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raya-rhaenyra-ahsoka · 3 years

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Why Daenerys Should've Stayed Longer in the North Than Attack Cersei Too Soon (Which is a dick move, really) PART 1

I have said this before and I will say it again, D&D f*cked up Season 8. Honestly, there were a lot of missed opportunities with regards to plotlines. And don't even get me started on why they boycotted the Reeds, that's another story.

Also, we're gonna be talking about the possible strategies against an invasion army that has actual people in it, not ice zombies with super-speed and pyrophobia. We're way past that. The stabbiest of the Starks had already defeated Ice Darth Maul, so let's move on.

Anyway, I still think that Dany should've stayed in the North. Not permanently though, just until she has enough allies and armies to scare the living daylights out of Cersei's ass. And here's why:

WINTERFELL IS IN A STRATEGIC LOCATION.

Defense. In Max Brooks' The Zombie Survival Guide, Winterfell falls under the fortress category under the types of defense. Technically, it's a castle rather than a fortress. It is an impregnable structure with all the facilities to supply probably the whole population of the North. It has a greenhouse to grow food, which is appropriate for Westeros' long winters. According to Ned Stark, the castle can withstand a siege with only 500 men manning it against an army of 10,000. Plus, Dany's remaining dragons could easily barbecue an invading army what she did with the Lannister army in the Reach after defeating the Tyrells and taking Highgarden.

Here's a map of the North for reference: (You can pretty much see where Winterfell is, right?)

Source: awoiaf.westeros.org

Terrain. Winterfell is easily accessible since its location is in the heart of the North both literally and figuratively. It has its advantages as well. The North is the largest of Westeros' 7 Kingdoms. It is vast (it takes weeks to travel from the Neck to Winterfell, wtf?!). With regards to Sun Tzu's Art of War, Winterfell's strategic location can easily spot an approaching enemy, and if they come unprepared, its forces can easily defeat them. Thus, a Southron army wouldn't know how to navigate the lands they're not familiar with (let alone get into the North itself and past its defenses, but that'll be discussed later). Let's take into account Stannis Baratheon's failed siege on Winterfell, and how easily Ramsay Bolton's army defeated them down to the last man.

Climate. The North, in general, has a cold and temperate climate. They even get snowfalls in the summer. A Southron army wouldn't be accustomed to its climate, let alone the dangers of the wolves that roam the kingdom. Plus, if they run out of supplies, like food, there aren't many crops because most of its lands are barren due to the cold and snow. (So yeah, good luck with that!)

So yeah, Daenerys is technically at a place where it's appropriate to say:

AN ASSAULT BY LAND IS A DEATH SENTENCE.

The Riverlands. If Cersei orders her army to march North, they would have to pass the Riverlands. Like literally, here's a map:

Blue lines are the borders of the Riverlands, while the Red line is the Kingsroad. (Source: pinterest.com)

And everyone pretty sure remembers that the Great House or the Overlords of the Riverlands are the Tullys of Riverrun.

Now, this is where it gets interesting. The remaining Starks in Winterfell namely, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, have Tully blood through their mother, Catelyn. So technically, because of their family ties, they're likely already allies.

Debts of Gratitude. With Arya massacring the Freys of the Crossing, she had supposedly freed her uncle, Catelyn's brother, Edmure Tully from their grasp. Now, I don't know how that scene would've gone, (because D&D decided to focus on other things), but it would go something like: Hi Uncle! I killed the Freys, you're free now. Go back to Riverrun, call your banners or something and tell them you're back!

Edmure to his bannermen:

Because of that, I think Edmure would have this huge debt of gratitude towards his sister's children. And with the Tully words being family, duty, honor, Edmure wouldn't hesitate to gather an army. So if the Starks go, Hey, Uncle! Cersei is harassing us, send help!

Edmure's response would be:

The Vale of Arryn. I think the Vale would've joined the Starks as well, the same way they aided Jon Snow in the Battle of the Bastards. Because again, they have family ties. The current lord of the Vale is Robin Arryn, and his mother, Lysa Arryn, was of the Tully family-she was Catelyn and Edmure's sister. With the Starks killing that annoyimg smooth-talker, Littlefinger, they had basically saved Robin from his manipulating ways. With Yohn Royce as the witness on Littlefinger's trial, he would eventually tell Robin the truth about who really killed his mother. So if the Starks will ask for his help to join their cause, Robin will very much likely help his cousins.

So once they march up North, Edmure with the Tully and Vale Armies will be waiting at the Trident.

SWAMPS + CRANNOGMEN + MOAT CAILIN = IT'S A TRAP!

The Neck. Let's face it, if Cersei's army managed to get past the Rivermen and Valemen, there's no way they'll get past the Neck. This southernmost region in the North is known for its swampy terrain, with lizard-lions (basically crocodiles/alligators) lurking in the murky waters.

Here's a map of the Neck for reference:

The Green areas are the swamps, the Red line is the Kingsroad, while the Yellow line passing through the Green area is the Causeway. (Source: awoiaf.westeros.org)

The Crannogmen. Call them what you will, frog-eaters (yes, they do eat frogs), mudmen, bog-devils, but you must never underestimate the swamp people because you'll never know what'll hit you. They are called such because of their habit of living in small villages formed from reeds and thatches and that sit atop floating islands. And despite their short stature, the Crannogmen are talented hunters and warriors. Thus, they have adapted to the harsh environment and have learned to use it to their advantage.They use guerilla tactics and apparently a notoriously difficult people to conquer. In other words, they are the perfect example of the small but terrible type of people. The Crannogmen are ruled by House Reed with its current lord, who is none other Ned Stark’s bff, Howland Reed, a.k.a. Meera, and Jojen’s Dad, who holds court in their floating castle (yes, you read that right. A castle that floats.), Greywater Watch. Yep, the one who delivered the fatal blow to Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning was a f*cking Crannogman, this guy:

Since Ned’s children (Bran and Rickon) and Howland’s children (Meera and Jojen) are also good friends, there’s no doubt that they’ll definitely back them up when they have to. The Reeds are their bannermen after all. Though I think Meera would have to push Bran out of his chair to get even, but still.

The Causeway. The only road that connects the North to the other kingdoms is the Kingsroad. The causeway is the only dry road, the only navigable passage, and the only safe route for armies to travel through the swamps of the Neck. (Refer back to the map) It is also narrow. In the Art of War, narrow passes can be used to your advantage. With the Crannogmen familiar with the terrain, all they have to do is garrison it and wait. You can imagine being ambushed by short people hiding in the trees with poison darts or step on the traps they placed on the road and drag the horses and men into the murky waters to be eaten by the lizard-lions. If they have steel armor on, they’d have lower chances of survival. They might not get eaten, but they’d drown, so yeah, good luck!

Moat Cailin. Still, if they get past the wrath of the Crannogmen, they’ll meet their end at Moat Cailin. These ruins of an ancient stronghold command the Causeway as it passes through it. So anyone who travels North by land has to go through the causeway and Moat Cailin. It is an effective natural chokepoint that had protected the North from southern invaders for thousands of years. Its three remaining towers are usually manned with bowmen who’s ready to shoot a rain of arrows to enemies who will dare pass. And with the Starks back at Winterfell, it is most likely garrisoned by the Crannogmen.

A Southron army would have no chance at all and would never get past the Neck, thanks to the small but terrible and lovable crannogmen of the swamps. Also, only two women were known to ever kill a White Walker and one of them lives in the Neck.

I’d watch out for her too. Shout out to our girl, Meera Reed! Because all she got from Bran was a lousy thank you after she dragged his Stark ass across the frozen tundra.

That's it for Part 1, you guys. This turned out to be longer than expected. The link for Part 2 is here.

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

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I'm feeling a little melancholy at the moment, how would Hancock comfort/cheer up a lady sole survivor who is feeling down in the dumps? This can be a headcanon or a drabble, whichever your muse wishes to write and it's a romantic Hancock who's pining for the sole. Both have low self-esteem and sole is shy. Thank you in advance!

Thank you so much for the ask, anon! I love this prompt, and I think I’m going to do headcannons for all the companions based on it at some point, but for now, here is a drabble! Hopefully this is the kinda thing you were looking for, I think I might’ve gotten a little carried away, but I hope you enjoy!

Hancock surveyed his bar, looking over the patrons, and back up to Magnolia as she began her rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night,” and the ghoul's smokey gaze once again fell to the seat in the corner of the Third Rail.

She was there, nursing an iced beverage in her hand; the amber liquid appearing to be whiskey.

"Tell me Fahrenheit, do people drink whiskey when they're happy?" He turned to the redhead lounging on the couch beside him.

"Depends how much." She stared ahead, absentmindedly swirling the gin and tonic in her hand.

"Three or four glasses in the last hour." He said. She followed his gaze to where it rested, rolling her eyes at him.

"You've been staring at her for the past hour? Tell me, why haven’t you gone over there yet? I know you enjoy a healthy dose of masochism every once in a while, but the self-induced suffering seems pretty constant whenever she’s involved.” Fahrenheit gestured with her glass towards the corner by the bar, where Sole was seated, already close to being finished with her beverage.

“Always so quick to judge. Sole’s a popular gal, I thought she might be waiting for someone. If that was the case, then who am I to-”

“Ugh, if you don’t get your ass over there and talk to her, I’m locking you out of the State House.” Hancock’s hat tipped forward as his gaze migrated to the floor of the bar.

Fahrenheit shifted to sit up from her lounging position. “Alright, what the hell is it with this chick? It’s like she turns you into that kid on the radio. All scared and awkward.”

“I know. Listen, I don’t know what it is either. She’s just… different. I actually give a shit about what she thinks of me, you know? And I don’t wanna lose her as a friend because I was coming onto her too strong.”

“I think you’re just being a pussy about having real feelings for someone.”

“Shit, red, that’s cold. Even for you.” At that, Hancock pushed his hat back to its correct position on his head and stood, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to face the person he had “real” feelings for.

“Fine,” he turned to glance back at Fahrenheit one more time, “You win. But if this goes south, I’m holding you responsible.” He turned and started towards the bar.

“And what it if it goes north?” Fahrenheit called after him, uttering a soft chuckle as he walked away.

Hancock noticed Sole’s eyes fall on him as he approached the bar and tried not to be too obvious as he ordered another whiskey on ice for her, and one for himself. He was still coming off a mentats high, but he needed something to take the edge off. Grabbing the drinks, he turned deliberately to her.

“How you holdin’ up, sister? You looked a little low there.” He gestured at her now empty glass, reaching out to hand her the new drink.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She said, smiling weakly at him as she took it.

“That seat taken?”

She looked to her left and shook her head.

“All yours, if you want.”

“Course I do, who wouldn’t wanna sit next to a lovely little thing like you?” She let out a feeble chuckle at his words, and the ridge above his eyes knitted together as he noticed the lack of light behind her eyes as she stared down at the floor.

He took a swig of his whiskey, draining half of his glass in one gulp. Sole looked over and drew her own glass to her lips, grimacing slightly at the bite of the whiskey. The two sat in silence for a bit, listening as Magnolia’s song came to an end and the conversations around the bar grew to a dull roar.

“Sorry I’m not better company, Hancock.” She uttered quietly.

“Nonsense. I could sit silently beside you all night, and you’d still be better company than half the commonwealth. But hey, if you wanna talk about it, I know it doesn’t look like it, but I got two good ears over here.” She laughed a little more genuinely at that, and Hancock felt a little flutter in his chest.

“Thanks, but really it’s- Okay, it’s just… nothing.”

“Hmm. Yeah, seems like it. Real convincing there, sister.” She finally looked up to meet his gaze. “C’mon, Sole,” he whispered softly, “it’s okay, you can tell me. After all I done, you think I’m in any position to judge you?” Sole looked away and downed her drink, before placing her fifth empty glass on the table beside the others. He drained the remainder of his own beverage in response, hoping the gesture might help settle her nerves a bit.

Sole took a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s not… something.” She stopped, looking at him with desperation behind her eyes, willing him to understand without her having to say it. Hancock was many, many things, and he would become almost anything if it meant pleasing Sole, but he wasn’t a mind reader. Instead, he smiled at her and nodded for her to continue.

“It’s… God, it’s just everything. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I used to feel like I had made it so far. When I saw the world after leaving that vault, I just, I don’t know, I just adapted. I moved on and I survived. Even when I learned that 200 years had passed, and I realized that everyone I ever knew was dead, I persisted. I pushed through. I was sad, of course, but at least I could function. Then, when I found out about Shaun and the Institute, when I saw him and... and he was older than me, when I found out how he felt about me, the way he saw me as nothing more than an experiment, I just…” Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, punctuating the end of her sentence. No words were needed now, he understood. He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, to let her know she wasn’t alone, that he was here for her, and would be as long as he was living. Instead, he reached a scarred hand towards her own that rested on the arm of her chair. She shuddered slightly as his fingers made contact with the back of her hand, and he was afraid she would pull away. But she just dropped her gaze to watch as he settled his hand atop hers, his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re goin’ through, Sole.” He said, his dark eyes meeting hers, “But no matter what, I’m here for you. Anything you need, it’s yours, you hear?” She sniffled slightly, and Hancock thought he heard a soft “thanks,” but he couldn’t be sure.

“You remember the day we met?” He said, his thumb still brushing softly over her hand.

“How could I forget? You killed a guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I sure did, heh.”

“What was his name again?” She asked him, a little bit of life returning to her strained voice.

“Finn.”

“Oh yeah, I remember now.”

“Yeah, real jackass, he was.” Sole grinned at that, and Hancock's eyes lit up, reveling in the fact that his words managed to bring a smile to her face, meager as it may be, it beat tears any day.

“You remember why I killed him?” He asked her.

“Cuz he was a jackass?” The ghoul chuckled at that, his hand squeezing hers ever so slightly.

“Close, but that’s not all of it. He was a jackass to you, sweetheart. And that didn’t sit right with me, even then.” Her eyes met his as she began to understand where he was going with this.

“But lemme tell you something, how I cared then? Shit’s nothing compared to how I care now.” He whispered the last sentence, leaning in closer to her. Hancock willed himself to say more, to tell her how much he cared for her, tell her everything he would do for her, he wanted to make a move to hold her hand tighter, or to lean into her even further, to eliminate the gap between them altogether, but he was paralyzed by her unbroken gaze.

“You mean it?” She whispered so softly, he almost didn’t hear it over the buzz of the bar.

“You kiddin’? Every damn word. And just for the record, there’s nothing wrong with the way you’re feeling right now, Sole. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and if anybody else went through the shit that you have, they wouldn’t have made it through day one. But you? You haven’t just survived out here, you’ve made a difference. You didn’t have to, background like yours, you coulda become a fuckin raider or crime boss or some shit and I wouldn’t have blamed you, but no. Here you go, one-upping everyone else who thought they had a tragic backstory and becoming the best damn person in the Commonwealth. Really ruins it for the rest of us rabble, you know.” Sole’s eyebrows creased together and her eyes began to glisten again as tears threatened to spill over. Shit. What did I say? Hancock’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried desperately to think of a way to undo whatever he just did. That feeling soon vanished as Sole fell forward, arms draping around Hancock’s shoulders, as she buried her head into the crook of his neck. He released the breath he had been holding and brought his own arms around to envelop her, squeezing tightly as warmth spread through the expanse of his chest.

“Thank you.” She whispered softly. And Hancock was sure he’d heard it this time.

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ckneal · 3 years

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So, there’s this one angel story in the back of my head that I know I wont write. I wont write it, because it’s utter nonsense, with very little regard for the canonical timeline of Supernatural, and a willfully blurry view on what is and is not “in character.” It’s fluff. It’s all fluff, in the form of a bunch of smaller stories that gradually weave together, following the Love, Actually style of storytelling, but instead of problematic love stories, it’s all about angels playing hooky from Heaven after the Fall.

(Seriously, there is no substance here, I swear.)

Stories include Abner, living out the first half of the movie Family Man, struggling to figure out how to be a good father and house husband after he steps into the life of the raging alcoholic who agreed to be his vessel. There’s also a very minor story about Esther (not to be confused with Hester, who is not in this story because she never deserted her post in Heaven) learning to play the part of a little girl and navigating schoolyard politics, but kids can be mean and Esther learns the hard way that Michael’s approach to asserting dominance in Heaven does not translate well. There’s also Daniel and Adina, who both settle into vessels in the same movie theater where a romantic comedy is playing, and fall into a very innocent, play-acting sort of love after they leave the theatre—like little kids pretending to be in love, recreating the scenes from the movie, but at the same time not really understanding it. Balthazar, Gabriel, and Anael each trying to roll with the luxurious high roller life style, and awkwardly running into each other at VIP poker games, exclusive spas and clubs, and the occasional orgy that they promptly leave IMMEDATELY after running into a sibling (don’t give me weird looks, Balthazar and Gabriel canonically include that sort of thing in their definition of luxury, and the whole thing of their story is their siblings keep cramping their style). Tyrus is in there bowling, somewhere. Benjamin’s playing arcade games with his wife. And then there’s Thaddeus, my pet favorite minor angel character, realizing what’s happening as he’s falling with all the other faithful angels during the Fall and seizing the opportunity to abandon his life as a guard and torturer, settling into a pop star for his vessel—initially for the sake of the cushy lifestyle, but then gradually looking back, before the garden and Lucifer, before everyone was assigned a job in Heaven, like it or not, and the options were to adapt or to be smote, and remembering that back then, he could sing.

