had been taught his entire life) and by not intervening in the colonies in Ragnarök. But, you are going to say, Thanos ideas are challenged! We see that people are sad that he killed half the universe! - and I mean yeah, but I didn’t need to watch the movie to know that people would be sad. Instead, everything happens exactly as you expect it would. All these previous examples were interesting because we wouldn’t know what the villains would do and how it would affect the population. Also the final notion - that the universe would eventually be better of if half the universe was destroyed, remains unshaken and unaddressed.

And honestly, their attempt to make Thanos likeable or understandable might be the huge problem of the film. Thanos as a morbid, unlikable killer who’s in love with death works because we don’t need to relate to him for that. We don’t need a connection. Many good villains are absolutely detestable. You can do a lot not by making them seem sympathetic (which is almost impossible with villains like Thanos anyway) but you can make them interesting to the audience-

let’s talk about villains who are absolute giant assholes but I like them:

Yeah him <3 You remember the first season of Hannibal? As members of the audience, we know who Hannibal is before we even start watching. Hannibal Lecter is one of the most famous villains there are. In the movies, he’s arrested in Red Dragon right in the first scene - there is never any doubt about who he is. But in the show, he’s yet an active serial killer and working with the police. The police that solves his murders. The police who doesn’t know that he’s the killer. The killer whose name literally rhymes with cannibal and who makes cannibalism puns. There were hundreds of memes about how fucking frustrating it was that the police always just walked right past him.

That was the thing: We, the audience, knew something the characters didn’t. Like in a horror film when we know the killer is hiding behind the door and the main character doesn’t. You want to fucking scream at the screen in frustration. Okay what does that have to do with Thanos? Imagine all those glimpses and we saw of him in previous movies would have presented him in a likeable light. Imagine if his disciples were actually seen gaining people’s trust or if people in GotG would actually casually mention “oh Thanos will fix this, I heard he has a brilliant plan” or he tried to convince them that there was a huge famine coming. It would have been so frustrating to see people trust him because obviously everyone who reads the comics would know that Thanos is bad news and if we saw people actually trust him? maybe actually give him Infinity Stones to fix the universe because he’s the only one who can use them? Fucking rude.

Reveals :)

I guess I don’t have to tell tumblr who the first guy is but a quick rehash: In season finale of Sherlock, a guy who appears in one scene as the girlfriend of a colleague of Sherlock turns out to be Moriarty.

And guess what? It absolutely doesn’t matter one single fucking bit that Moriarty is the lab guy. And the big reveal doesn’t matter because we’re not given any of the clues. He might as well have been the mailman. Now, the Man In Black from Westworld however? That was a huge reveal. (Major spoilers if you haven’t watched it but I’m keeping it vague). We saw the Man In Black commit the worst crimes imaginable throughout the first season of the show, he killed hundreds of people without remorse. And in his defence, we thought that he thought it was all a robot theme park. Except? We find out that he’s actually the older version of one of the main-characters who absolutely saw robots as people once and evn protected them and loved one. This was both a horrifying reveal, an origin story and it made his crime even worse. That’s good villain-writing.

What does that have to do with Thanos? - Technique. Just how the reveal was written has a huge impact. Imagine if there had been no mention of Thanos at all until Infinity War - and the characters were actually forced to figure out who brought Loki to Earth, who supported Ronan, who attacked Asgard. Maybe you catch some glimpses of his disciples and maybe you get to hear the name of one of them at the very end or Loki even whispers “Thanos” in Thor’s ear before he dies and he as to figure out what that means. Make us work to get there.

Relevance!

Now, they wanted a political villain, right? AHS Cult gave as a political villain who is absolutely detestable every step of the way. But the reason he was scary and interesting is because...it was relevant af. Every word he said, every political opinion he expressed, the way he staged attacks on him by migrant workers and spread fear in his community - that rings very close to home right now. I can get why someone would say you can’t do the same in a Marvel film, but Sci-Fi has always been a projection screen for political subjects for decades now. Star Trek has been doing it since the 1960s and if they had actually committed to making Thanos allude to actual political slogans of today, he would have been way more relevant.

Dynamics (aka how to make someone likeable without condoning their actions)

On my main, I made a post once about Loki and Magneto and how having, forming and developing relationships helps to flesh out a character. In short: We learn to understand them. We see them grow. We see (ideally) how they learn from encounters and how it shapes them. Now we are entering the realm of likeable again with Azula, because what made her a brilliant villain was not her brilliance or her abilities (they made her a great opponent though) but her motivations. The more we see her family, the more we learn that she, too, is a victim of a dysfunctional family. She allows a whole new perspective on the royal family. That scene where she tells Ozai that he ‘can’t treat her like Zuko’? - those were ten fucking books written in one line. Her descent into paranoia basically rewrote every scene of her in the past and is also a reminder that she’s 15 and yes, of course, she’s a victim. She’s a child fighting in a war.

How many meaningful relationships does Thanos have? He’s quite fond of Gamora I guess? Less fond of Nebula? There was an embarrassing attempt to create a connection between him Tony. Now, remember that in the comics, Thanos is someone driven by love. He loves death - that’s the relationship that drives him. It’s important that there is a face to everything. Show me Thanos family, show me his homeworld. Show me his previous desperate attempts to save the people he loved and how he was held back and driven to more and more desperate measures. Show me how he finally gives in and wants to destroy everything.

“show don’t tell”

I’m going to argue for a Thanos solo movie now :) (kinda)

Okay I feel kinda compelled to put David in this when I’m already posting this on my rp blog but also a) I love him and b) shut up. short summary: David was created an android that is programmed to serve humans. He grows to resent them more and more, especially because many of them are petty and abusive towards him until in the second film, he just wants them dead. Now in his first scenes of Prometheus, we see him alone on the ship while the human crew is in cryosleep. We see him eat, play basketball, ride a bicycle, watch people’s dreams. He also watches Lawrence of Arabia while dying his hair to look like him and quotes the above sentence several times just before the rest of the crew wakes up.

It’s a tiny sequence in the film but we learn various things about David: He’s vain, he does things he - as a robot - doesn’t have to do, he identifies strongly with a man torn between two cultures, he has a lot of fun when he’s alone, he habitually spies on people, he is feeling pain in some capacity and he associates it with humans. We learn all of that in those few tiny moments.

compare all of what we learnt in this short sequence to what we know about Thanos. After seeing him in...I think three films by now? And having people talk about him in even more? With literally every character I listed now (excluding Moriarty bc he’s a negative example) we know what drove them to do what they did. We know their pain. We know them. Even if the things they are cruel because here it comes:

They are a Story.