And of course, Michael and Adam get a story too—in which Michael lowkey gets into a pissing contest with death, as he and Adam travel the world, hitting up hospital after hospital to heal people. Because the first thing Adam wanted to do after getting out of the cage (okay, second thing—burgers came first) was go to the nearest medical center and start healing people left and right. And at first, they’re having a great time. Adam steals a white jacket he finds in the breakroom somewhere, and anytime someone says he looks a little young to be a doctor (Adam still looking nineteen years old, because I say so), Michael wipes the poor sap’s mind. But eventually—sometime after they’ve cleared out the children’s ward, the cancer ward, the cardiac ward—Billie shows up, sniping at them that they can’t just go around healing people who are destined to die, because there is an order to life and death that cannot be shoved aside. And Billie tries to make a show of it, as Terra did with Dean, by having several people who Adam had healed over the course of the day inadvertently cause several massive accidents. The news suddenly comes pouring out of the television, channels flipping as newscasters talk about tragedies occurring in several different parts of the city they’re currently in. The sound of approaching ambulance sirens fills the air, as in the hospital hallway, doctors and nurses begin hurrying to receive a rush of ER patients.

Adam’s horrified.

Michael does not take kindly to this. He snaps his fingers and makes it so that the carnage has never happened. Because he is the archangel Michael, only two steps away from being a god, and if he says that all of these people are going to live, then they are going to live, and he WILL NOT be intimidated, especially by an amateur reaper whose only qualification for her position was dying at the right time.

Billie in turn lands Michael with a cold stare, and points out that the order to life and death is beyond even God’s authority, let alone daddy’s blunt, sniveling instrument.

As Michael’s eyes start to glow, Adam steps in and says, “So, to be clear, you want us to stop healing people on the verge of death? We can do that.”

After Billie leaves, Michael is outraged, but Adam says, “No, Michael, THINK about it.”

We then cut to other stories, where newscasts in the background reveal that ailments that are not IMMIEDATELY fatal (AIDs, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, etc.) are mysteriously disappearing overnight, worldwide.

Billie is not amused, and tells her reapers to be on the lookout for an archangel at every major hospital in the world.

Cut to Michael throwing open the door of the bunker, muttering aloud to Adam that he’s going to do it, he’s going to bind Death, just like Lucifer did—how hard can it be? Sam and Dean see him as he goes stomping off toward the cabinet where they keep all of their magical dry goods, but Michael snaps his fingers and the two of them are abruptly half drunk in Dean’s man cave, sitting in front of Dean’s flat screen TV, watching some campy monster movie, because that’s lowkey what Michael and Adam assume they do all day.

As they’re raiding Sam and Dean’s supplies though, Adam says, “Wait, I have an idea.”

Cut to Abner looking up while pushing his vessel’s daughter in a park swing, and literally seeing Michael and Adam chasing an ambulance, so they can technically heal the person inside before reaching the hospital.

Yes, I’m aware that Abner was dead by the time Michael and Adam got out of the cage. But see, this story? This story is like when someone gifts you a goldfish unexpectedly, and you put it in a bowl, checking in to feed it a couple times a day, lowkey expecting it to die. But it doesn’t die, it gets bigger. And you’re not a cruel person, so you put it in a bigger tank, but it just gets bigger again, and you don’t really know what’s going on, but you know, you just kind of keep checking in, meeting the minimum requirements but not really getting in there as a guiding force because it’s a goldfish and it’s surely going to die any minute now—but then you look over and there’s giant tank taking up your living room, and you’re thawing out bloodworms twice a day, and looking into tankmates to keep Charles company, and realize that “Oh wow, I guess this is a thing now.”

In short, the story says we’re ignoring the timeline, and it’s calling the shots. I’m just keeping the tank clean.

The angels all eventually wind up running into each other. Abner and Esther happen upon one another in a park, where Esther is morosely realizing that she is terrible at being a human child but she does not want to go home to Heaven, and it just happens to be the same park where Abner goes with his “little nibblet” once a day to let her toddle around the playground while he chats with nannies and other house parents. Anael, Adina, and Daniel meet up when the latter two’s game has reached the point where they’ve decided to get married, and they apparently need to buy something new—preferably blue—as per this very important rhyme someone told them about. Esther and Gabriel run into each other in an ice cream parlor. Thaddeus gets recognized while doing an interview on TV that everyone sees. And, while out joyriding in a Lamborghini, on their way to meet up with the growing community of angels who decided to opt out of their responsibility to Heaven and their father’s legacy, Balthazar, Gabriel, and Anael are all startled to see Michael land on an ambulance stopped next to them at a red light.

Balthazar and Anael are both terrified, as if they’ve just been busted by a parent, because Michael, of course, is the guy who enforces the rules, and isn’t he supposed to be in Hell? They both shoot Gabriel looks as if to say ‘what the hell are you doing’ when Gabriel, watching as Michael climbs down and matter-of-factly wrenches the ambulance doors open, calls out, “Hey, Mike! Is that you?”

Michael looks over, freezes for a second—not prepared to be suddenly thrust into a social situation in the middle of his self-imposed mission to spite death—then his eyes flash and Adam takes over. “Oh hey, you’re Michael’s family? What a small world! I’m Adam, I’ve heard so much about you. Wait, hang on—”

The light starts to turn green, but Adam snaps his fingers and it promptly reverts to red.

Three jaws drop in the luxury car, and they don’t even hear Adam politely explain that he and Michael are in the middle of something, as he ducks into the ambulance, because Michael’s evidently letting a tiny human use his powers like it’s nothing, and what does that mean?

“Sweet dad in the unknown, Michael’s shagging a human. . .”

“Nooo!”

“HOW?”

“Hey, kid, you like weddings?”

At some point in the story, all the MIA angels are together, and Benjamin or someone comes running in saying, “Quick, they’re coming! Everyone hide!”

And everyone scatters, except for Michael, who stands in place, saying, “Gabriel, we’re archangels, two of the most powerful beings in existence. Why would we—”

And then Gabriel picks Adam up like a sack of potatoes and sprints off, calling back, “Trust me, you do NOT want to get involved with them!”

Being a projection, Michael is obligated to follow.

Team Free Will then walks by, looking constipated from whatever Big Awful Thing is currently threatening to destroy the world.

The story, of course, culminates in the wedding of Adina and Daniel, who still don’t quite understand what marriage is beyond promising to love each forever, which of course they will, after all, they are the very best of friends—which is about the same concept that most of the other angels present have. Adam is the first one to actually approach the big awkward question, upon finding out who the bride and groom are.

“Wait, aren’t they brother and sister?”

To which Serafina’s Adam, (who is of course there since Serafina was the original angel to play hooky) whose sons married his daughters, and all the angels, who do not understand what that has to do with anything, all cock their heads in unison and respond with, “So?”

Adam struggles to find words, looking into so many innocent faces. Then Benjamin’s wife puts a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Shhh, let them have their fun.”

Benjamin’s wife and the two Adams wind up sitting at the venue’s bar, where they order nachos from a very confused bar tender, and watch as the angels go about setting up a wedding. But given that most angels haven’t been on earth regularly in roughly two thousand years, none of them have a clear grasp of what a human wedding entails.

“I heard it’s traditional for the father to give away the bride.”

“I think they’re supposed to kiss over bread.”

“Do humans still slaughter cows at these things?”

“I’m pretty sure someone is supposed to break a glass—”

Several angels promptly throw glassware on the floor.

At no point do the angels ask the humans for advice.

Occasionally, Gabriel knowingly throws out obscure details to keep the confusion going.

“You know, the groom needs to stand with the right arm to the aisle in case a sword fight breaks out.”

“Right! . . .How do we know which one’s the groom?”

At the bar, Adam open’s his mouth to say something, but the original Adam shushes him.

“No no, son, let them get there.”

The angels agree that being the better fighter, Adina should be the groom.

They’re nearly ready to start when Michael suddenly doubles over with his hand over his mouth. It coincides with the sound of Adam pounding the bar top, having just eaten a Carolina Reaper pepper on dare. Michael’s eyes quickly flash silver-blue as he straightens, and both he and Adam are abruptly fine—even if their eyes are still watering somewhat. But a different sort of damage has already been done, as Anael, Balthazar, and Gabriel all abruptly turn toward the triad of humans, having been reminded that the Michael walking around with them is actually a projection. In actuality, Michael is anchored to the human ex-college student sitting at the bar.

All three of them rush toward Adam, but Serafina gets there first, asking Adam if he’s ever tried mushroom tea.

Balthazar gets there next.

“Adam, was it? We didn’t get to talk in the car, let’s fix that. Are you over twenty-one? You know what, this is a family affair, don’t worry—CAN I GET TWO SHOTS OF DON JULIO OVER HERE?”

From that point on, any time Adam turns around, there’s one of Michael’s siblings, wanting to get to know him—by consuming some sort of beverage. Because Adam and Michael are sharing body—and that means they share a liver too. A bet ensues as to how much it will take to get God’s alleged favorite wasted.

Gabriel’s actually one of the first out, having been convinced that Michael would be a lightweight. Little does he suspect that Benjamin and his wife caught onto what was happening soon after Adam was fed his third long island iced tea and second jager bomb, and began quietly cleansing the alcohol from his system through casual shoulder pats and high fives.

Adam does not know what to make of any of this, but it’s Michael’s family and he wants to make a good impression, so he just goes with it.

Thaddeus, of course, is in charge of music, Gabriel and Esther consume the majority of the cake, and Michael catches the bouquet (he may have cheated after finding out what the bouquet toss is for).

#my thoughts #lowkey might be putting this idea out so it'll leave me alone #midam #supernatural angels #the divine shurley family

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cafeinthemoon · 3 years

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The Home I Crave - Chapter 6

Title: The Home I Crave

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 1940

Chapter: 6/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️▶️

Read the previous chapter here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

You opened your mouth to say something, but gave up in the middle of it. Did he just say he created a teleportation jutsu? Yes, your ears were not deceived, neither were your eyes: you saw him just appearing inside a room where you were surely left alone. And now he was just there apologizing for his brother as if Hashirama just forgot to tell you something as obvious as the location of the room’s window. For everything you’ve heard until that day you already knew your betrothed was not a common man, but this surpassed your expectations.

You also wanted to say that what Hashirama didn’t anything serious and that you were already recovered from the shock, but Tobirama’s words made you feel like that wasn’t true: a mistake was made, and thanks to it the meeting between the bride and the groom didn’t happen as planned. Well, you were upset too, but it wasn’t the end of the alliance, was it? However, that was the way he put things.

It was when something woke up in your brain, and recollecting everything you already knew about him you understood what Mito wanted to say when she stated that Tobirama was the opposite of his brother.

This urged you to fix the discomfort and to reason with him as soon as you could.

- As you already found out, Lord Advisor, I am y/n from the … clan, our head’s eldest daughter and his advisor as well – you bowed your head in an imitation of his gesture – You will forgive me, but I believe we can take things a little lighter. I don’t believe the Hokage made a serious mistake, and even if he has warned me about the seal I think I would be caught in surprise seeing it in action.

You weren’t sure if your response was enough to soothe his humor, but something changed in his expression and tone when he spoke again.

- You are right – and looking at the seal again – I’ve been using this technique for so long that sometimes I forget how unusual it might seem to the people who never heard of it.

You’ve already met ninjas who created jutsu before, but none of them seemed so proud of them as the younger Senju. From now on, you would have to watch your steps when the subject were his jutsu.

Judging that you had nothing more to say about the incident, Tobirama opened the door, indicating the exit to you.

- We will be late if we stay here.

You passed by the door and he closed it behind him, walking through the corridor towards the house’s entry. You followed him, but once you reached the front door you cleared your throat, gaining his attention right when he had his hand over the door.

He turned to you.

- Is there something wrong?

- Well, I... think it is appropriate if you offer me your arm.

Tobirama stared at you as if your solicitation was entirely unexpected. You almost told him to not do it if he didn’t want to, but he offered you his left arm without a word, which you accepted with equal silence before he finally opened the residence’s door.

***

The ceremony itself was faster than you thought it would be, considering that you’ve already attended to events like that and always sensed they lasted for an eternity. Or maybe your head were so full of preoccupations that you haven’t much time to feel bored by all the formalities in which you had to take part.

After you two said your vows before the priest, you turned to each other: it was the time for the kiss. You might have seemed more surprised than you should be, because Tobirama approached you and asked if everything was okay; you nodded and just said you were nervous, not dreaming of telling him you completely forgot about this part.

He didn’t waste time with deliberations or affected gestures: he bowed to you and kissed your forehead, finishing it fast enough to your relief and to Hashirama and Mito’s deception, or so you thought when you glanced at them right after.

***

When the ceremony and the greeting session with representatives of both the Senju and your clan was over, you and your husband left the temple and went to the night, prepared to go to your house. You were curious, for everything you’ve seen from it was its entry during a walk with Mito, but now you were going to step into it and learn to see it as your new home.

You were aware of the house’s location, so that once you left the temple’s area you started walking towards that direction, but Tobirama called you before you went too far.

- Yes? – you turned to him.

- Where are you going?

Your first thought was that he was being ironic, but two reasons made you abandon the idea: first, such behavior didn’t fit him, and second, he was serious as usual.

You replied to him in the same tone.

- To our house. This is the right way, isn’t it? – you pointed the street you were about to walk in.

- Yes. But we are not going to walk to reach it.

Before you could ask what were you going to do then, he came to your side and touched your shoulder. You didn’t have enough time to blink, even less time to ask him what he was doing: in one moment, you were still at the entry of the temple; in the next one, you were in a completely different place. You looked around and recognized the Advisor’s residence at your right. Looking closer to the wooden door, in a corner you noticed a copy of the seal you found behind the door of the room where you met glowing in the dark.

So that was how his teleportation jutsu worked. Impressive.

Tobirama opened the door and entered, turning on the lights. You entered just after him, who closed the door behind you while you looked around, still getting used to the fact that you would have to live there from now on. It wasn’t bad, though: the place was tidy, simple, organized, a reflection of his owner; besides, it was wide, so that you shouldn’t have difficulties to maintain the amount of privacy necessary in the period of adaptation to a new routine.

It was when you remembered something.

- I just realized I didn’t talk to Mito before we left – you started speaking, not sure if you were getting a reply so heavy was his silence after closing the door – We were going to go back to the Hokage’s residence so she would help me to bring the rest of my things.

Yes, in the morning of that day you sent some of your essential things to Tobirama’s house after receiving a message from him telling you to do so, but most of the less important things were left in the room you were using at Hashirama’s, so you talked to Mito and she said she would bring them with you after the ceremony; but you left so early that you barely talked to her about it. What were you going to do now?

- It is not an unsolvable problem, y/n-san.

The reply came faster than you expected. You saw Tobirama making a hand seal you never seen before; two columns of white smoke appeared on each side of him, giving place to two figures who looked exactly like him. Two clones.

He touched their backs and spoke to you.

- I marked them with my Hiraishin. They are going to go to my brother’s house and pack your things, bringing them here as soon as they can. There is no need to bother my sister-in-law with this.

You wanted to say that this wouldn’t bother her because that was precisely the plan you two have made, but you ended up quiet. He ordered the clones to teleport to Hashirama’s house and they obeyed, disappearing in the next instant.

Tobirama reached the white flower on his chest and took it off his clothing. You had a similar flower adorning your hair as well; he approached you and took it off your strand, holding them together without looking at you or saying anything that revealed his thoughts. Close to the living room’s window at your left, there was a round, small table; he went there and found a blue vase, inside which he left the flower. When he came back to you, it was as if he just forgot about the flowers’ existence.

Maybe he did, for he changed the subject with the same promptitude he left the flowers behind:

- Now let’s prepare something to eat.

Something in this invitation made you feel willing to offer yourself to help.

- Yes. Since you know your own kitchen better, I can put the table while you cook…

While you went to the kitchen, he thanked your suggestion but explained that he was going to use a third clone to cook while he himself was going to organize the table.

- You can go and wash your hands – he pointed at a corridor that extended to the core of the residence until divide itself in two, continuing at the right and the left – The bathroom is at your right, behind the last door.

He soon turned to the kitchen and created another clone, who immediately started to work as he took bowls to put on the table. You had nothing more to say, so you just went to the door he indicated wondering how many clones he was able to make in so little time.

Once in the bathroom, you decided to take some time for yourself. Besides washing your hands, you removed your makeup and undid your hairstyle. You thought of taking a bath, but your stomach made a loud noise telling you not to until you eat something.

When you came back to the kitchen, everything was ready and Tobirama told you to sit and serve yourself.

***

After a silent dinner, Tobirama took you to other parts of the house while a clone was left behind to clean the dishes.

He showed you the main departments, such as the room you would share, his office, the library and the service area with brief explanations of his methods to keep them clean and organized – which was almost resumed to the use of Shadow Clones since he had so little time to spent at home and didn’t like the idea of paying someone else to do this job for him. You asked him about how he was able to manage the clones’ activity in his absence, and he explained that unlike common clones, the Shadow Clones used by him – actually, another jutsu he created – were physical copies of the original person, so that they would always know what to do even when the original was not present. In the end, when the clones disappeared, their experiences were transferred to the primary individual.

It was strange that he spoke as if he had to work hard to maintain the order in a place where he lived alone when all you saw while looking into the rooms was an organization you’ve rarely seen in a man’s house.

You were going to question him about the task division now that you would live there as well, when the clones came back with your things. Tobirama told them to take them to your room and they obeyed without a word.

#naruto fanfiction #tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju #tobirama senju x reader #tobirama fanfic

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Want. Yan Risotto x Reader [COMM]

You’ve never taken this long before.

Risotto is acutely aware of your everyday routine. Your shift at this cafe ends at 5:00 P.M., but you’ll chat with your coworkers for a few minutes afterwards. Then you’ll proceed to the staff room to retrieve your bag, check your phone, and leave through the back exit at around 5:10. When it’s a nice day out like this one, you’ll then walk home to your dingy apartment. However, if it’s raining, you’ll set up a carpool with a friend.

Expecting you to be exactly on time always is unreasonable, yet Risotto prefers to stick to what he knows. This isn’t a small, overlookable delay either. It requires further scrutiny.

He mulls over his options, all the possibilities that’d offer an explanation for this delay. Knowing that you’re still inside despite it being twenty minutes past the normal time for you to leave, he assumes something must’ve happened. Slipping out front isn’t a possibility either, he keeps watch there too. Calling your boss is a possibility, but a risky one at that.

Binetti’s voice always quivers in blatant anxiety, never brave (or foolish) enough to ask why exactly a member of Passione has taken such an extreme interest in his employee. Curiosity is still there, as is to be expected. Ultimately, Risotto doesn’t want the weak willed man to mess up his carefully crafted plans, by accidentally revealing something to you.

So that leaves learning the reason for your absence to his discretion.

Metallica gives him the ability to freely observe you to his heart’s content, but it doesn’t entirely erase him from existence. Under normal conditions he’d follow behind someone entering the cafe to avoid suspicion, since to anyone else, it’d appear as if a door was opening for no reason had he interacted with it. Dispelling the iron around him, he cautiously approaches the door that leads into the back of the building.

He’ll be able to use his Stand to hide his presence once he’s inside, but quietly opening the door will be the main hurdle. None of the windows are an option since they’re locked, and breaking them would be counterproductive to his plan. All of this trouble to ensure your safety. A few feet lay between him and his destination, his approach methodical.

Only for you to open it before he even gets the chance.

Headphones in your ears as they usually are, you’re too busy picking out a new song while humming to notice Risotto’s presence at first. When you finally sense a shadow looming, it catches your attention, earning a small gasp. Risotto’s expression betrays his conflicting inner feelings, a calm facade already set in place to avoid further suspicion. He’s aware of his frightening appearance, but other than your initial astonishment, you don’t seem concerned.

Tugging the headphone out of your ear, you look up at him curiously. “Oh, uh, hello. I’m not sure if you’re lost, but the door to get into the cafe is--” you pause, pointing towards the corner that leads to the street. “--that way. I can show you, if you like.”

Voice saccharine like sugar, he entertains the thought of how much better it’ll sound when you speak his name.

“I’m friends with the owner.” Risotto lies with practiced ease, his deep voice causing a shiver to travel down your spine. It’s a small experience, but it’s overwhelmingly thrilling to finally interact with the object of his affection. This isn’t what he planned originally, but Risotto is able to adapt in any situation without breaking a sweat.

Letting out a hum of understanding, you offer him a beaming smile as if he’s your longtime friend. Muscles going taut at the endearing sight, he closes his eyes momentarily to regain himself. It’s nonsensical, how his heart remains steady when he takes the lives of others, but you render him weak at the knees by simply fluttering your eyelashes. Despite the lack of control it brings, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t savor it.

Interaction with others is understandably limited for Risotto. He speaks with his squad, but tries to maintain a business-like relationship for their sake. It’s a lonely lifestyle, even if it’s what he chose for himself. The less traces of an assassin the better. It won’t always be this way, you filling the gaps in his heart he never knew existed. He just needs a little more time…

“I’m glad you’re here then. I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but Mr. Binetti has seemed on edge lately,” you sigh, crossing your arms with a worried frown. “Please cheer him up if you can, okay? He’s a bit of a skittish man, but he’s always been kind to me.”

The news doesn’t come as a surprise to Risotto. Binetti can hardly stop sweating when he comes to check in on you, ensuring that you’re being treated well and no coworkers are giving you any flack. Still, it’s a detail he isn’t willing to overlook. If Binetti mentioned something to you -- whether it’s on purpose or not -- it’ll make things more complicated than they need to be.

Wanting more information to be safe, he prompts you to speak further. “Oh? Really? Has he said anything to you?”

Risotto’s vermilion eyes admire how your soft lips move to the side while you think, how you place a delicate hand to your chin. He’s seen and memorized your usual body language, but being on the receiving end of it feels different. Surreal. Now he’s this close to you, able to take in every aspect that makes you unique. Not to mention hearing the small flairs of your accent seeping through, it’s all too precious.

“Now that you mention it…” you trail off, eyes narrowing as memories come flooding back. “He did say something out of the ordinary the other day. Kinda like, be wary of everything? I didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s just been paranoid lately. There is a lot of criminal activity in this area at times… though it never seems to affect us directly.”

So his concerns weren’t unfounded. Your boss was attempting to signal you in his own, covert way. Irksome as it is, all problems have a solution.

Clasping your hands together, you attempt to alleviate his worries, still believing that Risotto is emotionally invested in this person’s well being. It doesn’t come as a shock. You may be naive, but you have a good, compassionate heart. It’s what drew Risotto to you initially, like a moth to a flame.

“I know it sounds ominous, but I’m sure it isn’t anything that bad. Don’t worry too much, okay?” you reassure, eyes softening with empathy. Risotto’s owl-like stare observes as you reach out to him, the height difference not stopping you. Placing a considerate hand to his shoulder, you give a comforting squeeze. “You have to think of your own well being too.”

From all the immoral things he’s done in his lifetime, does he really deserve this? To have your attention for this long, to feel your heavenly touch. He isn’t normally a sentimental person, however, your caring actions touch him deeply. But as sweet as this little interaction is, it isn’t enough to placate a deeper hunger within. To know what you’d be like as a lover, his lover. All attention directed at no one other than him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

His monotonous response doesn’t reflect overwhelming emotions within, all of his strength being used to keep his composure in front of you. How he desperately longs to take you with him. Your future shared bedroom is already waiting, he’s nothing if not prepared. Risotto amuses the thought, wondering if he should throw caution to the wind.

But it’s not the time for that. Not here, not now. Patience is a necessity in his field of work, and it applies here as well. There are still loose ends that need to be removed, more arrangements that need to be made. Seeing you in front of him, so tangible and real, reignites a fire beneath him. It won’t hurt to speed up the process a bit.

Looking down at the time on your phone, you let out a quiet curse at how late it is. He knows it’s unusual for you to not be home by now. Troublesome as it is, he won’t be able to watch over you while you walk back either, but he’ll know when you arrive home. The motion sensors ensure that.

“I’ve held you here long enough. Have a good day, alright?” you smile, placing your headphones back. He dismisses you with a nod of his head, eyes tracking your retreating form with interest. Heading off in the direction you normally do, you shoot him a final look. Giving a cheeky thumbs up and wave, you return on your way.

A light scent of coffee mixed with your normal perfume stays even when he can no longer see you. He makes a mental note to buy this perfume late, recalling how it typically sits on your bathroom sink; making it difficult to gain access to when you’re home.

There’ll be time to reflect on this pleasant experience, but for now, he has business to attend to. A talk with Binetti is in order.

So it’s leftovers from Tuesday tonight.

It’s disappointing, as watching you cook is always a sight to behold. From the way you carefully place uncooked pasta into a boiling pot so as not to burn yourself, or how you hum when chopping vegetables. It’s a domestic task, but one that Risotto has grown familiar to seeing. He hopes that you'll make dinner for him one day with the same enthusiasm. Take out and microwave meals just aren’t the same.

Seasoning your dish more to your liking, you stick it in the microwave with a satisfactory click. A low hum fills the cramped room, Risotto taking note of how you begin to sway in rhythm. He knows what that means, his heart fluttering in excitement for what’s to come.

Lips parting, the room is filled with your singing. A song he doesn’t recognize, but he’s never been musically inclined. Singing only for yourself, you get distracted in your song and forget what it was you were doing originally. Your voice is heavenly enough, but it transforms into something else entirely when you sing. There isn’t a satisfactory enough way to describe it, but he settles on the word stunning.

The lyrics of the song are in English, your native tongue. He only picks up a few common phrases, but your talent transcends language. It’s a special privilege to be able to see you like this, entirely vulnerable and acting as your true self. Where you can apologetically be who you are, unaware of Risotto’s looming presence. Many sleepless nights he closes his eyes, picturing your voice serenading him with loving lullabies.

How intimate. Beeping from the microwave causes you to jump, laughter soon following after. Risotto hasn’t ever tasted your cooking, but by how fast you consume it, assumes it must be good. Taking note of the time, he knows he’ll have to leave soon, a job needing his attention tonight. Wanting to spend more time in your presence is tempting, but work is work.

‘Another thirty minutes.’

When you’re relaxing from a day at work, you spend time on social media or your other hobbies. Interchanging between them until sleep takes ahold of you. In the winter, blankets are warmed in the dryer at night for extra warmth. It’s a small detail, significant all the same. Observation is a vital part of his occupation.

You’re not a target, in the traditional sense. A target of his affections, nothing purely malicious with killing intent. Methods from years of tracking and stalking for the purpose of murdering gave Risotto all the tools he needs to effectively keep watch over you. It was for peace of mind at first, but it evolved into something more. A calling to be the person closest to you. From the color of your toothbrush to the time you wake up in the morning, Risotto knows it all, which brings him pride.

This knowledge will help ease the transition, once Risotto kidnaps you. He isn’t delusional, he knows the sudden change in lifestyle will be jarring. There’ll be exchanges of cruel words, tears shed, and possibly blood spilled. That’s why extra care is put into the villa you’ll soon live in with him. He still needs to find your favorite perfume to put on your bedside table.

Placing dishes in the sink, you dry your hands before venturing to your tiny bathroom. Risotto hears water running, faucet squeaking in protest. Frowning, Risotto reassures himself. Where you will live in the future is what you truly deserve, not this dingy studio apartment. He helps himself to the crevices of your room, running his fingers over your discarded clothes with interest.

‘These colors, hm?’

Shirts and dresses consisting of your favorite color and patterns are gently caressed, mind wandering to what you look like when wearing them. Casual is the style you’re fond of, wanting to be comfortable outside of your usual work clothes. Moving on, he looks at your phone which you had flung onto your bed prior.

Shower still running, he swiftly checks the screen while he’s still able to. A few text messages from your friends, and some from your parents in English. Scrolling further, Risotto’s eyes narrow in concentration at a new name. Marco. The text itself can be interpreted in a variety of ways, Risotto’s mind favoring the unsavory ones.

From the lock screen, all he’s able to see an out of context message.

I hope you’ll see it my way.

What were the two of you talking about? It’s a risk to steal your phone now, not wanting to alert you to any foul play. If only Melone were here, he’s more skilled with electronics. It sounds like this individual wants something from you, but what exactly? Now that he thinks about it, Binetti had mentioned that this coworker of yours is what caused the hold up earlier. Though the fickle man insisted that he’s unsure what words were exchanged, swearing on his life.

‘How troublesome.’

If it weren’t for the looming assignment he has tonight, he’d personally give this Marco a visit. There’s always an option to ask one of the members of La Squadra to do it for him, but he prefers not to intertangle business and pleasure unless it’s unavoidable. Reading the text another time, he hears you turning the faucet off and knows his time is short.

Placing the phone back to its original spot with care, he reactivates Metallica and heads for an unlocked window. Venturing down the fire escape, Risotto considers what methods will be used on this unfortunate soul. Razors, perhaps? Or maybe scissors? Death from iron deficiency? He has time to give it some thought.

Finally gaining the opportunity to speak to you was a blessing, and a curse.

As if he had tasted the forbidden fruit, knowledge of how euphoric it is to experience your attention firsthand leaving him wanting more. Watching you from afar is no longer enough to satisfy his deepest yearnings. For months he could tolerate never exchange a single word with you, harrowing as it was. Not anymore.

Everything is falling into place as he pictured it. The house the two of you were to share together fit your image well, furnishings put in place with your taste in mind. A wardrobe of your current clothing set up, normal toiletries, and the like. Even little, thoughtful gifts that Melone showed him from your wishlists. No detail is overlooked, Risotto wanting nothing more than to please you.

All that’s missing is the most important centerpiece to tie it all together, you.

Stepping inside your workplace without using Metallica to conceal his presence, Risotto ignores the few stares that are shot his way. It’s par for the course, he’s well aware of his daunting appearance. Coffee and pastry aromas hit his nostrils, along with distant sounds of silverware clinking and muted chatter. People don’t stare at him for too long, whispers dying out after a few seconds.

He spots you speaking to a male customer, an incandescent smile on your face. His stomach churns as the customer returns your smile, firmly believing no one else deserves to witness such a beautiful sight. It feels like a knife being twisted in his gut, having to share you with the rest of the world.

Risotto isn’t sure what he’s doing here. Maybe it’s the anticipation for tonight, or the distaste his conversation with Marco instilled; that gave him the drive to speak to you in person again. This might be the last time for a while that you don’t perceive him as a monster, Risotto not looking forward to the inevitable animosity you’ll soon express.

“Oh, I remember you!” you exclaim as Risotto approaches the counter, eyes lighting up in recognition. Binetti took notice of him, pretending to occupy himself with cleaning a spotless coffee filter. Risotto notices how his hands shake, yesterday’s confrontation still in mind. Not that Binetti’s behavior around you will matter much longer.

“I guess I should ask for your order first. What can I get for you today?” you inquire, leaning forward with a spring in your step. Risotto glances over the menu, before settling on a simple drink.

“A small red eye,” he answers without further thought. Remembering that he’s talking to you, continues. “Please.”

Nodding your head with a concentrated look, you input his order before exchanging the required amount. Risotto shakes his head when you go to return his change, motioning towards the tip jar. Every concern in his mind melts away at the bright grin you flash him, gratefully tucking the extra money in with eager thanks.

You move with practiced grace, working the silver machines with ease. He hears you humming a song you’ve sung in the past, recognizing it after the first few notes. Deft fingers measuring the required amounts for his drink, you set to work with the press of a button.

After a few minutes, you hand over a steaming hot cup. Fingers lightly brushing over his own, his breath hitches. The first time you’ve ever touched him, and surely not the last.

“Is it alright if I go ahead and take my break now?” you call back to Binetti, who startles at the sudden sound of your voice. The middle aged man props his glasses up, eyes briefly flickering to Risotto’s imposing form before looking at you.

“O-of course. Take your time.”

Smoothing out your wrinkled apron, you walk over to Risotto who has taken a seat in the furthest corner of the store. “Mind if I hang out with you for a bit? My feet are killing me, and all the other seats are full.”

Risotto feels his body erupt in warmth, knowing that you actively sought him out. Even if it’s only because there are no other options, the means to an end don’t concern him. Not wanting to seem overly eager by responding right away, he pretends to consider your proposition despite having already known the answer.

“Help yourself.”

Taking another sip of his drink, the bitter flavor pacifies his dry mouth. Hot liquid running down his throat, he maintains a stoic expression in spite of his hammering heart. It could be pure luck that you came to sit here with him, or it could be fate. He’s grateful for it nonetheless.

Chair groaning against the floor, you smooth out your skirt once you take your seat; thinking of how to start conversation. “It’s amazing that you can drink coffee without any cream or sugar. I know I never could.”

Risotto’s lips quip upwards as he places the cup down onto the wooden table, well aware of your preference for sweets. “You get used to it.”

“That could be true. I’ve never been brave enough to try it more than once, so I wouldn’t know,” you respond, a light laugh leaving your lips. “I don’t normally have caffeine this late in the day. It would be too hard to sleep, ya know? There was this time I saw a special that was only lasting one more day, and I didn’t want to miss trying the drink. So, idiot that I was, I went ahead and ordered it despite it being six o’clock in the evening.”

Shaking your head with distant regret, you continue your story. “What a mistake that was! I was awake all night. My hands were so jittery I could’ve sworn they’d fall off. Not to mention I had a test the next morning… you know you messed up when you look out the window and the sun’s rising.”

If it were anyone else, Risotto would find this chatter bothersome and pointless. However, since it’s you, every word matters to him. Fully appreciating even the most benign things you have to say, Risotto closes his eyes in contentment. Casual conversation doesn’t come easily, contemplating what a satisfactory response would be.

“Was the drink good at the very least?” he wonders, watching as your jaw tightens and nose scrunches up.

“Not at all! It was six dollars though, so you bet I drank the entire thing like it was ambrosia from the gods. A few days later I even saw articles of people making fun of how bad the drink was. It looked appealing enough, bright colors and all. But the taste… way too sweet, way too syrupy. A crime to the tastebuds.”

“The person who invented it would’ve been locked away in the stocks if it were medieval times. Or is that the dark ages? One of the two. Anyways, if you ever see a bright purple and blue drink, run like your life depends on it.” you continue with apparent disdain, before snickering.

“I wouldn’t try a drink like that.” he answers honestly, preferring bitter coffee over sugary flavors.

“I wish I had thought the same. Would’ve saved me a lot of strife,” you sigh with exaggerated melancholy. “Enough about my myriad of dumb mistakes. How have you been lately? Mr. Binetti seems to be feeling better, so I think whatever you said to him cheered him up.”

‘I don’t believe cheered up is the term I’d use.’

Risotto drums his fingers against the table. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I feel so dumb,” you suddenly proclaim, lightly hitting your forehead. “I just realized! We’ve been talking all this time, and I never bothered introducing myself.”

Risotto points to your name tag with amusement. Looking down, you let out a quiet “ooh” at the sight. “How about you then? I don’t see any name tags on you.”

It can’t hurt to tell you his name now, it’s far too late for you to do anything if you even did discover who he is. Sitting there obliviously, you’re unaware of the web the stranger in front of you has tied you in.

“Risotto.”

Goosebumps dot his skin as you repeat his name back to him, rolling off your tongue beautifully. Nodding your head in approval, you’re completely ignorant of the effect you have on him. He lightly clears this throat in hopes of regaining control of himself, excitement budding.

“It’s a unique name,” you comment. “I like it though. My break’s just about ready to end, so I should get going. Thanks for letting me chat with you for a bit. You’re a good listener.”

Bidding one another goodbye, you return to your job with a renewed vigor. Risotto finishes his coffee, tossing the cup before leaving the cafe. Everything he’s worked hard for is within reach, a small bag of sleep medicine in his pocket. One more visit to your apartment to gather some more essential belongings, and then he only needs to wait.