And Thanos is a plot device.

or to quote fellow tumblr user hackedmotionsensors: I’ve never liked Thanos because hes like a video game villain. Like he’s the annoying equivalent of finding the final boss in a FF game and its just a giant head or something stupid.

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peachychibi · 5 years

Text

ante merediem | Johnny

ante merediem

Genre: friends-to-lovers!au, college!au | fluff

Member: Johnny / Reader

Word Count: 1,600+

Warnings: n/a

The more you looked at the three-year old photograph of yourself on your laptop, the more she looked like a stranger to you. It went behind your comprehension, the smiling girl on the screen was you. There was no doubt about that. The memory of the day when the memento got taken was still vivid in the back of your mind.

There was a gathering for the freshmen on your year, all majors were invited. High on being a newcomer, you got this unexplainable urge to attend any social activities that the campus offered. The excitement was so palpable back then, you actually thought it would last forever. (Funny, because in reality your socalled excitement did not even last for any more than three months). You got to the event with the friends whom you met just one day before. They were practically strangers with mutual condition as yours. It wasn't like you were provided with any other options anyway, you were basically a mere local immigrant who knew nobody in the new city.

One of the things you remembered the most from the function happened to be the disappointment of how disastrous it turned out to be. You should have known better though, of course your expectation would be so farfetched from actuality. Who even thought it would be a great idea to plan an outdoor event in the wet monsoon? The air was damp, there were mud all over the field yet the sun was unforgivingly bright. The event was delayed for almost an hour leaving the students drenched in cold sweat. To top it all off the MCs who were supposed to lighten up the show were just as awkward as everyone. Truly an absolute failure.

The picture which you took with your new friends remained as the only keepsake from that day. You stood up from the comfort of your bed to walk to the mirror. The reflection was someone you knew, a short-haired young woman with perpetual dark circles under her eyes. This, this person is familiar. It was baffling how the girl on the picture seemed like a total stranger to you. Was it the hair? The girl had longer hair, wavy black hair cascaded pass the juncture of her shoulder. Her eyes, they looked so hopeful. The gleam in her orbs were visible, captured in the moment. But it was her smile that surprised you the most. It looked so genuine, she--you looked like you were basked in unadulterated happiness. So absurd. It did not make any sense to you now, just how could you manage to find any bit in your heart to pull up a perfect fake smile like that. At least you thought it was fake, it should have been right?

As you sauntered back to your bed, you saw a flicker of light going on and off on through your peripheral vision. It seemed to come from your phone, the vibrating sound indicating a not-yet answered call. You shuffled to the desk in a hurry, impatient to know who was the person on the other side of the line. It's 2 A.M. for God's sake, who on their right minds would contact you?

Oh, your heart skipped a little when you read the caller ID. It has been five days since the "realization", as your friends gladly put it, and you found it hard to act normal in front of him. In your defense, slipping out of your own obliviousness was an overwhelming experience. Realizing that you had been in totally-not platonic-love with your best friend for God knew how long gave off a sense of foreign anxiety.

For a second, you were hesitant to press the green button. A wave of nervousness was opening up the subdued floodgates of emotions within you. Curiosity won over though. As per usual, you could never control yourself when it came to him. He was your best friend after all, random 'morning call' was a normalcy between you two. Why should it be different now?

'Hello?', you answered in a steady voice. Your inner self cheering quietly at this small win. You would never let him notice just how affected you were by his unexpected call.

'Hi', a shuffling sound could be heard from his side, it sounded like he just dropped something. Knowing him and his clumsiness, the assumption was likely to be true. He continued when it sounded calmer 'Sorry, I accidentally dropped my glasses, did I wake you up?'

Ha, I was right after all. Deciding to walk the sassy route, you replied, 'No, you didn't. I'm still awake which is exactly why I can pick up the phone, you see'

His chortle reverberated through the line, 'Nope, I can't see it. This is a voice call not a video one, you hear?'

'Wow. Real funny, Johnny. Really. I can barely hold my laughter', you could not hold back your smile this time.

'When was I ever not funny? I am the funniest man in your life!'

'Oh shut up, John', you groaned. Not long after the exchange of silly banters, you both were smoothly falling into mindless ramble. Conversing with Johnny was easy. You both had quick wit and an ability to jump from one topic to another in the speed of light, there was almost no moment of silence to fill the gap.

'By the way, did you remember the gathering on our freshmen year?'

'Hmm? The one on the basketball field? It was on our first week of college, wasn't it?', he answered correctly.

'Yeah, that exact one! I'm impressed, you've got good memory.'

He snorted, 'Duh, of course I do. What about it, anyway?'

You were going to describe that certain day but he beat you to it,

'I even remembered that it was the day where we first met. I bet you forgot that fact already, right?'

Thrown off guard, you were. Now that you think about it, Johnny was the one who took your photograph from that day.

Shit.

How could you be so dense? That day turned out to be not shitty at the end. You remembered a tall guy in denim shirt, confidently (and randomly) throwing a witty remark in your conversation—or more like a soliloquy consisting of whines and nags about the event—'I agree this is a shitshow. Why are we even here anyway.' Not gonna lie, you were judging him hard at that time.

'Oh God. How could I forget you? You were the weird stranger who jumped on another stranger convos.', you opened the forgotten laptop on your bed to see the picture again.

He squawked indignantly 'Hey! You were the shameless girl with no sense of public decency. Your hateful commentary was not very graceful either.'

You did not really pay any heed to his words because once again you were curious about the picture. 'I only had literally one remembrance from that horrible gathering and it was a picture which was taken by you.'

'Which one? Send it to me, I wanna see it' he demanded.

'I'll send you okay, chill.' You logged in to your messenger to send it to him. 'The weird thing from the photo is that I looked unrealistically happy '

He laughed 'That's morbid, what the fuck. What's wrong with being happy—Wait I just got the picture.'

There was a five second silence before he continued 'Well, you did look genuinely happy in it.'

'I know right? This is so weird because we all know just how shitty that gathering was.'