Unknown to you, this’ll be the last shift you’ll ever work.

It’s pitch black.

Everything feels heavy, an imaginary weight on your chest that you’ve never experienced. Head throbbing violently, a displeased groan leaves your lips. Fatigue has set in to every corner of your body, all of your strength required for the measly action of lifting your head. Blinking rapidly, the blurry surroundings start to come into focus.

‘This... this isn’t my room? Where the hell am I?’

You’re set upon a canopy bed, curtains obscuring where the door must be. Panic begins to set in at the unknown surroundings, shooting up only to hear a metallic clink. Hissing at a pain on your wrist, you look to see that you’ve been handcuffed to the bedpost.

It feels as if your heart will burst from how rapidly it beats, adrenaline overtaking you. Thrashing in hopes of freeing yourself, it does nothing but irritate your skin. Swallowing doesn’t come easy, mouth too dry with primal fear to produce saliva. What options are there? You’ve been kidnapped, no doubt, but why? Money can’t be the motivation, you scrape by every month.

Neither do you belong to any important family, who could assist in bailing you out. The motivations are murky, not that it matters now. All that matters is finding a way out of this nightmare of a situation.

‘Think, [First], think!’

Calling help for help could be detrimental, who knows what your captor (or captors) might do once you’re awake. It’ll be wiser to utilize this time where you’re alone, hopefully gaining your freedom in the process. Who knows what demands could be made of you if you’re no longer alone.

Glancing down at your body, you check to make sure everything is in order. You’ve read news stories in the past of people who traffic organs -- could that be what this is? With your free hand, you pull up your shirt, letting out a sigh of relief at the lack of tampering. No stitches, no pain. At least that’s off the table.

All the pain you feel comes from your wrist, and your head. Maybe you were knocked out somehow, most likely drugs; the pain not severe enough to have been bludgeoning.

The handcuffs are the biggest issue here. It’s skin tight, leaving no room or hope of wiggling free. If you can find something to dislocate your wrist with, maybe it’ll allow you to pull free? Looking around further for anything that might be of assistance, you frown at the barren room.

Everything that could be of use to you is out of reach. Bed creaking underneath your weight as you shift forward, you curse silently. Was that loud enough to alert whoever is holding you captive? Staying perfectly still, you will yourself to silence your uneven breathing, listening closely for approaching footsteps.

Nothing.

A shiver goes down your spine as you return to your previous task. It doesn’t make sense, but you don’t feel like you’re alone. Someone is watching you, somewhere. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to see the furthest corners of the room due to how dark it is.

Looking to your left reveals windows that are barred off. This person thought of everything. The door that you can see most likely leads to the bathroom, so even if you get free that won’t be an option. Maybe locking yourself inside?

Frustration and lethargy mix together, taking any semblance of logical thinking from you. This is too much, the fear of the unknown plaguing you with unshakable anxiety. Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel tears escaping down your face.

Sniffling softly as you can, you all but jump when a glass is placed down next to you. Head snapping in the direction of the noise, you’re able to make out a liquid that looks like water just within your reach.

“W-who’s there,” you shakily demand, searching around the room once more. Nothing. “I don’t have anything. Please.”

“You must be thirsty. Drink.”

It’s a terribly deep voice, that’s obscured by darkness. Bringing with it a sense of familiarity, you feel as if you know this man. That you’ve spoken with him in the past, but who could it be? And what does he want?

Grabbing the glass, you carefully inspect the liquid. Your mouth does feel dry and achy, you’re too leery of the contents to trust it. What if it’s drugged? Grimacing, you throw the glass in the direction the voice last came from. It shatters against the wall from the force, not hitting your intended target.

Somewhere else in the room, you hear a disappointed sigh. “Already acting up?”

Lips twitching downward, you sneer at this derisive comment. What the hell was he expecting? For you to lap it up gratefully like a dog? No, whatever is going on -- you resolve yourself to be a pain in the ass. There’s no way you’ll roll over for this fucked up monster, doing as he pleases.

“I-I don’t know who you are, but the police are searching for me. I always text my friends at night, they’ll report me missing if I don’t!”

A single chuckle resonates throughout the room, coming from another direction yet again. How can you not hear any footsteps? Or even see a slight shadow of this person? The moonlight streaming in from the window should serve to give you some information, but it does nothing for you. The voice is not coming from a microphone either, being too clear for that.

“Who are you?”

It’s all you can bring yourself to ask at this point, throat constricting and head growing dizzier by the second. Adrenaline is starting to wear off, all your energy being dedicated to staying awake out of fear. You’re not expecting a response, but he gives you one after a few minutes.

“You’ll know soon enough. Sleep, I won’t harm you.” he tells you, voice commanding. It’ll be pointless to argue, as much as you want to. You need your strength back, whatever you ingested earlier still remaining strong in your body.

“Though you may not believe me... this is for the best, [First].”

#risotto #risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #yandere risotto #yandere risotto nero #yandere risotto nero x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba imagine #yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizzare adventure #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions

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danger-xylophones · 3 years

Note

Hi could you please write a thrawn x always cold reader? I heard that chiss have higher body heat and would love a warm hug rn. No pressure at all though! Love your fics

Yessss, send me all the Thrawn asks, please! Also 1) Sorry this took so long 2) I wasn’t sure if you meant to imply that the reader is anemic or not so I chose not to go that direction. I did choose to adapt a bizarre struggle I learned sometimes happens when couples buy their first house together.

He forgets you grew up on Tattooine. He forgets you were a child of the sand-someone who had to learn how to survive before they learned how to walk.

You’d been a bounty hunter before the Empire plucked you from the employ of Jabba and ‘invited’ you into the Imperial Academy. Despite that, you’d managed to climb the ranks in record time before landing yourself a cozy little spot aboard the Chimeara around the same time Thrawn took command.

And since his first meeting with you, Thrawn took a note of how you never just wore your uniform. You always had another layer on. He never commented on it though, chocking it up to a quirk of the independent fire he knew burned within you-you weren’t loyal to the Empire, after all, but you were loyal to him and that was enough.

But it struck him as odd when the crew of the Chimeara was forced to travel to Hoth, of all places, to deal with a rebel cell and you refused to leave your post on the bridge. Normally, you loved leading the charge when dealing with rebels. And Thrawn let you, confident in your ability to lead the troops in a ground assault while he kept command of the fleet. Thrawn, not willing to order you around, let you stay on the bridge as he took over on the ground.

The mission went off without a hitch. The rebels had been dealt with and Thrawn was back on the star destroyer. But one thing wasn’t right. He expected you to be waiting in the bridge for him, like normal, but you weren’t there. He hummed quietly as he surveyed the various officers and crew members at the computer before turning to the one closest to his left. “Officer, where is Admiral L/n?”

The officer turned to Thrawn. “Admiral L/n retired for the evening, citing that they were not feeling well. They left the report on the naval conflict in your office, sir.”

Not feeling well? That was more than enough for concern. He hummed again and ordered for the crew to proceed to make the jump to hyperspace while he strode out of the the bridge in search of you. If his love was suffering, he was going to be there to help.

He went to his office first; expecting to find you curled up in his chair there as per your usual routine. But you were not. The only sign you’d even been there was the added datapad and a chair that had been slightly scooted out. Thrawn left his office soon after, datapad in hand, and headed for his quarters next. You weren’t there either but...your favorite blanket was missing from its spot neatly folded at the foot of your shared bed. That left one other spot for you to retire to. Your quarters...on the other side of the ship. This was unusual for you. You’d confessed that you hated being so far away from his office. For you to go there of your own volition was odd.

Thrawn got to your room quickly, aided by the rarity that no one needed to speak to him at the moment, and entered just as quickly-you never bothered to change your access code he noted. What he found upon stepping into your room was not what he was expecting to find.

Thrawn could barely see a tuft of your hair peeking out from underneath a mountain of blankets. He noted that the drawer still holding the uniforms you hadn’t moved to his quarters was open with your lighter uniforms haphazardly hanging out. It seemed as though you had been after your heavier and warmer uniforms and had neglected to tidy up again before hiding beneath the beneath. You were evidently freezing then-had you fallen prey to a fever?

“Y/n?” Thrawn called out and he saw movement on the bed. There was a mumbled reply back. The Grand Admiral stepped into the room completely, letting the door slide shut behind him, and calmly began refolding and putting away the strewn about uniforms. He had been correct though-your warmer uniforms were not in the bottom of the drawer of your dresser. “Care to tell me why you are hiding away in your old room beneath,” he paused long enough to cast his eyes over to the bed, “five or so blankets?”

“No.” He barely heard the flat response but it was enough to make him pause. “It’s dumb anyways.” You continued and now Thrawn stopped entirely and began to approach the bed. You were never like this no matter how miserable you were, you always maintained a sense of decorum even when around him. “I’ll be fine in a bit.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in your tone.

Thrawn tilted his head at where you lay though you could not see him. His brow furrowed as he attempted to piece together what was going on. “Have I...done something to upset you, my dear?” It would not be unheard of. Thrawn was new to the idea of relationships just as you were-bumps were bound to come up, was this one of them?

The chiss approached and sat on the edge of the bed, near enough to where you lay. He was at least relieved to see the blankets shift enough for you to poke your face out and speak to him. “No, my love, it’s nothing you’ve done.” Your voice was soft now, the bitterness from earlier pushed away to be dealt with later. The grand admiral hummed and scanned over your exposed face. You look tired, he noted, and small. Your movements were slow and stiff-every articulation looked painful. And you weren’t nearly as chatty nor affectionate as you would have been if you were in good health.

“Then what is wrong? One of the officers informed me that you had retired because you felt ill. Is that truly the case?” He pressed, leaning towards you on one hand.

You rolled your eyes at the news. “Dirty snitch.” With a huff you began to hide away once more but Thrawn pulled the blankets farther down to stop you.

“You say that as if I would not go looking for you when I did not find you in our quarters.” He pressed and he saw you shy away, embarrassment taking over. He saw your lips move and knew that noise had left you but for the life of him he could not figure out what you said. “Pardon?”

“Our quarters are too cold.” It was still hard to understand, your voice mumbly and the consonants unpronounced but he heard you all the same.

His brow furrowed and his lips pursed before he was aware of it. “What do you mean? I specifically requested our quarters be kept at 22 degrees. Was I misinformed? Is that not the correct temperature you humans find the most agreeable?”

You went so far as to reach a hand up to placate him, a grimace on your face the whole while your bare skin was exposed to the air. “No, Thrawn, it is. But...it’s too cold.” He said nothing and waited for you to elaborate. “Normally it’s manageable but today...I went in there and tried to get warm but I-I couldn’t. So...” So you came here, Thrawn finished in his head before something else jumped out at him.

“Manageable? So, you mean to say that you have always been too cold in our quarters? Why did you not tell me?” The Grand Admiral couldn’t help but huff.

“I didn’t tell you because I know Chiss’ body temperatures run higher than humans’-I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. You’d already raised the room by ten degrees.” You mumbled to him and Thrawn felt any anger he had diminish.

“Ch’eo ch’acah...” Thrawn sighed. “You need not worry about me. Chiss are adaptive. I will be fine no matter what.” He could see you wilt, attempting to hide once more. He didn’t let you. “Will you come back with me?”

You shook your head which startled Thrawn before lifting the covers off of you. “Can we stay here for now? I’m finally getting warm.” The chiss let out a small huff in amusement before standing up. You watched as he carefully undid the top of his uniform. “What are you doing?”

Without pausing he answered, “I understand that skin to skin contact is very helpful when trying to warm someone up.” In one fluid motion he pulled off his top and placed it on your nightstand which left his chest bare to you. He was keenly aware of the way you were gaping at him and it made a small, smug smile stretch over his face. Thrawn signalled for you to scoot over as he kicked off his boots and picked up the datapad he had brought before he slid into the bed. Thrawn snaked his arm around you and pulled you flush against him and for your own sake, he pretend not to notice the sigh of relief that slipped from you. You curled closer and pressed your face into his neck, immediately starting to warm up. “For future reference, what temperature is agreeable for you?” He asked after a moment of just letting you cuddle close.

There was a beat of silence as you thought about it. “29. I think.” Thrawn’s brow furrowed for a second before it dawned on him-you’d spent your whole life on Tattooine, a planet known for its two suns and extraordinary heat. No wonder.

“Noted.” He stated simply and he felt a slight chuckle slip from you. Little else was said as Thrawn pulled you closer once more. He could feel you beginning to drift off, your breaths evening out, and your hand that rested on his chest beginning to relax. “Get some rest, ch’eo ch’acah. I will be here when you wake.” You hummed in response but that is all he got out of you before you officially fell asleep, safe and warm against him. It brought a smile to his face. With a sigh of his own, he made sure he had a secure grip on your sleeping form before turning his attention to the report awaiting him.

taglist: @apocalypticwafflekitten @cherryxcyarika @pinkiemme @justalittlecloud

#grand admiral thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn #star wars rebels #rebels #requests

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skouwty · 4 years

Text

A little bit gay (Damon Salvatore x Male!reader)

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x male!reader

Warnings: internalised homophobia and homophobia in general

Word count: 1073

Summary: One of Y/N’s classmates make a scene at the grill, Damon steps in to clean things up.

Notes: I might make this into a series if people are actually interested?

The gay friend. That’s what Y/N was always considered. Never the best friend or the oldest friend. Just the gay one, the only invited to sleepovers because of his ‘mad manicure skills’. That was Y/N’s life, and boy did it suck.

It was in seventh grade that everything changed. Y/N left Mystic Falls, moving to live with his father in New York - rather than with his mother. A few years passed, and he moved back home to Mystic Falls. It was fair to say he had… glowed up, and learned to hide his effeminate side. His father made sure of that. So, upon returning home, it was like a whole new Y/N. A straight, woman loving, version of himself - or so he would seem to someone not in the know.

He found himself at the Mystic Grill after the first week of school came to a close. Someone was holding a welcome back to school party, and he found himself mingling with some of his old classmates. They seemed to like the tough-guy version of himself a lot more than his… real self. That hurt, naturally, but you have to adapt to survive, right? Unlike most of his friends, he was in the last year of high school, and he had only returned to Mystic Falls for just that. His final year of school - for nostalgia’s sake. That meant he looked old enough to drink, and that meant he quickly found himself at the bar ordering himself something… strong. Sure he had made friends, but that week had been hell on earth - he’d been lying about himself the whole time. Pretending to like… sports and other things he found utterly drab. Pretending to be someone he wasn’t. It stung worse than vervain on a vampire.

Next to Y/N, sat a dark-haired man - he looked as though he had only just graduated by a year or so. He ordered a bourbon, neat. Then, he turned to Y/N with a smirk - one anyone who knew him could call his ‘iconic look’. “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking?” He asked with a raise of his eyebrows. In response, Y/N deadpanned at the attractive stranger and stook a long sip of his drink, not even flinching as the fiery liquid chased down his throat.

“You were saying?”

“Woah, he’s a feisty one.” Damon knitted his eyebrows once more, as though he hadn’t expected that from the man beside him. “Anyway, what brings you to drink away your sorrows? Isn’t it a little early in the party for that?” He asked, gesturing back to where Elena - a childhood friend of Y/N’s - and a handful of her friends were standing around a pool table. Of course, there were others from school there, but Y/N hardly recognised them for the most part.

Y/N tapped the side of his nose, “Exactly that, it’s a party, and let me let you into a little secret - none of them like me, at least the real me… But that is a story for another time, and for someone who isn’t you.” Y/N laughed softly, “No offence, but you’re a stranger, Mr.”

“It’s Damon, and now I’m intrigued.” He leaned over, facing Y/N completely in preparation to compel him. “What’s your story?”

Y/N looked surprised at first, but suddenly he felt like he had melted into his chair, mind sort of… stopping to listen to whatever Damon was talking about. “I… I… they don’t know the real me. I’m pretending to be someone I’m not so I’ll finally fit in.”

“Oh that’s… sad, and a lot less juicy than I expected. Shame.” Damon looked dissatisfied with what he had learned, taking a sip of his bourbon and savouring the burn. Y/N seemed somewhat confused for a brief second, but the haze quickly passed and he found himself looking back to the group. There was a new guy there getting friendly with Elena. Y/N recognised him as the new kid at school, but something was… off about him. “Who is that?” He mumbled under his breath, thinking out loud.

Damon somehow had heard Y/N and replaced his focus to the group. “That, getting cosy with Elena, is my dear little brother-”

“Your brother is cute.” Y/N froze, realising what he had said. How could he slip up so easily? “I mean- oh shit-”

Damon remarked, hardly phased by the comment, to Y/N’s delight. “Oh please, I’m obviously the attractive sibling.”

“Well, I won’t lie, you’re not too bad yourself.” Y/N whispered, far too quietly for any normal human to hear. Of course, Damon was no human, so the comment reached his ear easily. He smirked, not giving any other tell.

“Look at you, little queer Y/N’s all grown up.”

“Beat it, Johnson, no one cares.” Y/N hissed at the larger male approaching him from the party.

The supposed Johnson mocked: “Awh is the widdle gay boy getting upset? Is he gonna cry like he used to?” In response, the far smaller frame of Y/N stood and shoved the jerk by his shoulders, sending him a few steps back.

The brute laughed, before sending his hand slamming into Y/N face, busting his nose and standing a rain of blood dripping down towards his mouth. Surprisingly Y/N was only shortly taken aback, squaring up quickly again, clenched fists ahead of him ready to fight. However, before any other punches could get thrown, Damon was at his feet and stepping between the two ‘punks’.

He stared directly into the assailant’s eyes, compelling him: “Dick move, buddy. Step away from the fight and go back to flirting with girls who have no interest in you.” So Johnson did… he just blanked and walked back to the party, as if nothing had happened. Damon turned away, walking back to his seat and collecting his drink up to his lips. He sipped, then spoke up once more. “I really hate playing the hero, so don’t-”

“Why did you- no… what did you just do? How did you get that jerk to just walk away?”

Damon tapped the side of his nose just as Y/N had done minutes before, “That is a story for another time, and for someone who isn’t you.” He laughed softly, “No offence, but you’re a stranger, Mr.”

“The name’s Y/N.”

#tvd #the vampire diaries #fanfic #angst #damon salvatore #damon x reader #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x male reader #male reader #male!reader #damon salvatore x male!reader #gay #homophobia #vampire diaries

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evielovebot · 3 years

Text

ask no questions and you'll get no lies (chapter 1)

Summary: Right after the Core Four defeat Maleficent at the coronation, King Adam decides the four VKs his son brought are too much of a risk and, overruling Ben, sends them back to the Isle.

Too bad they're not going to just sit still and take it. Even worse for him that they now know there are more options than to work alone and accept the lot they were given in life, and this time, it's personal.

Meanwhile, the AKs are starting to doubt their own parents and aren't content to just follow orders they no longer agree with.

After a few moments, the present crowd slowly started to comprehend what just happened and began to cheer. Even those who had been more than a little against the Villain Kids coming to Auradon were looking at them appreciatively.

Mal was shocked at seeing Audrey, of all people, smiling at her, and thought she might've inhaled some of her mother's green smoke when she saw Aurora doing the same. Queen Leah, at least, wasn't smiling, but wasn't glaring in disgust either.

By her side, Jay wasn't looking so surprised at seeing Aziz waving at him from behind his parents, both looking confused but in good spirits. He noticed a group of boys excitedly whooping and felt warmer than expected when he realized it has his teammates gesturing at him and Carlos.

The shorter boy wasn't expecting anyone to react like that to them, but seeing them cheer for him felt good. He saw Jane smiling from where she was hanging on to her mother, and heard Dude before he jumped on his arms, and couldn't help but smile disbelievingly.

Snow White was smiling and cheering at someone, and it took a moment for Evie to realize it was aimed at her. The older princess opened her mouth, but whatever she wanted to say was lost when King Beast stepped forward and straightened himself.

"Guards! Take them away."

Everyone quieted down, all eyes turning towards the man. His wife and son included, who stared at him in confusion.

"Darling, please-"

"Dad, that's not fair!"

And then volume picked up again as people started to voice their own opinions. The VKs were once again shocked to hear most of them seemed to be in their defense.

"You can't be serious!"

"They did nothing! They saved us!"

"They helped us! Leave them alone!"

"You can't do that!"

They recognized Lonnie, Jane, Doug and even Audrey piping in their defense, and they weren't the only ones. But it didn't matter, because Adam Florian the Beast listened to no one but himself. Not even to his son, as everyone saw when Ben stepped closer to try and reason with him, but the first word hadn't even left his mouth when his father interrupted.

"Enough! "

His shout could be better defined as a roar, and the presents went quiet under the deafening volume and the sight of fangs once more protruding from his mouth. He clasped his hands together, and smiled through it.

"You forget, children, that I am still High King. The coronation was interrupted, and it's obvious you aren't ready for such responsibility." The last part was aimed at Ben, said as the Beast picked up the crown and placed it once again on his own head. "I can do as I choose, and it will be fair if I say it is. Trust me, I know what's best for Auradon, and for all of us."

The four friends, tired from weeks filled with nerves and stress, adapting to such a change and feeling pulled in two directions, a confrontation with an actual dragon and the emotional aspect of their choice, took more to process what was happening than normally would. It was only when the guards closed in on them, and one slapped heavy iron shackles on Mal's wrists as her eyes glowed and she started to recite a spell, draining her power immediately, that they realized what would happen. That this was never meant to last, not for them. It was obvious by the way they were approached and restrained that the Beast had been ready to send them back since they arrived. Carlos was saying something, but even he wasn't sure what, and the others couldn't hear him as they were pulled away and the yelling of the crowd drowned it. The last thing they saw before new guards approached them and plunged syringes into their necks were the bright yellow and blue colors of the Auradon flags, standing proud and mocking everywhere their eyes could see as they blacked out.

☆

"If we got the same punishment for being good that our parents did for being bad, does it even matter what we do? Because it looks like we'll be judged and found guilty either way."

Evie looked up at Carlos, and tried not to wince when their eyes met. They'd been back over a week, and anyone who saw them could tell their mothers hadn't been happy about the attempted betrayal that went down at the coronation. There was a purpling bruise over his jaw, his left eye could barely close, and the shadows shaped like fingers around his neck matched the ones around hers and her arms in a grotesque way. She’d been staying in their hideout since the fourth night, when the Evil Queen moved her to her old room and she was finally able to climb out the window and run to the place closest to “safe” on the Isle. Evie had waited every waking hour for someone else to walk in, painfully aware she could not go looking for them in her state; she woke up in the middle of the night to the familiar sound of rocks hitting a metal sign and started crying as an even more familiar head of white hair appeared from the stairs. Carlos was as bruised and bloodied as she had been, but they held each other tight ignoring the sting of their wounds even when they ended up kneeling on the floor and resting against the other. Two hours later, they had helped each other clean up and they were finally talking about the elephant in the room.

"So what do you propose we do? Show them how bad we can actually be?"

"No, not really. Just do what we need to, and forget what they might think. Everyone has obviously already made up their minds about us. Now it's time for us to do what's best for us."

"Where do we start?"

It was impossible to ignore what he was saying, especially with the notable absence of the other two echoing through the hideout. Evie remembered the way Jay looked at them before his father dragged him off, the effects of the drug still weakening them enough that their parents had no difficulty imposing once again their will over theirs. There was nowhere else to go for them, their safe place too far away for them to reach like this. It had been far too easy for Jafar to get to Jay while Cruella and the Evil Queen closed in on their own children. They caught glimpses of the painful hold his father had him in as he literally dragged him by a dislocated arm to make sure he couldn’t tear away even if he regained his strength.

And Mal... Evie closed her eyes to try and forget the terrified look on Mal's face as she faced her mother, in human form again, and realized she didn't have her magic to protect her (to protect any of them). They hadn't seen any of them since. The blue haired witch opened her eyes, and exhaled slowly through her nose. Over a week alone with their parents would be cause of worry under normal circumstances; with the current situation, it was incalculably worse. Carlos and Evie had been able to get away relatively faster and more easily because their mothers had very few henchmen anymore, but Jafar had plenty men that would still listen to him, and Maleficent had the most men working for her other than- Muffling a curse with her hand, Evie looked at Carlos; by his grimace, she knew he had reached the same or a similar conclusion as her.

“We don’t have any other option, do we?”

“Not really, no one else has enough people for it to work.”

“And how are we supposed to convince them?”

A quick glance around the hideout was enough to spark an idea. Evie started to smile, ignoring how it hurt to do so.

“Say, C, do you remember that device you made a couple years back? The one that was meant to 'change things' completely?”

“Which devi- oh yeah, but it barely did anything.”

“Would you say you learned enough in Auradon to try again? If you had the necessary materials.”

She stayed quiet as he mumbled calculations and lists, and saw the answer in the set of his jaw and the rise of his eyebrows before he even lifted his head again. Carlos grinned, and his eyes darkened, and Evie had hope for the first time since they crossed the barrier for the second time.

“We have plenty of work to do, then.”

#c4 #evie grimhilde #carlos de vil #mal bertha #jay descendants #descendants #fic #my words tag #i got a HUGE serotonin boost yesterday and i finally got the energy needed to finish up the last details and move on to the next chapter #so. finally posting this

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write-a-bad-romance · 3 years

Text

Two Hares Running Side by Side [Part I]

Characters: Jean d’Arc, Napoleon Bonaparte, Sebastian, Comte de Saint-Germain, minor characters adapted from historical figures

Pairings: Napoleon x MC, Napoleon x Jean, Sebastian x Saint-Germain (main)

Words: 2939

Their first encounter was twelve years ago, in a training and recruitment camp in the east.

It was a slow and uneventful afternoon. Leon yawned as he watched sons and young fathers line up at the administration table, each of them carrying a conscription letter with their respective names.

The prolonged war had taken too many of their older, more capable men. Leon snorted at the sight of snot-faced, butterfingered lads not even old enough to venture far from their parents' farm.

Nothing had been amiss until he heard his sergeant, Sebastian, arguing with some country boy.

The boy was about his height, clearly younger by a good four years and too ethereally pretty to join the army. His expression was nonchalant, and Leon noted the same lack of enthusiasm in his baritone voice.

"The letter clearly called for Jacques d'Arc, a veteran. You are clearly not him. What's your name, boy?" Sebastian inquired. The word "boy" did not suit his actual, affable demeanor in the slightest.

"Jean d'Arc, Sir. I've come in my elderly father's place as my brothers are unsuitable to partake on the journey to camp," The boy explained levelly. "I just turned seventeen this summer, Sir."

Leo stared at the pale boy. Broad shoulders, a sharp contrast to his ridiculously modest waist, and long legs leaner than an average man's.

If this was what a farm boy was supposed to look like, Leon wasn't impressed. They were drafting soldiers to fight off the goddamned Holy Roman Empire, not chevalier servants for a house of pleasures.

Napoleon's patience grew thin. He disappeared between the encampment's gates, not bothering to see the end of Sebastian's quarrel with the dispassionate recruit.

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The haughty farmboy turned out to be one of his cadets in the artillery.

He wasn't half-bad, Leon supposed. The boy was clearly a quick study and obedient, to boot. Somewhat distant from his fellow trainees, but still handy nonetheless.

D'Arc clearly preferred the company of horses, as Leon came to learn when he found the latter loitering around the stables. The unwitting boy was gingerly brushing Leon's beloved mare, Angé.

Napoleon cleared his throat. "You do know it's my horse you're brushing, don't you, soldier?"

Jean d'Arc started at the sound of Leon's voice. Even so, he didn't stutter. "Forgive me. I hadn't been aware."

But Napoleon signaled him to stay at ease, seeing how easily Angé leaned into his touch. No doubt a skill he brought from home.

"I couldn't resist approaching such a magnificent horse," d'Arc spoke to Leon's surprise. "Such a gentle steed."

“Tame” wasn't the right word Leon would use when describing Angé, especially not regarding how she'd usually react to new faces. "Did you bribe her with a carrot?"

Leon was joking, but Jean answered him like his entire month's salary depended on his answer. "No, sir. It was an apple I offered instead. Although this time, I had been meaning to give her a carrot." The dark-haired youth answered, holding out a spindly carrot for Leon to inspect.

Napoleon couldn't help but chuckle. "I hope you didn't steal that from the kitchen."

"No, sir. I procured this out of my own pocket." Jean replied earnestly as if the dark brown mare wasn't trying to chew on his uniform shoulder.

It was dangerous for Napoleon to allow himself to laugh. There was no stopping him once he laughed, Sebastian once said. In the end, Leon only smirked and turned to exit the stables. "If I had known you were this skillful at handling horses, I would have turned you over to Cavalry instead."

There was a solemn glint in d'Arc's eyes, one Napoleon couldn't find in himself to ridicule.

"I enjoy being in the artillery, sir." Sharp, once-glazed iolite eyes held Leon's gaze. "There is so much I have yet to learn."

And master, Leon wanted to add. Given time and the opportunity, it's intelligent men like d'Arc who were quick to advance in the military.

"Is that so? Good to hear." Leon replied, just as sincere. "We're glad to have you."

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True to Leon's word, d'Arc scaled the ranks in no time. He was promoted to Sergeant Major, just as Leon himself rose to Second Lieutenant.

It had been a snowy night when Leon and the now-Adjutant Sebastian were making their way to their temporary base, located not too far from the town’s business district. The streets were relatively quiet, save for the distant jeers and shouts of soldiers making merry in brightly lit taverns.

The lanterns reminded Leon of Paris, of home. Of the face of his mother and siblings.

And of his fiancé with strawberry blonde locks, who is no doubt currently enjoying the holidays with her family, waiting for him to arrive home.

"Everybody seems quite spirited, aren't they?" Sebastian smiled fondly. "I mean, literally.

Napoleon didn't answer. He was too absorbed watching black figures dance on the light pouring from the door of a tavern. They reminded him of a shadow play he watched once in Paris with his fiancé

Which meant he was caught off guard when a body was flung to his side from the open door. He struggled to maintain his footing as he propped the other man.

Only to be met by a familiar face, now flushed red from drinking.

"D'Arc!" Leon exclaimed, "You frightened me! Are you alright, man?"

Judging from the sweat clinging to his skin (despite it being midwinter) and his vehement groans, it became evident that d'Arc was far from alright.

They were soon joined by d'Arc's friends: fellow officers whom Leon quickly recognized as the three young nobles who constantly hung around the farm boy for some reason.

"Jean! Where are you— ack, Second Lieutenant Bonaparte! Forgive us! We didn't mean to—" One of the lads shrieked. What was his name? d'Alencon? "See, see? This is why we shouldn't have forced him to drink!"

Leon glared at his subordinates. "You made your friend overdrink?! Why?"

Sebastian glanced back-and-forth anxiously as a burly man with raven hair stepped forward. "We didn't mean to, sir. D'Arc's birthday is approaching, and we thought about celebrating since we may not be able to get off camp by then." He explained.

"D'arc birthday? Oof!" Leon grunted as he felt Jean slipping from his side and onto the cobblestones. "That is still no reason to make your friend this intoxicated. If this were the barracks, I'd have all of you thrown out and never mind your parents!" he barked.

D'Alencon piped up. "It was a small pint, sir. Jean went down immediately after that one shot."

Leon's bewilderment was cut short as he felt d'Arc's breath caressing the side of his exposed neck. The Second Lieutenant nearly yelped and threw d’Arc off if it wasn’t for the vice-like grip on his waist.

"If you'd allow us, sir." Another dark-haired youth approached to pry d'Arc off Leon. "We'll take him back inside."

But d'Arc's iron hold on Leon proved too much for both men (three, as Sebastian rushed to their aid). Napoleon let out a defeated laugh as d'Arc only clung tighter to his victim.

Sebastian eyed Napoleon with a look that said well, he's your problem now.

The unconscious d' Arc somehow managed to climb even higher and grunted audibly against Leon's ear. The sound sent shivers down Leon's spine.

"So, what do we do now?" d'Alencon asked.

"Get him to the base," Leon breathed laboriously. "Let Saint-Germain treat him."

It was overkill for a drunk soldier, but d'Arc was no ordinary drunk. Leon feared the inebriated youth might get himself into trouble if they let him loiter outside the base

And, God forbid, do something that will besmirch their corps' name.

Leon looped one of d'Arc's arms behind his neck as he held the sergeant-major's ridiculously thin waist close. "Leave this to us. We're taking him back to the Doctor. Don't try anything else and report to me in the morning." He informed the officers, all of whom reacted differently: d'Alencon with wide panicked eyes, the tall, dark man who stayed silent (he was clearly drunk), and the quiet one, who regarded the commotion with well, silence.

"We'll take it from here then," Sebastian hurriedly added. "If you'll excuse us, gentlemen."

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It didn't take long before the trio finally reached the base. By now, Leon had resorted to piggybacking d'Arc as the latter suddenly seemed to have lost every bone in his (surprisingly light body).

"Friends, they say." Leon heaved. "And they don't even accompany us back to base."

"There's not much to do at the base if they choose to return," Sebastian answered. "And they're still afraid of you."

"Me? Do I still come off as threatening?" Leon laughed. It felt like ages since he last barked orders on the field to the then-recruits. Now, they were officers with a third of his burden and responsibilities.

Someday, they'd be in his shoes too, growing older as the never ending war raged on. Ah, how time flew.

"Not as my long-time friend, no." Sebastian giggled. "You don't often show your friendlier side these days. Imagine your subordinate's shock if they found out you're a charismatic, passionate man who laughs, eats, and speaks as if every moment was a gift."

Napoleon smiled at the dove-haired man.

"So, like a normal man?" He chuckled. "You flatter me too much, Sebastian."

It was the increasing body count. It was the uncertainty one faced before heading off to battle, and not knowing whether it would be their remains that would be scattered across the fields the next minute.

"At least you're with me from the start, Sebastian. That's all I could ask,"

was all Napoleon could manage. It elicited a hearty laugh from his best friend.

"Save those words for your fiancé, Monsieur Bonaparte," Sebastian grinned. "You're making me fall for you all over again."

The Corsican grimaced, and both men continued their walk through the military complex, which was dead silent as a cemetery.

They managed to reach d'Arc's quarters, which he shared with d'Alencon after clambering through several corridors and a flight of stairs.

"You, get Saint-Germain or anybody else who's still around." Leon panted after he successfully hoisted d'Arc's body onto the bed. "Remember, time of the essence. No fooling around with the good doctor."

"Didn't expect you to say that," Sebastian grinned. "But you can count on me."

"Didn't expect you to say that," Sebastian grinned. "But you can count on me. I’ll be right back." And with that, he disappeared.

If he were shameless, Leon would have joined d'Arc on the bed beside him. But not even exhaustion could conquer the Corsican, and so Leon sat straight-legged by the foot of the bed.

D'Arc's side of the room was as bare as bones, Leon noticed. There was the Holy Book on the bedside drawer and a gold rosary, but not much else.

"I wonder what your family would think if they caught their good, Christian son drinking until he's plastered." Leon chuckled to himself. "You'd be in so much trouble."

Leon's idle hand groped around until he felt a piece of paper under his palm. Picking it up, he recognized it as a manual on newly produced cannon types, which he penned.

Around the illustrations and diagrams were d'Arc's chicken-foot scribbles, cramped next to each other until there was barely any space left on the paper.