He hummed in response 'Perhaps..'

His words lingered and honestly your lack of sleep did not have time for this unnecessary pause. 'Perhaps what, John?'

'Well, perhaps you smiled like that because of me'

It would have been funny, you could have laughed at his words. Hell, you could entertain him by saying how he had been right. Of course, Johnny-honey. You brightened up my day!

However you just could not bring yourself to joke along. Somehow you sensed that something.. something was off. He was uncharacteristically serious. It even seemed that he was hesitant to say it, as if he was scared of your reaction yet at the same time, he sincerely anticipated it.

The time gap has been way too long now, none of you dared to say anything. It felt like tip-toeing around a ticking bomb, you both were one second away before the eventual awkwardness.

You took a glimpse at the clock on the wall, it was currently way past 3 A.M. Maybe your sleep deprivation pushed you to making a rash decision or there was a glitch in your system.

‘I think so, too.’ you finally breathed out the long overdue answer.

It was eerily silent, your reply sounded like a hush of wind. You were not even sure he listened to it at all. You hoped he did, though.

‘…You do?’, there was a hint of shock in his voice.. but it did not have an unpleasant tone in it. In contrary, he sounded thoroughly pleased by your answer ‘You really, truly do?’

You were pretty sure by now that he was clearly overjoyed, he sounded like a hyper puppy. Weird comparison, you brain that was wired for linguistic fluency has apparently went fried.

‘Yeah’ you tried so hard to stop your smile. Biting your lips, hiding your excitement—and failing.

He suddenly cracked up, it was the infamous boisterous laugh of his, contagious. You ended up laughing with him as well. It was all silly, the situation was all kinds of ridiculous. What were you both even laughing about, your own stupidity?

The laughter died out not long after, you wept off a tear from your eye. A consequence you had to face due to uncontrollable guffaws.

‘I’m glad, then.’ He said, ‘Going to that damned gathering was one of the best decisions I made, honestly.’

‘Why? ‘Cos you got to meet me?’ you teased him.

He chuckled, ‘Yeah’

‘Okay, then.’

‘Just okay?’

‘More than okay.’

#johnny #johnny suh #nct johnny #nct #nct 127 #johnny fanfic #johnny scenarios #johnny imagines #johnny fluff #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfiction

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justalittlebluetiefling · 6 years

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5x03 - Sleeping Giants

This whole thing is under the cut, because of spoilers and how long it is! This touches briefly on the following subjects: Eligius, Zeke and Charmaine, Clarke, Spacekru, Raven, Memori, Madi and Bellamy, and Bellarke.

This currently clocks in at 2743 words. Pretty sure half of that is me flailing and the other half is actual content. I mean, that might be a little generous, but yeah. GOOD LUCK!

I didn’t even notice until the preview for the next episode that we didn’t get ANY bunker content this episode. I feel a little guilty for not missing it, but it’s partially Clarke-related, Bellamy-related, and Bellarke-related. I’m more invested in Spacekru and Clarke in general, even though I want to see what the hell is going on with Kane in the gladiator ring. I want to know what’s up with Miller in Octavia’s honor guard (working theory is that he’s defending her on Bellamy’s behalf and because he knows how to survive, I love my Slytherin babe). I want to know what’s going on with Niylah and whether or not Abby is okay. But I couldn’t bring myself to think about any of that, because 5x03 was a fucking ride from start to finish.

Eligius

It came out that Eligius 3 is the one who had the nightblood solution. Not Eligius 4, but they all knew what it meant. Like, can we get a spinoff of the Eligius story? Because this whole thing sounds interesting as hell.

Zeke and Charmaine

I was really intrigued by the captain’s log. I wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of Zeke being a guard, but I’m glad I was wrong. He’s clearly a bleeding heart and felt guilty about whatever “the solution” was. I’m assuming it had something to do with killing the prisoners and he felt like they had earned forgiveness. Which is a little surprising, because he clearly still has reservations about it. This, of course, leaves him open to flip sides and join Spacekru, so I’m just going with it. I have been super paranoid that the writers are going to pull the rug out from under me with him and make him evil or kill him heroically. Let’s just… let’s just not.

I’m in awe with how similar Zeke is to season one Clarke. He’s pushing for peace, a reluctant bystander to torture, and I’m in love, okay? It’s reminding me of that scene in the trailer where he’s pulling a gun on someone and now I want to see a gif of that face next to Clarke pulling the gun and saying “There are no good guys” in episode one. It’s possible that we’re supposed to see more of Clarke in Charmaine, and I definitely do, but I also see a lot of Bellamy in her. Charmaine seems really interesting, too. I do see a lot of Wanheda-Clarke in her, but I see more season one Bellamy than anything. Maybe Zeke and Charmaine are the platonic co-leaders this show has been wanting us to believe in all along. With McCreary as a potentially unredeemable Murphy – which could function as a mirror for Murphy that he might not like.

Anyway, I’m SO EXCITED for Zeke and Raven to meet. He’s fucking smart, has a sense of humor (“Non-violent offenders with me” was clearly a slightly morbid joke), AND appears to be a decent dude? I’m already shipping Zaven harder and they haven’t even met. If the writers take Zeke away from me (literally or figuratively), I’m not going to handle it well.

Clarke

Mama Clarke is going to kill me. And Clarke taking a page out of Lincoln’s book had me freaking out. Not only with the silent treatment and torture, but also in the attempt at peacemaking. I’m not sure how she keeps expecting Madi to sit still, though. She KNOWS how she met her daughter and she’s the only thing Madi has, so OF COURSE Madi is going to risk her life to try to kill as many of these people as possible. I’m sure Clarke has a lot more sympathy for season two Abby when Clarke was taking charge of everything.

Spacekru

I’m bummed that we only got a brief glimpse into the Bellamy and Raven friendship. But I love that she knew that she had to lie to get him to go. And he believes her because he trusts her. Their banter this episode was really great. Also, BELLAMY AND RAVEN FOUGHT A DUDE TOGETHER! And ECHO HELPED! I’m so glad that she taught them how to fight. It was heartbreaking, too, how the idea of leaving another loved one behind to die is such trauma for Bellamy. He’s felt SO guilty.