Like his former fellow cadets, he too had grown.

Leon sighed and leaned against the bed, gazing at the ceiling. This year marked d'Arc's third New Year with the company. He was no longer the solitary boy hanging around the stables feeding Angé carrots. D'Arc was now a man with dozens of cannons under his command and his own soldiers to lead.

The war has yet to strip his innocence, Leon mused. There was a time when he wished farm boys like d'Arc remained boys, away from the dangers of shrapnels and enemy bayonets.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt gloved hands coming to grope at the back of his head, the sides of his face. Was d'Arc awake?

"D'Arc." Leon turned. "You—"

He was cut off when he was suddenly knocked down towards the floor with full force. Leon's head was full of how and why he felt d'Arc's body slide down from the bed and cover his.

"D'Arc!" Leon shouted frantically. "Get off me! You're heavy, for heaven's sake!" But resistance was futile as d'Arc began to boldly crawl all over his prone form, the former's chest firmly pressing down on his back.

"K-keep still," The man on top of him slurred, his nose burrowing into Leon's hair. "Y-you're moving too much."

This idiot! Leon screamed internally. His energy had been wasted to the point where he couldn't just roll over and dislodge the other man. "You keep it together! You dared to tackle your Second Lieutenant, and now you're crushing him to death!"

Leon continued struggling against his predicament until he realized he had no more hope than a cockroach flipped on its back. In the end, he gave up and stopped thinking until slender fingers began to wander all over his neck and face.

Just like a banshee with her clawed hands. Leon sighed to himself.

Just when he thought nothing could surprise him anymore, d'Arc somehow had to whisper right next to his face, hot air grazing against the shell of Leon's ear.

"Pierre, 's that you?"

Leon's prior mortification faded. There was the smallest hint of a sob in d'Arc's otherwise unwavering voice.

"Pierre, 'm so sorry." D'Arc sniffled. "I went ahead without telling you."

Leon stilled. Who was Pierre? His brother? He remembered d'Arc mentioning male siblings who were unfit to enlist, so he went in their stead. Was this Pierre one of them?

"Dun want you to go," D'Arc continued. "Please...be happy with Émile."

Leon was an imaginative man, and he was convinced d'Arc had taken his brother's place as he had been newly married. It was easy to position himself in the situation. If he were d'Arc, he'd go in place of his brother too.

But his career in the military as a second was a given. What he didn't understand was why d'Arc would trade a peaceful life in the pastures for bloodshed.

It's not every day that a boy woke up and decided he was brave enough to kill a man. Or risk getting himself killed.

But none of it mattered as more words flowed out of the Sergeant Major's mouth.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt gloved hands coming to grope at the back of his head, the sides of his face. Was d'Arc awake?

"D'Arc." Leon turned. "You—"

He was cut off when he was suddenly knocked down towards the floor with full force. Leon's head was full of how and why he felt d'Arc's body slide down from the bed and cover his.

"K-keep still," The man on top of him slurred, his nose burrowing into Leon's hair. "Y-you're moving too much."

Leon continued struggling against his predicament until he realized he had no more hope than a cockroach flipped on its back. In the end, he gave up and stopped to think until slender fingers began to wander all over his neck and face.

Just like a banshee with her clawed hands. Leon sighed.

Just when he thought nothing could surprise him anymore, d'Arc somehow had to whisper right next to his face, hot air grazing against the shell of Leon's ear.

"Pierre, 's that you?"

Leon's prior mortification faded. There was the smallest hint of a sob in d'Arc's otherwise unwavering voice.

"Pierre, 'm so sorry." D'Arc sniffled. "I went ahead without telling you."

Leon stilled. Who was Pierre? His brother? He remembered d'Arc mentioning male siblings who were unfit to enlist, so he went in their stead. Was this Pierre one of them?

"Dun want you to go," D'Arc continued. "Please...be happy with Émile."

But his career in the military as a second was a given. What he didn't understand was why d'Arc would trade a peaceful life in the pastures for bloodshed.

It's not every day that a boy woke up and decided he was brave enough to kill a man. Or risk getting himself killed.

In place of sobs spilling from his mouth, d'Arc's nose dug even deeper against the nape of Leon's neck. What worrying behavior, Leon thought. Other people will be sure to take this the wrong way.

"D'Arc? No, Jean?" Leon called softly, wondering if calling the soldier by his given name would work better. "Jean, I need you to—"

"Jehanne," d'Arc murmured.

"What?"

"It's Jehanne. Not Jean, not...d'Arc. Jehanne." D’Arc repeated as if his own name were a litany. The added syllable lent more personality to his unremarkable official name, given to a million men across the country.

And shaped a clearer image of Jean d'Arc as a whole, a person.

It wasn't much but enough to distinguish him from the lonely d'Arc who was no longer alone. And from the resigned beauty who seemed more at home on the distant moon than the lines of cannons and armed men.

God, Leon was starting to sound delirious. Even more than the actual drunk on his back.

"Excuse me, I believe someone requested medical help — oh dear, I didn't mean to interrupt!" a voice alerted Leon from his reflection. He noticed Saint-Germain by the door, followed by a disheveled Sebastian.

"Good evening, Doctor. You sure took your time coming here," Leon smirked. "Would you kindly free me from Sergeant Major d'Arc? Careful, he bites."

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Recommended BGM: (X)

Notes: yeaaa, so I changed the nature of Napo and Sebas’ relationship here because they’re supposed to be more or less equals (Sebas still thinks of him as his superior, but still).

Also, I kinda had to tone down Napoleon’s prince charming tendencies and up the arrogance somewhat. He’s supposed to be a military officer here and not just somebody’s boyfriend.

#ikevam fanfic #ikemen vampire #ikevam jean d'arc #ikevam napoleon bonaparte #jeanpoleon

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sunseteyes · 4 years

Text

THE RED ROSES IN WONDERLAND; T. KAMADO

theme/s: alice in wonderland & brave inspired. a beginning; where the child of the red king meets the one that is fated to bring peace in the land.

word count: 1,957 words

roze’s note: i suddenly wanted to write this as a multi-chapter but let’s see~ if my schedule permits it, why not? also, what do you think? should i really??

a sigh leaves your lips as your eyes glances over the same flowers every single day. yes, the flowers were indeed beautiful, but whenever you see the color red, you just can't help but feel that coiling of your stomach and the tightening in your throat.

everyone thinks you don't know of the blood that spills on your father's hands, but you do, and you're only pretending you don't.

just as you were about to turn back to the house, a figure catches your attention and you immediately recognized who it was.

"nosuke! you're back!" your mood brightened immediately at the only one whom you could call a friend in the whole land. despite being surrounded by lots of individuals and loyal subjects, your guard is still always up and you never full trusted all of them—except inosuke.

it was explainable though. he's the only one who is not entirely by your father's side but he can still manage to stay alive. as the record keeper of wonderland, inosuke the white rabbit is more like the neutral individual. he doesn't have a side to pick on and that's why you don't have a problem opening up to him at all.

"how was your travel to the other side? did you bring a souvenir for me?" you excitedly approached the boy and his ears twitched at the sound of your voice, his head turning around to face you with his beautiful face that you sometimes envy upon. he's probably the prettiest you'd ever seen in the whole land!—as if you'd seen everyone yet. you never got to get out much aside from the forest because your father insists that you must stay safe and not act hostile because you are a royal, the future ruler of the reds, after him.

you didn't want to adapt your father's way of ruling but you can't also say no to him. it's not that you were afraid but mostly because you love him too much to hurt him. he raised you with the outmost care and compassion he could give. the only thing you could give back to him is by abiding in his rules and obeying him by following his footsteps.

but you can't kill anyone either.

"huh? souvenir? i was there for work, you know! you can't just order me to do something when i've got other things to do." you smiled at inosuke's response. harsh as it may seem to others, you know it was his way of conversing to someone he doesn't particularly call his "minion". he can be a bit superior against others but it's what you admire most in your friend.

"wait, inosuke. i heard you brought someone from the other side. is that true?"

your question seemed to have made him tense for a second but it vanished as soon as it came. you realized then that it must have been the same question your father might have asked him that's why the rabbit was summoned there.

"you mean gonpachiro? he's not going to stay here for long. the portal will open a week after, there's no need to worry about the legend."

ah, so that's what it is, you thought.

there's a legend in wonderland that there will come a time that someone from "the other side" will come and give a path to peace between the white and the red, making the land as one as it can be. looking at it now, many have lost hope that the legend was not even often said anymore. yet, it is also a fear for others, especially the royals since peace will result to a singular leadeship.

it's either one will back down and give way so the other will rule all over wonderland, or one will have to fall in misery as the other rises in victory,

either way, you're sure your father will never like the idea of that unless he will be the ruler.

"i'm not worried about the legend." you say, looking up a inosuke's eyes. "i'm more worried about this gonpachiro you're talking about. you know how my father works."

inosuke's lips seals tight at your words. you have kept from everyone aside from inosuke about your knowledge of your father's dirty works but until now, inosuke seems bothered about it.

now you don't really socialize with the others in your household much and you usually keep your distant most of the time. one of the main reasons why was because of your father—he often tells you never to trust anyone, including the ones that are loyal to them. you agreed in his logic for the reason that his loyal subjects are the ones that obeys his orders and has the capability of killing anyone. you never liked that idea, even if you don't show or tell it to others, especially your father. he'd be very disappointed if that so happens.

this results to a lot of free time for yourself. with an idea you got from the back of your head, you begun to imitate how your father's loyal subjects often train around the palace.

by training, it meant drawing a weapon and using it constantly for you to get used to it. at first, you thought of it as something you do in your past time. however as moments passes by and more killings were done in the red kingdom, you decided it was for your own safety. you never know when time will come when someone tries to avenge their lost loved one because of your father. as the only heir to the throne and the ones that carries the king's own blood, you will surely be the best prey for a predator.

drawing back your arm, narrowing your eyes and casting a breath, you let go of the tail of the arrow, watching it hit the target whilst quickly reaching for another one and repeat the process.

eleven years. it took eleven years for you to master the art of archery.

at first, you tried with knives, swords and even a fan—which was the weapon of one of your father's loyal subjects. yet, the bow and arrows were the only ones you had gotten a connection too. thus, it served you as your main weapon that you had learned throughout the years without any guidance from anyone.

your father didn't like the idea of you fighting for your own. even if you had kept your training a secret all these years. you had a feeling he knows about it and he was either already pleased about it or he's too disappointed that you were keeping it a secret that he wants you to confess it to him instead of confronting you.

your hair flutters under the influence of the wind as you balanced on your horse, already used to its movement and shifts as he glides through the trees of the forest.

you locked your eyes on a target however as you shot the arrow, a figure catches your attention and it was too late.

"look out!"

you were quite sure that the figure was so a hair-strand away from getting hit yet it dodges, the arrow marking a perfect score on the target on a tree trunk.

you halted your horse and ushers it towards the figure's way, your mind failing to recognize what it was.

"who are you?" you made eye contact with the boy, the crimson in his hair resonating his orbs that were certainly of a different hues than your father and the roses in your garden.

he looks... different. far too unique from the people in the palace.

"how did you gain access in here? from what i remember i told everyone that only i should be of use of the forest." your brows furrow at the sight of him, your guard up just in case he will try something.

although, his face displayed of a gentleness that you had not seen for the longest time—was there ever been a moment, even? that you don't know. from what you can recall, everyone only respected you because of your title.

not because of you yourself.

"don't be alarmed! i bring you no harm, your highness!" he raises both of his hands up as a sign of surrender, his voice tainted of assurance and calmness that no burglar or man with ill-intention would have.

you still refuse to trust him.

"how will i know of your claims?" your grip on your bow tightens, prepared of any kind of attack. "what's your name, stranger?"

he seems to be at ease with your questioning, making you curious even further.

"i am tanjiro kamado. i... the white rabbit and the mad hatter sent me here. he thought i could be of help to you, your highness."

"help? why would i need that?"

then inosuke and zenitsu? why would they send this boy without telling it to you beforehand?

"you need to know what the red king is doing. he needs to be stopped. inosuke told me only you are capable to do that."

"i already know of my father's schemes." your lips tighten in your words, being the second time to have told your secret, you were beginning to think it was a wrong move.

the boy named tanjiro looked surprised, betrayed even. could it be that inosuke lied to him? you guesses that might not be the case.

"you mean... you know that he's planning to start a war against the white kingdom...?" there was hope and uncertainty in his voice, a mixture that you had deemed obvious with how he toned it. however, it was least of your worries for his words had processed in your mind first.

a war? now that you don't know about.

"where have you gotten this idea?" you question him further. "i... i never heard of that."

he seems to have perked up at your last statement, his aura changing in a millisecond.

"muzan learned of my coming here. you know of the legend, right? i didn't know if it at first but i was warned that my arrival would cause great chaos in this world." it had been awhile since you've heard someone use your father's name.

that fact alone changed your perspective on the boy.

climbing down your horse, your garments sticking to your skin as the slight formation of the sweat from your training. without letting go of your bow, you stood in front of tanjiro, feeling like the world had stopped at how you were feeling the beginning of change in you and your household.

looking straight into his eyes, you spoke.

"yes, that is a fact." you scanned his face and found a genuineness that you were not used of seeing as a result of being in a place with people that wore a firm and strict expression constantly. you were getting tired of it.

wait, no. you are tired of it.

"but your coming here is a sign of hope." your muscles eases up at how you let it out all in one go, "you will be the source of peace in wonderland, tanjiro kamado."

all your teenage years you spent on being silent. now that you were getting close to your coronation, it is time to show everyone what is needed to be done,

and with this boy in front of you, you felt as if the coil in your stomach contort back and relax, a ray of light showing you the path that you should take in order for you to succeed in stopping your own father from destroying the land you call home and the king that has the same blood that runs in your veins.

#nnr disney event #nnr kny #reader is so badass here #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu tanjiro #tanjiro kamado #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro oneshots #tanjiro fluff #tanjiro scenarios #kny oneshots #kny x reader #kny kamaboko #kny kamaboko squad #kny kamado #kny inosuke #kny zenitsu

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talldarkandroguesome · 3 years

Text

22nd of Hearthfire, Middas

I have never considered the Redoran to be a particular deceptive House. My respect for playing the game when few other Houses considered them capable.

Yet what they have done, even just that small contingent, is beyond mere reproach.

After I joined up with Naryu and Veya and learned more, it came out that Verya was actually Naryu’s apprentice.

I can see why. There is some personality resemblance between Veya and Naryu back in her younger days. I am sure that seeing a younger version of herself she was happy to take on the role of mentor.

All I can say is, I am glad that it is not me. Can you imagine? Me? With an apprentice?

Boethiah’s breasts and bullocks, what a disaster that would be!

All of that aside, it turns out that the group of Velothi I was warned off was not at all Velothi. They were not even Dunmer! More of those Khajiit mercenaries.

Veya explained that her brother was very close to the Velothi that had made their home in the same encampment. Suddenly things were beginning to make sense.

So Veya’s brother was exiled for killing one of his mer, who was likely threatening the Velothi people. Honestly, he does sound as much of an upstanding mer as everyone says he is. At least someone in prominence is looking out for the Velothi.

Well... was. I supposed he was somewhere else now.

So we decided to try and investigate, for as Veya explained, this was the Zainab camp and their yurts were still in place, even if the only people we saw were the Warclaw mercenaries.

I asked if Naryu and Veya had a plan and was told that as members of the Morag Tong, they were not allowed to get involved. No writ, no ability to start taking lives otherwise. Veya seemed particularly frustrated by this, so I reassured them that I would be their proxy and I would learn what I could and if lives needed to be taken, I would do so in their stead, still in our Prince’s name.

So they stayed out of sight and I went ahead and snuck into the camp.

It was far easier than expected, I rarely had to use my shadows at all and easily was able to slip between the tents and I was able to easily pluck Redoran orders to the Warclaws and even find one of the wise woman that had been held hostage.

She was able to verify that they were, in fact, Zainab. She also confirmed that Ulran had come to be with them once he was exiled for saving the life of several of the tribesmer.

When I asked what had happened to the rest of the tribe, she said that most of them had been rounded up and thrown into the mine for resisting captivity. One of the mercenaries had the key, but she told me where they kept their backup key in the board of a small table and I promised her by True Tribunal that I would do whatever I could to free her people and to kill those responsible.

She thanked me and asked me to make sure that the leader in particular was made to pay.

With her blessing, I decided there was no more need to hold back and once I had the key securely in my possession, I slay every soul that lay between myself and the mine, taking special care to see that their leader was brought to justice.

I normally would have attempted to make it a more painful death, to share the suffering that he caused ninefold. Yet I was eager to free the Velothi prisoners and reunite Veya and Ulran. I figured if we were to get to the bottom of the Redoran conspiracy, he would be the key.

As I approached the mine, I overheard two of the mercenaries talking while I crept behind them, blades drawn. They had been given leave to dispose of everyone in the mine by the captain, who I can only assume meant the Redoran captain. I did not even spend the time to kill those two, merely hit them with poisoned needles and rushed on, now with the threat of death far greater, I needed to rescue everyone before the Warclaws succeeded.

As I opened the door to the mine, I could already smell smoke. I wrapped a cloth round my face as I ran, hurrying towards the smell. If I could save anyone at all, I was going to do so. I swore by Azura’s guiding stars that I would lay down as many of my lives as it took, if I could save even one soul.

Yet as I reached the back room of the mine, my heart sank. A cold, sick feeling settled in my throat as I gazed upon my failure.

So many lives. So many innocent lives.

And among the bodies, I could clearly make out the body of Ulran. We were too late.

The room was silent and still. the only sound was my own pulse thrumming in my ears.