I really love the idea of Murphy and Raven’s friendship now. Six years is a long time and I’m impressed by Raven forgiving him for her leg (because tbh, I still haven’t). I know he only stayed behind because he thought she had a secondary way out, but it was still pretty great. Bellamy told Murphy in 5x01 that he misses being a hero and check it out, Murphy gets a chance to try to be a hero again.

Everyone in Spacekru was amazing this episode. Monty, Murphy, Emori, Harper, Echo. I’m stupid in love with the dynamic they have. I was already liking Echo way more after 5x01, but this episode truly sold me. Her loyalty has always been intense and I like it a lot more when it’s projected at characters I love. (I loved Roan, but she was anti-Skaikru at the time and I was mad about that)

Raven

So, can we just talk about how she ONCE AGAIN is willing to sacrifice her life for her friends. It’s at the point where I need to do a rewatch of this show and quantify how I feel about each character in every episode so I can definitively know where Raven ranks. My heart tells me that Clarke and Bellamy are tied for number 1 and Raven comes in at 1.5, but I can get some math involved here guys.

I don’t feel a ton of room for speculation about her right now. I feel guilty that I’m invested in Zaven, because I don’t want to tie her and my love for her into a ship. I’m ready to see her be happy for a while, whether that’s in a relationship or not. I know that’s a farfetched dream with this show, but still. We saw in 4x12 and 4x13 that Bellamy and Clarke are canonically willing to risk their lives for her, too, but I want to see more of that. She keeps on doing this shit and throwing herself into trouble’s way and I’m worried for the next few episodes.

Memori

God, Emori landing that spaceship was EVERYTHING for me. I knew she would thrive in space, but this was more than I expected. It does bum me out that Murphy reacted so poorly to Emori “becoming useful” (in Monty’s words), but it makes sense. I hope that she stays “useful” on the ground. I’m sure she will. It seems like she’s integrated really well with Spacekru. I’m just waiting for Murphy to tell her that he’s proud of her, because you know he is.

I liked her moment with Murphy before the group separates. She recognized his callback to their LOVE (“survivor’s move”) and wanted to think it was funny, but she’s also terrified that she’s never going to see him again. I’m serious. No way do we not get some kind of reconciliation before the season ends. I’m a little worried that one of them might die, but they’re lower on my “death watch” list than some of the others.

Madi and Bellamy

I mean, holy shit? This is everything? That I ever wanted? THE NAME THE HAND GRAB THE CLARKE’S ALIVE?! It’s all huge. At this point that I’m writing this sentence, I’ve been on a plane for an hour and a half and I can’t stop thinking about this moment. I thought I wanted Bellamy to find out that Clarke was alive by seeing her, but this was literally so perfect.

“She’s just a kid.” “Bellamy? Clarke knew you would come.” “Clarke’s alive?”

Now, we all knew that Bellamy was going to adopt Madi immediately and that Madi was going to be excited to meet her dad. But this is still making my heart burst. Madi RECOGNIZES Bellamy and when he’s stuck and basically can’t move because of information overload about Clarke and the Bunker, she GRABS HIS HAND and pulls him into action. AND HE FOLLOWS HER! She immediately trusts him because Clarke trusts him and has been telling stories about him for six whole years. I was a little worried that we’d see some resentment from Madi toward Spacekru for leaving Clarke behind… which I guess is still a possibility… but at least at this point, she was more concerned with saving Clarke’s life than she was anything else.

I LOVE ONE FAMILY AND IT IS THE GRIFFIN-BLAKES

My biggest concern here is that, as I mentioned in the first one of these that I did, Bellamy’s been overly romanticized in her mind. I was worried about Bellamy having Clarke up on a pedestal and having to readjust to the actual concept of her being alive again, but I also should have been worried about that with Madi and Bellamy. Clarke’s clearly been selling him hard over the six years. I mean, the girl instantly trusted him. It’s the same thing I’m worried about with her and Octavia, but almost more so. I feel like she’s going to end up empathizing with O more at first and then something will probably happen near the end of the season to make her realize that yeah, Bellamy IS amazing and deserves respect and love.

Um, quick side note: HOW FUCKING BADASS IS MADI?! SHE THREW THAT SPEAR AND THEN SHOT ANOTHER DUDE AND OMG! That may be ranked #1 Character Entrance in this show for me.

Bellarke

Where do I even start? This is just… I’m still… I haven’t recovered. WILL I EVER?! How are we supposed to survive next week when we get an actual hug?!?!?! I’m just… fuck. There better be forehead touching, hands on faces and shoulders, and a minor emotional breakdown. You know he’s going to end up touching her side where she’s injured. It’s gonna happen. I’m finding some way to watch live and I don’t care how.

Okay, let’s try some coherent thoughts. Or semi-coherent at least.

First of all, let me talk about Bob/Bellamy. You can see pretty much every possible emotion when Madi says “Clarke”. He’s relieved that she’s alive. He feels guilty because he doesn’t know how long she was alone. There’s this kid who knows his name, so Clarke’s obviously been talking about him. His voice even breaks a little over her name. You can literally watch everything change for him in this moment. And then, the way they had his body silhouetted in the lights of the rover so you can’t really see his face was beautiful, because as the realization of who it is hits Clarke, Bellamy comes into focus. “She must be important to you.” “She is.” It’s just such a moment. (Add in the measure from the Bellarke theme last season playing in the background when he says “She is” and you have me dead) Actually, I take it back. Things START to change for him when he meets Madi and realizes that Clarke is alive, but it’s not until he FINALLY looks at her on the ground, at her staring up at him, and says out loud that she’s important to him that it looks like it clicks. There’s a little bit of an “Oh fuck everything’s changing” expression going on there. Bob’s acting: 101/10

Now, Clarke/Eliza. I wonder who she thinks it is when they hear about the extra people on the ground. She mostly just looks confused, because she doesn’t even know if anyone is alive in space or the bunker. But hey, MAJOR PARELLEL TO THEIR REUNION IN 3X02! Clarke is in distress and Bellamy & co. come up. I love that she thinks this is just Madi first. Watching her face when she hears Bellamy’s voice (um, I’m trying not to cry on the plane, this is hard) is the best kind of torture. It’s like she thinks she’s dreaming at first, because not only is he there to save her, but he included sending Madi away again in his plan. Best Dad Ever. There’s this relief and awe and the way she’s so overwhelmed by his arrival is just beautiful. Eliza’s acting: 101/10

I honestly can’t wait until next week to see them alone for a minute or two. They left so much unsaid at the end of 4x13 and both clearly thought they would never see each other again. I’m just… I really don’t have any coherent thoughts about them. I’m trying to get something out, anything out, but shit. IT’S BEEN SIX YEARS AND THEY’RE BACK TOGETHER!