Then I heard Veya asking Naryu about the smell, I turned, trying to stop them, even as I heard Naryu, in recognition of the same smell, trying to stop Veya from entering.

It was too late for that too. And she all too easily recognized her brother’s corpse.

Her heart-wrenching cries as she screamed for her brother to wake up were almost more than I could bear. I knew that feeling, too. And I could not help but be brought back to that Daedric ruin, the scent of fresh blood, Avon’s begging for us both to stop, Ervis’ body sliding off of my sword to the ground, eyes still glaring at me, wishing for my death.

I can imagine what it feels like to lose a brother you care so deeply for. To wish you could do something, anything to take it all back.

Naryu pulled me aside and we agreed that it was awful that Veya had to see all of this. And we wondered what it was that we could to help Veya get the answers that she certainly would need more now than ever.

Then I spotted a small object on the ground. It was some sort of small rock, but out of place with the stone of the mine. I picked it up and Naryu came to see what it was. She recognized it instantly as a Nord speaking stone, a sort of memory recording device. I had seen others, though of Dunmeri make, and as soon as she said as much, I realized how foolish I was not to have seen it at once.

Naryu activated it and an image of Ulran began to speak.

Even in his last moments, the one thing he wanted was to give his sister answers. It was exactly as an older brother should do. He explained that one of his soldiers had been harassing a group of Velothi, who rumor had it were being belligerent in town. When Ulran had told the man to stand down, the soldier had slayed one of the Velothi. When Ulran tried to reprimand him, he approached another of the Velothi, sword raised. In order to stop the slaying, he turned to the only option available to him, and killed his own man.

The repercussions of the action were that he was brought before the Council and exiled, even before having a chance to say farewell to Veya. He also said he suspected that he was set up by someone in the House, though he did not know who. The Velothi had taken him in, but then Captain Brivan had shown up with soldiers. He had made the recording just in case things happened. It was sadly prophetic of him to assume it may be his last message.

Veya was enraged. Partially from the grief of her brother being gone and part for the role her own House played in the affair. I agreed with her, as did Naryu, that he did not deserve to die. That he was a good man, upstanding, and followed his convictions to the end.

She cursed that quality if it was what got him killed and swore vengeance. I knew that rage and I knew what it could bring. If the Morag Tong were not allowed to involve themselves without a writ, surely this would be far worse. After all, the reason why myself and others of the Houses’ prominent families are generally barred admission, is because of the conflict of interest it poses. You cannot be impartial if you have loyalties or grudges with various Houses. This was clearly a personal grudge and one that the Morag Tong would not look lightly at.

Naryu cursed Ulran for putting so much pressure on Veya when she was already hurting, though she agreed that it seemed like a set up. I agreed.

We decided we needed to get to the bottom of things. Naryu cursed the fact that it meant going up against House Redoran without a writ to protect them. I said I understood, Redoran was the House my own was most closely connected with and if I was found to be working against them, it could start a House war between our closest ally.

Even still, I agreed to help. I had come this far and since I had failed to protect the majority of the Zainab tribe, the least I could do was to see that they were not blamed for some House scheme. I would protect them as best as I could from within the House political system. If I learned more about the rumors of a Nerevarine in the interim, that would be a bonus.

We all headed back to the safe house and pondered our next move. Naryu suggested that we make sure that the Councilmer know the truth of his son’s death and we decided that it would be best for it to come written in Veya’s hand so that he would believe us.

Then, so that their safety could be maintained, I agreed to deliver the message to Councilor Eris. Naryu lent me some clothing she had in the Redguard style and I made liberal use of the veil. I padded out undergarments to make myself wider and hunched in my shoulders. I adapted my gait and slowed my movements, then slipped out.

I gave myself a slight limp and when I had finally convinced my way in to meet with the Councilor, I spoke with a slight lisp. I explained that I came with news of his children. It was enough to get his attention. He asked if his daughter had been found and I said the news concerned his son.

He seemed rather surprised, since he was under the impression his son was no longer on Vvardenfell at all. I broke the news gently that his son was killed in a raid by his own captain upon the Zainab camp. He found this hard to believe. So I gave him the letter from Veya and said she had sent me to bring it after she had seen it for herself and that I was to make sure he got the news.

Understandably, he was shaken as he read the contents and knew the handwriting to be Veya’s own.

He asked if I could do him a favor, which I agreed to. It took him a while to come to a decision, but after visibly wrestling with his options, he asked if I could make sure that Veya stayed away until everything settled down. That he would do his best to contain the chaos. He asked me to ensure that she was safe. He even paid me to do so.

I bowed formally and told him I would do my best and then I left. Ashur spotted me, seemed a bit surprised and then made a hand signal for me to meet up three blocks up ahead. I made sure to go down an alley and turn invisible to make sure that no one was tracking me. I did not want to be followed and lead anyone back to the last remaining safety that Veya and Naryu possessed. Then, I removed my outer garments and tucked them round the stomach before going to meet Ashur just up the road.

After a brief conversation, it turns out that Naryu had a business matter to see to and that he was struggling to help comfort Veya and asked if I might be of assistance. I agreed and we headed back to the safe house.

When we first arrived, it was clear how upset Veya was. Not just about her brother, but also about not being allowed to go with Naryu. It was worse than Ashur had said.

I sang a song which helped her to fall asleep. I know it will not last long, but when so many things have happened, sometimes even a short rest can be healing. I know she will wake soon and I need to be prepared, a rest will mean she will also have more energy. I just wish there was more that I could do for her. I will just have to try my best.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

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lokiondisneyplus · 4 years

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Over five popular seasons, the story lines of “Better Call Saul” have unfolded across nail salons, fried-chicken joints and other strip-mall staples of American life.

When new episodes begin premiering next year, though, the locations that give the “Breaking Bad” spinoff its texture could be reined in or done away with altogether. The culprit? The novel coronavirus, which is limiting where the New Mexico-set AMC show can film, potentially altering both its style and substance.

“Like a lot of other people, we’re going to have to be very creative in where and how we shoot,” said Mark Johnson, the veteran producer who oversees the Vince Gilligan hit, whose writers just began collaborating on the series’s sixth season. “A lot of places just won’t let you in.”

Across the entertainment industry, casts and crew are beginning to return to work after a five-month hiatus. In states with loosened restrictions, such as Georgia and New York, production is starting to crank up under tight controls that alter how sets operate. Instead of crew members freely mingling, they’re being divided into “pods" that limit how production departments such as wardrobe or lighting can associate. Covid-19 officers monitor the health of the cast and crew to determine who is allowed on set. “Zones” dictate where those cast and crew can go.

These changes might seem technical, but they hint at the far-reaching effects the virus will have on final screen products. Interviews with 12 executives, writers, agents and producers across the Hollywood spectrum suggest a dramatically transformed world of entertainment. Until a vaccine comes along, they say, covid-19 will change what Americans watch as dramatically as it has where they work, shop and learn. Forget the new normal — movies and TV are about to encounter the new austerity.

Crowd scenes are a no-go. Real-world locations will be limited. On-screen romance will be less common, sometimes restricted to actors who have off-screen relationships. And independent films — that tantalizing side dish in the U.S. entertainment meal — could be heavily scaled back.

“A lot of people believe this is just about getting back to work,” said Mark Gill, a producer and former head of Warner Independent Pictures, the studio unit responsible for independent hits such as “Slumdog Millionaire” and “Good Night, and Good Luck.” “They don’t realize the massive cultural impact we’re about to face.”

For most of its history, Hollywood created entertainment based on a simple premise: Shuttle in large numbers of people and move them around at will. That’s certainly true of crews. But it especially applies to extras, the low-paid day laborers who pack sets and off-camera holding areas in order to create dense crowd scenes — and, in turn, lend the work real-world atmosphere.

Such scenes have of course been part of some of the most memorable moments in Hollywood history. From “Ben-Hur” to “Braveheart,” on-screen entertainment has become indelible thanks to hundreds of people you’ve never heard of packing tiny spaces, then moving as one when the cameras roll.

Yet the virus has essentially made these hires impossible. Many don’t want to risk their health for a $100 paycheck and remote shot at background glory, and producers don’t want to take on the liability even if they did. “Braveheart" used about 1,600 extras, many from the Irish Army reserves. Experts say the movie couldn’t come close to being shot today.

“Those of us in the entertainment business are not used to being told ‘no’‚” said Lucas Foster, a longtime Hollywood producer who counts the 2005 romantic-action hit “Mr. & Mrs. Smith” and last year’s Oscar-decorated blockbuster “Ford v Ferrari” among his credits. “And when it comes to things like crowds, there’s going to be a lot of no.”

Foster understands the challenges personally — he’s one of the first producers to have made a movie in the age of covid-19.

In March, the Los Angeles resident was in Australia, several weeks into preproduction on a new version of “Children of the Corn” when the pandemic began to spread. Millions of dollars had already been committed to the movie, adapted from the same Stephen King story that yielded the 1984 cult hit. So rather than shut down, he decided to proceed — cautiously. Foster created a production bubble, consulted doctors regularly, procured large amounts of tests, and engaged in elaborate workarounds in realms like crowd scenes.

He said it worked, but with major accommodations.

“I had to figure out how to do a crowd with no more than a few people at the same time. And with very specific camera angles. And by taking actors who would normally be close together and making them not close together,” Foster said. “In the end, I’d get the scene I needed but it looked different than it would have before the pandemic.” (Computer-generated crowds, he and other producers say, only work for more distant shots; anything requiring close-ups needs the real thing.)

It helped, he noted, that many of his actors were children, who are believed less susceptible to the effects of the virus, and that much of the movie was shot in cornfields and other vast outdoor spaces, a luxury not all films have.

Producers say the added cost required to implement all the safeguards could also result in a lower-end finished product. Films and TV shows achieve their level of shine through an endless period of refinement, with actors and directors often attempt 10 or more takes of a scene. With everything now going longer — and thus costing more — they may not have the luxury.

One producer of multiple studio hits said he expects the number of takes to drop significantly as the virus balloons budgets. He also expected a diminution in night scenes, which tend to be more involved and expensive than day scenes. He said some productions will be able to make the switch, but not all will be as lucky.

Also unlucky, say Hollywood veterans: movies where characters seek to get lucky. Many insiders say romantic scenes will be a major challenge in movies. Two agents separately reported they had high-profile clients who told them they wouldn’t shoot love scenes during the pandemic.

“I think every agency right now is looking down their client list to see which actors have spouses who are also actors, because then we could try to get them cast, too,” said one of the agents, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized by their company to speak to the news media. “I’m joking. Sort of.”

The added wrinkle is even if the actors trust each other in real life, many of their characters would still have to take precautions on screen.

“How do you send two characters on a first dinner date when people aren’t really going on first dinner dates?” said a creator of romantic comedies who asked not to be identified because they did not want to be seen as criticizing colleagues who are attempting new projects. “You can send them on a socially distant walk, I guess.”

Writers say that leads to a broader dilemma: how much to incorporate the pandemic into their stories. On one hand, they say they don’t want to pretend the virus doesn’t exist. But acknowledging it poses its own challenges.

“Do you really want your stars wearing masks because that’s what characters would do? Do you want to have people engaging with each other in groups no larger than six? Do you want to write stories where everyone is at a safe distance?” said Mark Heyman, the co-writer of “Black Swan” and “The Skeleton Twins” and creator of the CBS All-Access historical drama “Strange Angel.” “Because a lot of those things won’t be very much fun to watch.”

Yet if creators aren’t willing to do that, he said, it could lead to those shows or movies getting shelved out of a fear that audiences will judge them inauthentic.

Heyman was working on a series set in a high school for Netflix when the lockdowns began. That project has now been put on pause. “It’s not easy to make a show about high school,” he said, “when there is no high school.”

To avoid reminding viewers of the pandemic, creators may take an approach that will lead to an unusual trend.

“I think over the next few years you’re going to see a lot more movies set in the past,” Foster said. “Even movies written for the present will be changed. They’ll make it the ’90s because then you don’t have to deal with these questions. And then you can just put in some cool ’90s music, so everybody wins.”

A few creators have gone the other way, leaning in to the pandemic.

Writers on Apple TV Plus’s “The Morning Show,” set at a news program, have torn up existing scripts to make the pandemic a part of the story line, according to a person familiar with the show who was not authorized to speak about it publicly. But with a lag time of months between shooting and airing, experts say that creators also risk looking out of date by the time episodes release to the public.

Sensing an opportunity, horror filmmakers have also tried to embrace current events.

“The horror genre is very suited to the pandemic and lockdowns — we’re always trying to create a feeling of being trapped anyway,” said the horror filmmaker Nathan Crooker.

When quarantines hit this spring, Crooker gathered nine noted horror filmmakers and had them shoot an anthology film — short fictional movies connected by the larger virus theme — and titled it “Isolation.” He required filmmakers to use only the materials and people they were in lockdown with, even prohibiting Zoom and other technologies.

“I think we’re going to get a very cool effect that mirrors what people are going through,” Crooker said of his work. “But I don’t know that every movie that gets made would want to look like that.”

One consequence of the virus could turn out to be the movies that don’t get made at all.

Some of the most beloved films of the past two decades, from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” to “Whiplash,” “Little Miss Sunshine” to “Fruitvale Station,” were independently financed. But before rolling cameras, independent productions require insurance policies to protect them from workplace lawsuits, along with completion bonds, in which a guarantor assures they will step in with funds to finish the movie if production is halted.

Experts say no company will cover covid-19 with either policy, effectively preventing production.

“Covid is an absolute disaster for the independent-film industry,” said Sky Moore, a partner in the corporate entertainment department of the Los Angeles law firm Greenberg Glusker who has spent several decades putting together film financing deals. “The lifeblood of independent-film financing is loans, and loans need insurance. Now you have this massive hole in the middle of all of it.”

Moore believes the toll will be vast.

“I think 50 percent of the independent industry goes away,” he said.

(Movies financed by large studios do not buy these policies; Netflix or Disney would just absorb a shutdown or lawsuit as the cost of doing business.)

Even if they can work around the insurance issues, many independent films won’t get made because they simply won’t have the money. “It’s already hard to get funding for a lot of these movies,” said Shaun MacGillivray, a producer who makes large-scale independent documentaries. “And now you’re telling investors the budget is going to be 30 percent higher?”

The independent-film world is trying to push ahead, slowly. The Sundance Film Festival, the epicenter of the indie-film business, where companies like Hulu and Netflix sometimes pay more than $10 million for an independently financed movie, will hold a partially physical, partially virtual edition in January, albeit at just about half the length.

“We are reminded daily of the power of what is made newly visible to us, the importance of what we look at,” Tabitha Jackson, the director of the festival, said in a letter to staff this summer explaining why the festival needed to go on. “My hope for this edition of the Sundance Film Festival is that through a multiplicity of perspectives held by artists and audiences in their various communities we will also come to feel the power of where we look from.” Left unspoken: What happens in 2022, when the well runs dry because new movies can’t be insured and produced?

Whatever entertainment can get made, experts say, will have a more hermetic look. Even television shows, once shot heavily on sets, now often rely on the authenticity of locations; a police procedural feels like it does because detectives are popping into pizza places and apartment buildings.

“We don’t want everything to be a chamber piece,” said Johnson, the “Better Call Saul” executive producer. “But if many shows look different, I think that’s okay, because the world looks different.”

Then, considering the challenge further, he added, “And if that doesn’t work, then at least our show has a lot of deserts and open roads.”

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voltrontranscript · 3 years

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VLDS7E7: The Last Stand, Part 1

Season 7 Episode 7: The Last Stand, Part 1

Transcript by @dragonofyang

Episode Summary: The Paladins make their way back to Earth, but upon reaching out to Sam Holt, discover Earth’s distress beacon and that the Galra have invaded. We catch up with Sam and the technological developments on Earth since his return four years prior to the Paladins’ approach, and the trials Sam and Colleen face when in the heart of the Garrison.

[Google Doc]

Hunk: I can’t believe it. We’re finally back to Earth.

Keith: Well, what are we waiting for?

Pidge: I’ll see if I can get a message out to my dad. Dad, it’s me, Pidge. Do you copy? We’re back in Earth’s solar system, and heading home now.

Sam’s voice: To any beings who receive this message--

Pidge: Dad, you’re okay. How’s Mom and Matt? Is he with you?

Sam’s voice: Planet Earth has been… Most of the citizens…

Pidge: Hold on, let me try to get a clear signal.

Sam’s voice: ...have been captured.

Pidge: What? Who’s captured? Dad, what are you saying?

Sam’s voice: Those of us remaining are making our last stand. If you get this message, please get word to Voltron. We need help.

Keith: Guys, are you seeing this?

Sam’s voice: To any beings who receive this message…

Allura: Oh, no.

Sam’s voice: ...Planet Earth has been overrun by the Galra.

Lance: The Galra have invaded Earth.

Sam’s voice: Most of the citizens have been captured. Those of us remaining are making our last stand. If you get this message, please get word to Voltron. We need help.

Hunk: It’s not a reply. It’s a distress signal.

Pidge: Dad.

[Scene change to a flashback, labeled “Four years earlier…”.]

Sam: Admiral Sanda, how long have I--?

Sanda: It’s been about a week since you landed. Sorry, we’ve had you under for most of the time.

Sam: A week?

Sanda: We had to run tests. You spent years in an alien environment. Look, Sam, the joint chiefs are eager to hear what you have to tell us.

Sam: Tell the chiefs I’ll debrief when I’m ready. There’s someone I need to see first.

[Scene change to a lounge in the Galaxy Garrison.]

Colleen: Sam.

Sam: Colleen, I’ve missed you so much.

Colleen: I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again.

Sam: You’re squeezing me pretty tight. Being abducted by aliens didn’t kill me, but I think you might.

Colleen: Aliens?

Sam: On the Kerberos mission. Matt, Shiro, and I were taken by hostile aliens.