Ooh, I guess I can talk about how it’s supposedly going to be a rough road for them, per JRoth. I know he’s saying that, but is he just saying that to fuck with everyone? To try to throw everyone off the scent? I get the logic behind it, but Spacekru has spent six years knowing that Clarke died for them to get them to safety. How the fuck are they not going to accept her and Madi now that she’s alive? That doesn’t register as a possibility for me. My fiction instincts aren’t pinging/blaring at me in some weird form of an alarm. I’ve been wrong before, but I’m not usually this wrong. I mean, come on. Bellamy, Harper, and Monty were on the ground with Clarke from day one. They’ve all saved each other so many times and they loved her before any of this happened. Echo and Emori owe Clarke their lives. Echo got to keep a suit purely because Clarke gave up her helmet to save Emori. We already know from 4x13 how much Emori appreciated it. Echo doesn’t emote as much, but she saw Clarke in a new light in that moment. I mean, she’d killed Clarke’s people, actively tried to stop Skaikru’s integration into the coalition, etc. and there Clarke was saving her life. It’s not just Bellamy who has been living for Clarke (although we all know our boy and Raven felt the guiltiest for the situation). This isn’t even addressing Raven and Murphy, because they don’t know she’s alive yet.

Shit, I’m all emotional on the airplane. Deep breaths.

Anyway, I’m reiterating again, I don’t buy Spacekru not taking Clarke’s priorities into account. Sure, one of them isn’t going to get along with Madi? But she’s a KID. My bet is on Echo, honestly. This isn’t trying to slam her. I just think that she feels like she has the most to lose by taking in Clarke, and Madi by proxy. I need to rewatch the episode, but this is my first instinct. I think that she’s going to be worried that by taking Clarke in, she’s going to lose her place in the family and this is probably what she and Clarke are talking about in that screenshot we got a while ago of them crying. I’m sure Clarke is going to be what ends B.echo, which bums me out, because I HATE the love triangle trope. It’s handled well less than 1% of the time and it just… for a show that doesn’t care about romances, it sure likes to throw love triangles at us. Bellamy’s probably going to be forced to choose a side and it’s going to be such a shitty moment, because how is he supposed to do that? That’s a fucking awful position to be in. I don’t know… I’m dreading this subplot and I hope it’s minor and goes by quickly.

Other

I know that the next episode will probably be a bunker-focused episode again, but I think that now that we’re here, they have to start integrating the storylines. I’m sure it will be at least 2/3 Bunker, but hopefully it’s 1/3 of the rest. We already know we’re getting a Bellarke hug at the very least, so maybe we’ll get some Bellarke co-leader negotiation along with Murphy and Raven getting captured up on the Eligius ship. And by the way, I’m INCREDIBLY suspicious of the way JRoth says ‘hug’ in that TV Guide interview. VERY SUSPICIOUS.

The End

This got long. There’s so much rambling, but how am I even forming full sentences after last night’s episode? It’s a miracle, tbh. I LOVE YOU ALL! Come chat or yell at me in my inbox!

#the 100 #the 100 spoilers #bellarke #very minor spec and meta #mostly flailing #also lots of swearing this time #i just got so excited #googling how to type full sentences right now because i need to relearn that

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imagine-your-way-out · 7 years

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#5 | Reckless | Alexander x Reader

A/N: Hello! This is for the anon that requested the A.Ham angst with fluff ending. I decided to make it into two parts because I thought it was too long. AND OMIGOSH I HAVE A STORY TO TELL. I FOUND A GUY. KINIKILIG AKOOOOO. *cough* Yeah, anyways, you’ll know all about it in my next imagine with Philip Hamilton. Stay tuned!

Warnings: Mentions of war, description of wounds

Part Two

-~-

There was a reason you weren’t head nurse.

The zealousness of your heart to heal these bloodied men fighting for freedom all went down the drain at the sight of a thread and needle.

Stitches. Painful, inhumane stitches.

You wince at the sight of thread going inside flesh. A ghostly pain went across your chest as you imagined the sharp sensation going through you as well.

Theresa, a fellow nurse, passed by you in a flurry. The metal instruments clacked loudly in her tray at her quick pace.

“Will someone help me assist stitching up the three newcomers?” Theresa’s booming voice reached your eardrums.

A standby nurse nudged you in Theresa’s direction. And it happened that Theresa had to notice you first.

“(Y/N)! Don’t stand there and watch! Lead these men in separate cots, deal with one of them after.”

You walked stiffly to the men’s general direction. The prospect of you having to patch them up made you tremble.

Focus, (Y/N), you think to yourself. These men need your help. Don’t be a coward. You signed up for this and now you have to deal with it.

With newfound vigor, you helped the men into separate cots. You handled them with extra caution, their faces contorting in pain with every step.

After leading the last man into a vacant spot, you assessed the man from head to toe. Blood was splattered in patches, some were probably not his. His right cheek was badly bruised. Half of his uniform sleeve was ripped to shreds. The arm under it had a jagged slice, a dagger wound, almost half a foot in length.

Your mouth stretched into a firm line. That would be a large stitch indeed.

Wordlessly, you began cleaning the minor wounds around his face. You mumbled apologies everytime the soldier winced.

When the time came to finally stitch the large wound in his arm, your hands trembled. You almost dropped the needle in fright.

“I-I’ll be stitching up your arm,” you stammer, “It’ll hurt like hell, please bare with it.” The man chuckled lightly.

“I can take a stitch,” he said.

You nod and began to push the needle in his flesh. The man gave a yelp, making you flinch.

“I-I’m so s-sorry!” you cried, “I told you it would hurt. Here, muffle your screams with this.” You hand him a rag and he instantly bit it.

“I’ll try to make it quick,” you promise. You heaved a deep sigh and tried to calm yourself.

Just imagine you’re stitching a fabric.Yeah, just doing a practice stitch. You made this into a mantra as you steadily inserted the needle back and forth. Every once in a while, the man would grunt in pain but you tried to ignore it.

After seven minutes of pain and mumbled apologies, you finally finished patching him up.

“All done,” you say weakly, exhausted from the mental exertion.

“This is what I get for asking to be in the frontlines,” the man said gruffly. You stare at your patient and finally took a good glance at him.

His smooth, black hair was pulled back in a short pony, showing off his mesmerizing chocolate brown eyes. All his features were perfect, not even the slight swell on his right cheek can tarnish his face.

You gawk, momentarily realizing your patient was a handsome man.

“Thank you, nurse,” he trailed off, staring at you.

“(Y/N),” you smile shyly, a blush forming in your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he breathed out. The blush in your cheeks began spreading to your entire face.

“I’m Alexander Hamilton, thank you for the wonderful job in patching me up.” He kissed your hand. You were positive that your face was about to explode. Is this even supposed to happen inside a medic tent?

“I’m, uh,” you stumble on your words, “I hope I don’t see you here again.”

Alexander’s face fell. You realized what your words had sound like.

“Oh! I mean, that you, you know, won’t be injured again. Hopefully, we meet in a different place? Like that, yeah, ” you say eloquently. Alexander chuckled, making you blush in embarrassment.

“Hopefully, then,” he teased, “I hope I don’t need to injure myself to keep seeing you.”

Did he just said what you think he said?

“What?” you asked, “Are you… Going to court me?”

“Definitely,” said Alexander, “Would you want to? I mean, I understand if you don’t-”

“I would love to.” You smile brightly. Alexander had this charm that pulled you towards him. Being with him just felt right.

Alexander never failed to make you blush.

Almost every day, a letter was sent to you. Nurses looked on with jealousy as you read its contents. It was hard enough to get a soldier to notice a nurse, much less to get courted.

Somehow, you were irked at Alexander’s letters. His eloquency and smoothness seemed fake. You reluctantly asked him about it when he had another unfortunate encounter and you had to patch him up again.

“There’s a reason why I write letters to you even if we’re just tents apart,” he said. “Contrary to what people think, I stumble on my words if I’m purposely charming someone.”

You raised a brow questioningly.

“If I put my words into paper, they sound better and I could take it back. Rewrite a new one. I’m sorry to make you doubt my words.” Alexander looked incredibly guilty.

“That’s fine,” you say softly, “I should also apologize for thinking your words were fake.” You pressed the ice bag to a bruise on his wrist.

Alexander yelped, “I don’t think you’re actually sorry. You stifled a laugh.

"Sorry.” You pressed the ice bag harder. Alexander’s breath hitched. He glared at you mockingly but his eyes softened at your amused smile.

He would go impossible measures to make you happy.

This is it, you think, the day you’ll fail your job. Your hands trembled non-stop.

A few nurses shriek as two cannons striked probably a few meters away from the medic tent. You remained stoic, keeping the panic internally.

Even if your face remained impassive, your entire body shook. The fear of Alexander dying was getting into your head. Multiple scenarios coursed through your mind, all having the same outcome. Alexander. Dead. Gravely injured.

I’m getting morbid, you sigh.

A trickle of wounded soldiers came in, some escorted by one or two men. It looked like a small parade of injuries. The degree of damage to their bodies worsening by the next.

One of the lesser injured soldier talked in low voices with Theresa. You strained to get a glimpse of their conversation but their voices were overlapped by pounding feet and clinking metals.

To hear them better, you assisted a wounded soldier a few feet away from them.

“-left in the battlefield,” the man was saying, “We had to leave them since there were too many redcoats surrounding us.”

“Some of these men are important, you say?” Theresa’s voice quivered.

“General Washington’s most trusted men,” he clarified, “One of them was his aide-de-camp, Hamilton, I think.”

The tweezers you held clattered to the ground.

No.

A sudden weight began to fill in your chest. Your nightmares were coming true.

“-not supposed to be in the battlefield.” You made no move to pick up the fallen instrument. “Still, he needs to be rescued along with the other men. Deploy some nurses out in the battlefield. The British must have left already.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Theresa nodded at the soldier and left to gather those who would be sent out in the battlefield.

I need to get to Alexander, you think desperately. You haphazardly treated your patient’s wounds. Your mind was too clouded with worry to care about doing your job right. Alexander was your first priority.

Once the soldier was treated decently, you rushed to Theresa. She was talking to some nurses, probably those who would be sent into the battlefield.

“Theresa!” you called out. Fortunately, she turned around and addressed you.

“What is it, (Y/N)?” Theresa said, annoyed.

“Can I-” you gulp, suddenly feeling nervous because of the harsh stare of the head nurse. “Can I be sent to the frontlines?” you regained your posture.

“No.”

You deflated a little but stood up straighter.

“I know my way through the battlefield,” you coerced. It was a half-truth. Alexander sometimes taught you of war plans and visualized the battlefield when you were curious.

“I can lead the nurses safely,” you continue. Theresa looked at you scrutinizingly. You pushed back your doubts and maintained the brave façade.

“Fine,” she relented.

You breathed out a relieved sigh.

“Do your best, (Y/N). Lives are at stake.” You nodded.

“I won’t let you down.”

Almost a dozen bodies were found to tend to. None of them were Alexander’s.

All of the nurses were occupied at the moment. They tended to them on the spot while you overlooked the bloody field.

A few redcoats were scattered. Dead. There some that were difficult to identify. Every body that you passed that weren’t Alexander filled you with dread.

What if the British took his body as a spoil of war? What if he was one of those bodies mangled beyond identification?

What if?

“(Y/N).” You turned to the voice and almost dropped your medic kit.

“Alexander?” you gasp, horrified.

His blue coat was tattered almost entirely. He draped it over in one shoulder to hide the dagger wound you stitched. The wound had reopened.

It was the least of your worries though. His face was drained of color and his hair was matted with dried blood. You didn’t want to think whose blood it was.

“(Y/N),” Alexander repeated, walking towards you.

“Stop!” Alexander looked startled at your outburst.

“Don’t move, you’re too wounded.” You made your way to him and made him kneel down.

“What happened?” you whisper, dabbing a damp cloth on his face.

“I went to the British camp,” he narrated, “There’s something Mr. Washington needed. A map that showed British camps.”

“So you stole that?” Your lips steadied into a thin line.

“Yes.” He winced as you pressed the cloth harder than necessary.

“You are so stupid, do you know that?” you sigh. You started applying ointment on the parts that were bruising.

“It’s for the war. For America.” You snort a little.

“You can shove your over-patriotism up your ass,” you mutter bitterly. Alexander smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry for worrying you (Y/N),” he apologized.

“It’s not about worrying me, Alexander,” you said exasperatedly. “It’s about you risking your life! I can’t have you running around and fighting like you have nothing to lose. You do have something to lose, that’s me, Alexander! There’s a reason why Washington made you stay as an aide-de-camp with Laur-”

“You were the one that pushed Washington to make me stay behind?” Alexander interrupted.

“Who else?” you scoff.

“Why would you do that?” Alexander sounded hurt.

“I can’t lose you, Alexander. I lost everyone to war already. Why do you think I became a nurse for the war?” Your voice started to crack.

Alexander casted his eyes down. “I did not realize that,” he said lowly. “How much pain I caused you, all for my ambitions.”

You opened your mouth to speak but a gunshot made both of you flinch.

“British,” muttered Alexander, “They’re probably coming after me.” He suddenly shoved a thick piece of paper toward you. “Keep this safe for me, (Y/N).”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“The British are coming. Go.”

You adamantly shook your head. “Are you just going to throw away what I just said? You can’t die, Alexander!” you cried.

He took your hand into his and looked directly to your eyes. “I love you and I don’t want you to die.”

“I don’t want you to die too,” you say helplessly. Tears falling, unabashed.

“I love you too.”

You kiss him gently but with burning passion. Alexander kisses you back, using his uninjured hand to pull your face closer. Several gunshots made you push Alexander away. He looked at you seriously and said,

“Run, and don’t ever look back.”

And you did.

#alexander hamilton #alexander hamilton x reader #hamilton #hamilton x reader #hamilton imagines #lin manuel miranda #lin x reader #hamilton imagine #character imagine

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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

Text

Fic: Inner Steel

Don’t ask me where this came from, it’s been percolating for a couple of weeks and now I’ve decided ‘screw it, I’m sharing this strange little thing with the world’.

Pairing: Anyem – Francis Begbie (Trainspotting/T2) x Emily Kostich (Brick).

Rated: M

Warning: Canonical character death. Mentions: Drug abuse, prostitution, violence against sex workers.

Summary: After getting out of jail, Begbie wonders what happened to a girl he used to know, a girl who looked as if she would blow away any moment, and yet never did.

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Inner Steel

2017

Simon knows for a fact that if Mark and Begbie are in the same room then someone’s probably going to end up dead and for all that Begbie’s been languishing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for the last two decades, the someone’s probably going to be Mark. So he knows for a fact that he’s going to have to get Begbie out of the pub, and more importantly stop him coming back to the pub, as quickly as possible. Or at least before Mark has the chance to arrive. He’s just about thought up a plan and is about to enact it when Begbie asks a question completely out of the left field that derails him completely.

“What happened to Emily?”

Simon blinks, racks his brains, and within a split second, remembers Emily, and within that same split second feels an icy trickle run down his spine completely unrelated to the fact Mark’s life is probably in imminent danger. Emily. Oh fuck, Emily. Of all the women in the world to ask after, why the fuck did it have to be Emily?

He would dearly love to tell Begbie that Emily is absolutely fine, that she got clean and moved to… some quaint little town in New England and married an older guy who treats her like royalty, or she went backpacking in Australia and liked it so much she never came back, or she won the lottery and is living on her own private tropical island. Unfortunately none of those things would be true. So, he does the next best thing, and stalls for time.

“Who?” he asks.

====

1997

She’s one of Sick Boy’s ‘special’ girls, so she’s already off the cards, and on top of that she’s a smackie, which Begbie swore he’d never get involved with, but at the same time, there’s something about her that he just can’t shake. Maybe it’s her air of world-weary helplessness, the quiet way she just looks at you with those big blue eyes like saucers, expecting the worst and hoping for the best at the same time. Whenever their paths cross, she always gives him that slow, weak smile, the one that’s soliciting for business but at the same time hoping that no-one’s going to take her up on the offer because although she can’t be more than eighteen, she’s already so damn tired of life. She looks pathetically in need of protection and yet with some kind of inner steel at the same time. She doesn’t hide the needle marks in her elbows and she wears them almost like a challenge at times. Begbie remembers the first time he saw her, standing under the street lamp a few doors down from the pub, looking like she could faint any second, her face bloody and bruised but still with that inner strength, keeping her rooted against all the odds. The sight of her made something boil in his veins.

“Who did that?” he asked, indicating her face. She shrugged.

“Just some John. Liked it rough.”

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

She laughed and he could tell that she was in pain, broken ribs probably from the way her arm was curled around her middle.

“Good luck with that,” she called over to him. After a moment she beckoned him over to her with a flick of her head. “Tenner a time, take as long as you want.”

“Nah. I don’t pay for anything I can get for free.”

She laughed then, in spite of the split lip.

“Yeah, I’m not exactly pulling in much custom at the moment.”

That was it, really, the extent of their interaction, but as he turned to go into the pub, she spoke again.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Begbie.” After a moment, he added: “Franco Begbie.” And after another moment. “You?”

“Emily. Emily Kostich.”

And that was that. She always says hi to him whenever they meet, always in that same soft, weary voice. He never has found out who’d hit her, and not for want of trying. He’d nearly glassed Sick Boy in an effort to find out but Emily had come in for a slash and a double whisky to warm her up at that point and told him to knock it off, in that quiet, tired voice of hers, and something inside him had indeed knocked it off.

In a weird kind of way he’s going to miss her when he takes off, and despite everything, he finds himself slipping out under cover of darkness to find her again. It doesn’t exactly take long, she never moves from under her streetlight unless she’s picked up a John. She’s leaning against it tonight, hands in her coat pockets and too-skinny legs crossed, her long, straggle-ended hair blowing about in the breeze like a halo around her head. A fallen angel indeed; she’s lost her wings and come down to earth with a bump.

She smiles when she sees him and beckons him over with a flip of her hair, unwilling to take undoubtedly freezing hands out of her pockets.

“You’re a wanted man, Franco Begbie,” she says.

“Aye. I’m taking off soon. Lie low for a bit. I’ve got a mate in London, I should be safe there.”

“Nice. Well, I’ll probably still be here when you get back.”

She sounds so resigned to it, that’s the problem, but at the same time, there’s a morbid cheerfulness in her voice. Yes, he’s going to miss her. And some part of him wants to make sure, just in case he never does see her again, because if he gets caught he’s already looking at fifteen to twenty and girls like Emily, well, they really don’t last that long.

“You cold?” he asks.

Emily scoffs. “I’d be freezing my fucking knickers off if I was wearing any.”

“Want to warm up?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought you didn’t pay for anything you could get for free.”

“I don’t.”

She shakes her head and stares into the gutter for a long while as the rain begins to come down. She looks at him then, running make-up making the dark shadows under her eyes even worse.

“All right then, Franco Begbie. Show a girl a good time for once.”

She’s got this weird innocence, Begbie thinks as they get back to his flat and she takes off her coat and shoes and dress with the ease and unselfconsciousness of someone who’s done this a hundred times with a hundred different men, and just a touch of shyness in her eyes as she turns around and lets him see her naked. Like something precious that’s been broken and put back together but still looks as fragile and delicate as it always did despite the cracks. And the needle tracks.

It’s not exactly earth-moving, just going through the motions, but he does kiss her, and he read somewhere that you never kiss a hooker because it’s too intimate, or some crap like that. In the cooling afterwards he lights two cigarettes and passes her one, and she stares up at the ceiling for a long time, blowing smoke up towards the tobacco stained plaster. Her hands are shaking a little.

Finally she turns over to face him, and presses in a little closer against his side, as if she’s just realised that she’s not on the clock and she can actually take the time to enjoy this one.

“Thanks,” she says.

“I’ll probably have gone by the time you wake up,” he replies.

“I guessed.”

They don’t say anything more, and Emily falls asleep in his arms, her hair in rats’ tails over his chest. For a moment he wants to take her with him, but he knows that’s a fucking terrible idea. How he ended up feeling this way about a hooker with a skag habit is beyond him, but that’s the way the world turns, he supposes. Things never go the way you plan them.

He doesn’t leave her any money; it’d only end up in Sick Boy’s pockets anyway. But he does kiss her, and she smacks him in her half-asleep state and tells him to fuck off to London, and he realises in that moment why he likes her so much. Weirdly innocent and completely out of her depth, desperate for protection, but still, in her own way, able to fend for herself. Inner steel.

He sees her again when he comes back for Tommy’s funeral, just a glimpse of her face through the pub window. She’s thinner than she was, gaunter, the shadows around her eyes darker, her hair still blowing like a fallen angel’s halo around her head. She meets his eyes, and for the briefest of moments she smiles, but then she’s gone, and by the time he can get out of the pub and slip outside to look for her, she’s nowhere to be seen.

It’s daylight outside, and Emily is a creature of the night.

=====

2017

“Who?” Simon asks, stalling for time.

“Emily. Emily Kostich. She was one of your girls, back in the day.”

Simon shrugs. “There were a few.”

“Tiny, skinny thing. Addicted to smack, which was probably your fault. Long blonde hair and big blue eyes. Waif-like. Like a fucking fairy, she was, looked like she’d blow away in a light breeze, only she never did.”

Simon can’t help but give a snort of laughter, which he knows is probably not going to help in the circumstances. “You in love, Franco?”

“Just answer the fucking question.” Begbie’s voice is barely more than a growl and Simon sighs, wondering whether the truth or a lie is more dangerous right now. She joined the circus. She went to Hollywood. She was abducted by fucking aliens. I don’t know. By the time he’s worked out what he’s going to say, enough time has passed that if whatever he says isn’t the truth, then it’s a really obvious lie. Still, he’s got to try it.

“I don’t know. It’s been twenty years, Franco. I didn’t keep tracking devices on them.”

Begbie takes off his sunglasses and just glares at Simon.

“You’re fucking lying.”

Well, it was a long shot and he’d almost got away with it. Simon sighs and moves a tiny bit further away from Begbie as he tells the truth.

“She’s dead.”

There’s silence for an uncomfortably long time and Simon’s about to enact his plan to get Begbie out of the pub and keep him out of the pub until he can do something to make sure he and Mark never meet again, when Begbie speaks again.

“What happened?”

“She’s dead, Franco.”

“Yeah, I fucking heard you the first time. What happened?”

Simon really doesn’t want to tell him.

“Was it the smack?”

Well, in a way it was.

“Yeah.” Begbie glares at him again. “Sort of,” Simon adds hastily.

“What happened?”

The voice is barely more than a hiss and Simon’s already had his life flash before his eyes twice in the last ten minutes so one more time isn’t going to make much of a difference. It’s not as if it’s going to be any different to the last two occasions.

“There was a deal. It went wrong. Some of the goods got stolen and Emily got the blame. Dealer killed her.”

Begbie’s silent for another long moment.

“Where is he?”

“Inside.” You’ve probably met him, Simon adds mentally, but likes being alive enough not to say.

“I told her it would kill her,” Begbie mutters. “Where is she?”

“Franco, she’s fucking dead!”

“I fucking heard! Where is she?”

Simon sighs, but at least this might be a way to get him out of the pub.

“Same place as Tommy.” They couldn’t really afford a burial and fancy headstone, after all. No funeral, no flowers, shove her in a crematorium oven and job done.

A plastic bag of human ashes is surprisingly heavy.

After ten minutes of tense, screaming silence, Begbie leaves the pub and Simon breathes a sigh of temporary relief.

Emily. Emily Kostich. Begbie allows himself a moment to imagine a better life for her. Well, at least, a life in which she’s actually alive.

But then the moment is over and he pushes the thought away. She’s fucking dead. She’s not coming back.

He moves off down the street. He doesn’t know why he asked Simon where her remains ended up, he’s not a sentimental man and he’s got no intention of going to pay his respects to a hooker he slept with once and didn’t pay for, however much she might have got under his skin.

He looks back down towards the flickering streetlamp and for a moment he can see her skinny shadow leaning against it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind it suddenly registers just how much he’s going to keep missing her.

#anyem #anyelle fic #anyem fic #anyelle #Begbie #Trainspotting #Brick #Emily Kostich #Fic: Inner Steel #don't ask where this came from #BegbiexEmily #tw: drug abuse #tw: sex work #canonical character death

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