Colleen: So Matt is with you?

Sam: No, but he’s alive and safe. So is Katie. They’re together. Last time I saw them, they were just outside the planet Olkarion. They saved me. There was a device on my pod, a transmitter. Where is it? I can use it to contact my children and the other Paladins, cadets.

Sanda: I’m afraid we can’t allow you to broadcast yet. We need more information before you start sending messages into deep space. Any contact with alien species needs to be run through the appropriate channels. We need to be sure you’re not putting Earth in danger, Sam.

Colleen: I don’t care about your channels. I want to talk to my children.

Sanda: And you will, soon. We just want to debrief you first.

Colleen: Tell them what you know, then we can talk to our children and get you home.

Sanda: I’m afraid we can’t allow Sam to leave the premises. We’re not prepared to tell the world about the existence of alien life just yet. Remember, everyone thinks you’re dead.

Sam: So you’re holding me like a prisoner?

Sanda: Not a prisoner. You’re free to move about within the Garrison grounds. Just until we’re ready.

Colleen: If he’s staying, I’m staying, too.

Sanda: I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance, Colleen.

Colleen: This is the only family I have left. You’ll get me the clearance.

[Scene change to a meeting room in the Galaxy Garrison.]

Iverson: Here’s what we know. Two years ago, during your Kerberos mission, our scans picked up an anomaly at your location. Minutes later, we lost contact with you and the rest of the crew. In the immediate aftermath, we intercepted a transmission.

Unnamed Galra Commander’s voice: We found these primitive scientists. I don’t think they know anything useful.

Zarkon’s voice: Take them back to the main fleet for interrogation. The Druids will find out what they know.

Sam: That last voice is Zarkon, the emperor of an advanced hostile alien race known as the Galra.

Unnamed officer: How advanced?

Unnamed officer 2: And how do you know they’re hostile?

Sam: Do you have the device I asked for? The one from my pod?

Sanda: Bring it to him.

Sam: Before I left, I downloaded as much information as I could from the Castle of Lions. For ten thousand years, Zarkon has been expanding his empire, conquering vast swaths of the universe and harnessing its quintessence in order to survive and maintain power.

Sanda: Quintessence?

Sam: It’s an energy generated by living beings.

Bearded officer: You mean certain alien beings?

Sam: No. Quintessence is within us all.

Bearded officer: Impossible. We’ve never come across anything like that.

Sam: Maybe because this is beyond the realm of what you think you know. Have you ever traveled faster than the speed of light? Have you ever seen a living creature bio-hack nature? Have you ever come face to face with an alien warlord who’s older than the entirety of human civilization? Well, I have. And I assure you, it’s all real. Following our abduction, Shiro, Matt, and I were taken by Galra scouts to the main fleet where we were interrogated. After that, we were split up. I spent the next year at a remote outpost, working alongside other captive scientists researching and creating new technologies to be used by the Galra. I later learned that Shiro and Matt had been sent to fight in the gladiator pits. Matt would’ve been killed, but Shiro, he saved my son’s life. Later, Matt was rescued from a work camp by alien rebels. He now works alongside them, fighting back against the Galra. During his time on Zarkon’s command ship, Shiro discovered that Zarkon was looking for a super weapon hidden on Earth. Shiro escaped to get the weapon first.

Iverson: That must be when Lieutenant Shirogane returned to Earth.

Sam: That’s right.

Iverson: Following Garrison protocol, we placed Lieutenant Takeshi Shirogane under mandatory quarantine, but he managed to escape with the aid of several Garrison cadets. We later found out the one known as Pidge Gunderson was your daughter, Katie Holt, who had illegally enrolled in the cadet program under an assumed identity. The following day, the Blue Lion appeared on our radars. Long-range sensors tracked the UFO to the edge of our solar system traveling at speeds we’ve never achieved. It disappeared along with the ship. That was the last activity we had until your pod arrived on Earth a month ago.

Glasses officer: So that Blue Lion, that was the super weapon?

Sam: Part of it. The super weapon is known as Voltron. It’s made up of five mechanical lions. As fate would have it, when Shiro crashed on Earth, those same Garrison students that got him out of quarantine became the pilots, or Paladins, of the five lions of Voltron. The Paladins are doing everything they can to protect the universe from the Galra. But we must begin to bolster Earth’s defenses now, or we do not stand a chance. War is coming.

Iverson: So this Zarkon, you think he’ll attack Earth?

Sam: No. Zarkon is dead, but the Galra Empire is not stopping. There are factions fighting for control and looking to dominate their own sections of the universe. Without a clear leader, things are worse than before.

Iverson: So what do we do?

Sam: We hold a conference and announce what we know to the world.

Sanda: Absolutely not.

Sam: They need to know. And if we can bring the world’s top minds together, it might mean the difference--

Sanda: If we told the world there was an imminent attack, we’d set off a global panic.

Sam: But there will be an attack.

Sanda: When? How will the attack happen? Is there a plan to stop it? None of these things have been discussed. None of these things have been thought through, and until they are, we’re not going to be responsible for sending the world into disarray.

Sam: If you would allow me to contact Katie and the Paladins right now, we could begin to answer those questions.

Sanda: Very well.

Sam: This is Sam Holt calling the Paladins of Voltron. I’m on Earth. Please respond. Pidge, this is Dad. Come in.

Colleen: Katie, it’s your mom. Are you there?

Sam: The transmission’s not being received. There might be interference. We need to keep trying.

Sanda: We can have someone send out regular transmissions around the clock until we hear from them. But in the meantime, we stay quiet.

Sam: Very well, but we should at least begin preparations.

Iverson: We already have.

[Cut to an elevator in the Galaxy Garrison.]

Iverson: We’ve been studying the ship that Shiro crash landed in for the last year, and we’ve begun research on the ship you arrived in. We thought the technology would be exactly the same, but that’s not the case.

Sam: That’s because one is Galran and the other Altean, created by two different alien species. So, did you get it airborne?

Iverson: Unfortunately, no. We got the nav system and other instruments turned on by powering them externally, but the power it would take to fly them is unsustainable.

Sam: Hmm. The crystal must have been damaged on entry if you couldn’t power it.

Sanda: Crystal?

Sam: It’s the main energy source for most alien spacecraft. If you haven’t been able to get it running, then what have you been doing with it?

Sanda: We created a simulator based on the controls so that when we figure out how to integrate the tech into our own ships, we’ll be ready to fly.

Iverson: Commander Holt, I’d like to introduce you to the best pilots to come out of the Galaxy Garrison in the last year. These are officers Griffin, Rizavi, Kinkade, and Leifsdottir. They’re young, but their ability to adapt to new flying techniques is a step above.

Griffin: On behalf of my squadron, it’s an honor to meet you, sir.

Iverson: I’ve got them running drills in the simulator five days a week. They can take just about anything you can throw at them.

Sam: Good. Now it’s time to get them out of the simulator and flying these things for real.

Rizavi: But they aren’t working, sir.

Sam: Then we better get them working.

[Scene change to outside the Galaxy Garrison.]

Griffin: No way.

Rizavi: When can we fly them, sir?

Sam: You’re gonna be flying ships much faster and much more maneuverable than this in no time.

Rizavi: Sir?

Sam: This is just an Altean shuttle pod. The engine and functions are extremely basic. If we’re going to defend the planet against the Galra, we’re going to need better ships.

[Scene change to the Galaxy Garrison meeting room.]

Sam: When I was enslaved by the Galra, I was forced to work on technologies that are a hundred times more complex than a simple pod. And after I regrouped with the Paladins, I continued learning alongside the Olkari, some of the most amazing engineers I’ve ever had the honor to work with. They taught me everything I know about integrating technologies. These are Altean schematics. We’re gonna use these to upgrade our weapons, build new ships, and create a defense for Earth. Engineers will be in charge of salvaging what they can from the pods. Repurposing parts is of the utmost importance. Our pilots must get out of the simulators and into real ships powered by crystal technology if they hope to stand a chance against Galran battle tactics. It’s gonna be a steep learning curve, but I know they’ll get it. The Garrison will become the epicenter of technological advances beyond what this world has ever seen. In the meantime, we will continue our attempts to contact Matt and the Paladins. It’s imperative that we find out what’s happening beyond our galaxy. There is a war coming, and we need to be prepared.

[Scene change to another flashback, labeled “One year later…”.]

Griffin: Sorry, guess I’m too quick.

Rizavi: Not for my micro-pulse boosters!

Sam: How’s the response time compared to the previous generation?

Rizavi: Instantaneous, sir. It’s like it knows what I wanna do before I think it.

Iverson: It’s amazing what you’ve done in just over a year.

Sam: We’ve done it together.

Unnamed female officer: Sir, you’re needed in the communications room immediately.

[Scene change to the Garrison’s communications room.]

Colleen: It’s Matt. He contacted us.

Matt: Mom, is that Dad?

Colleen: He just got here.

Sam: Matt, are you okay? I’ve been trying to contact you and Katie for months. Where are you? What’s going on?

Matt: So, you didn’t hear yet?

Sam: Hear what?

Matt: Mom, Dad, no one has seen or heard from the Paladins in the last six months.

Colleen: No…

Sam: Katie… What happened?

Matt: No one is really sure. There are rumors that Voltron fought Lotor, then they just disappeared.

Sam: So, they could still be alive.

Matt: No one knows. But, Dad, listen to me. You need to stop broadcasting from Earth. Members of the Blade of Marmora and the Voltron Coalition are being hunted. Our army has been all but wiped out. The situation is bad out here, and the last thing we need is to put Earth in danger.

Sam: But how will I get ahold of you?

Matt: I have to go. I’ll contact you when I’m safe. I love you both.

[Scene change to Admiral Sanda’s office.]

Sam: It’s time. We need to tell the rest of the world the situation.

Sanda: Sam, I’m sorry to hear about your daughter, but we can’t get off course.

Sam: If we want to finish the IGF-ATLAS, we need more resources and more manpower. The world needs to come together so that we can take the fight to the Galra.

Sanda: You’re too emotional right now and you’re not thinking straight. We’re not building ships to go fight aliens in different galaxies.

Sam: But they need us!

Sanda: The citizens of Earth need us.

Sam: And yet you refuse to tell them the truth!

Iverson: Maybe we should talk about this later.

Sanda: We can talk later, but my decision will be the same. We’re not telling the people of Earth, and we’re not fighting in someone else’s war.

[Scene change to the Holt’s private quarters.]

Colleen: They’re gonna be okay.

Sam: They will be okay because they’re strong just like their mother.

Colleen: We’ve gotta do something. We can’t just sit here while our children are in danger.

Sam: We’re doing everything we can with the limited personnel we have.

Colleen: Then we’ll get more personnel and more resources. The admiral is making decisions for the rest of the world. I say let them make decisions for themselves.

Sam: You wanna tell the world? The repercussions could be serious. They could kick us out of the Garrison.

Colleen: It’s risky, but that ship may never get done otherwise. And I’ll do whatever it takes to see my kids again.

Sam: Okay.

[Cut to Sam and Colleen walking into the communications hub.]

Sam: You’re sure you wanna do this?

Colleen: I’m sure.

Sam: Alright, I’ll be broadcasting on every channel. You ready?

Colleen: Citizens of Earth, my name is Colleen Holt. I am the wife of famed astronaut, Sam Holt, and mother of Matt Holt. Two years ago, it was believed that they died during a deep space mission. That was a lie. My husband, along with his crew, were abducted by an alien race known as the Galra, a fact that was covered up by the Galaxy Garrison.

[Cut to Admiral Sanda’s office.]

Unnamed soldier: Admiral, you need to see this. They’re broadcasting on every channel.

Colleen: A year ago, my husband returned to Earth, but the Garrison forced him to stay in hiding.

Sanda’s voice: I’m afraid we can’t allow Sam to leave the premises. We’re not prepared to tell the world about the existence of alien life just yet.

Sam: But I refuse to stay hidden any longer. We desperately need your help. Not every alien species is friendly, and Planet Earth must be protected. Here at the Garrison, we’ve been working on creating advanced ships and weaponry.

Sanda: Get the rest of the guards.

Colleen: The footage you are about to see is real.

Sam: These are the Galra. If they find Earth, they will attack, and we must be prepared.

Griffin: Huh. Guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?

Colleen: But there are those that have spent years protecting us. They are the Paladins of Voltron, and they come from Earth.

Hunk: Ugh, I can’t wait to be back home. I’m not really sure when that’ll be, but when I get there, I really want Uncle Filo to make some of his amazing pork lau lau. I can almost taste it now.

Lance: Hi, Mom, hi, Dad. It’s me, Lance. I’m here in outer space somewhere. I, um, uh, don’t really know what to say. Uh, I miss you guys. I miss you guys a lot.

Pidge: Mom, I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye. I think of you every day.

Colleen: Now is the time to come together. To protect our world, we must be united under one cause.

Sanda: Override the lock. Lock them up.

Iverson: For what?

Sanda: For divulging top secret information.

Sam: Now, now, Admiral. Don’t get emotional.

Sanda: You disregarded a direct order.

Sam: You held me at the Garrison against my will. You lied about my death. You wanna control every situation, but face it. You can’t. The world needed to know this, and now that they do, it will be better for us. Right now, the world needs a leader that’s not afraid to face facts and you’re not it.

Sanda: And you think you are?

Sam: Yes.

Sanda: Get these traitors out of here.

Iverson: Stop. If Sam goes, I go too.

Glasses officer: Admiral Sanda, calls are coming in from all over the world. Citizens want to know how they can help. It’s incredible.

Sam: It worked.

[Scene change to the desert outside of the Galaxy Garrison.]

Sam: That’s the last one.

Griffin: Think it’ll work?

Sam: Well, particle barriers are tricky, but if my calculations are right, these just might act as a perimeter. What’s that?

Griffin: I don’t know. I didn’t think we were doing any test flights today.

Sam: They’re here. Activate the particle barrier immediately.

Woman: Are you sure, sir? We haven’t run diagnostics--

Sam: Do it, now!

End.

#voltron #vld #transcript #lance #allura #hunk #pidge #keith #sam holt #colleen holt #commander iverson #admiral sanda #james griffin #rizavi #leifsdottir

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diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, KYLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of RICHARD III. Admin Cas: You put it best, Kylie—Ronan is a Machiavel through and through, but he’s also far more than that. He’s known suffering, more intimately than most, yet rather than allow it to shape him, wear him down, he sharpened it into a weapon. Yet again, you captured everything critical to Ronan’s character, from his scorn and ambition to his insatiability, his pride, his precision. Your writing itself is just enchanting to read, and we’re so thrilled that you’ve returned to us. We cannot wait to have you grace our dashes with your deliciously scheming and delightfully avid Ronan once more! Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kylie

Age | 26

Preferred Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | 5-6. I like to be on at least once every day, and manage some type of content.

Timezone | MST

How did you find the rp? | i missed it :)

Current/Past RP Accounts | ronanivarsson.tumblr.com

IN CHARACTER

Character | Richard III, Ronan Ivarsson

What drew you to this character? |

ableism tw

there is something that will always be intriguing about the machinations of a machiavel, that will always be attractive, always be intriguing, which is what first drew me to ronan. however, i think it’s difficult, and dangerous, to label him as simply a manipulator, a prince in search of power and a throne–to me, he’s far deeper, far more layered than that. from the moment he was born, life put ronan ivarsson in a position to know nothing apart from weakness–he was born a pawn for his parents to play against one another, only for his father to stroll past the room where the board sat, to overturn the table and cast the pieces to the floor. he would remain forever trapped in the ivarsson villa, unwanted and loathed, never strong enough to fight for himself, to run from the horrible cesspool that made him, that twisted the hearts of the people that lived there–he should have been no better than the monster that frankenstein abandoned, the wife that wailed and gnashed, locked in the attic of the victorian manor house, a creature doomed to shadows for the whole of his life.

but ronan refused that life–and that’s the endlessly fascinating thing about him. he is a machiavel that should have never come into being, that tore the pages from the book and cut out only the passages that were useful to him. god reached down to him and showed him the path, the divine right of kings, and ronan, with his halting steps, with the black and poisonous blood that runs through his veins, walks it with precision, with the intent to wrestle the crown from the hand of the divine himself.

ronan took his emptiness and weaponized it, refused the shadows and instead forged them by his own hands into a kind of armor–look upon that which you would scorn, he says as he strides through verona a kind of caesar, a kind of richard, a lurching colossus, and kneel. i love that about him, but the thing that really got me in the end, is that he cannot successfully hide the weaknesses which still plague him–he ignored machiavelli’s greatest advice, that to be feared would better serve the prince than to be loved. he fell in love, with a beautiful mystery of a man. he still feels his pulse race when the cameras all come to train on his face, when he has every citizen of verona eating like lambs out of the palm of his hand. he looks at the only surviving gallo twin, and he feels something gentle curl around the corners of his mouth like perfumed smoke. he is cold, but he is not yet corpse.

it remains to be seen if that will be his downfall, in a place that so easily tears the heart from the chest cavity, if it takes a man or a monster to wear the crown, when the battles are finished.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

KINGS IT MAKES GODS, AND MEANER CREATURES KINGS

So far the path to the Montagues has been messy and bloody for Ronan, has left a trail of bodies behind him. Since he is now nothing more than a soldier, where such behavior, such wanton ambition won’t be tolerated, I want to see how he adapts his methods. Will he continue to kill whoever stands in his way, because such is the divine right every king should possess? Or will he learn to temper himself, to hide such business in the shadows? In the same vein, I would love to explore how much he’s capable of tolerating such a thing being asked of him–how long will it be before he bites the hand that feeds him? Until his patience for following orders starts to wear thin, and the divinity that guides him becomes impatient, insatiable?

A WORD THAT COWARDS USE

Love is an indulgence that Ronan knows he should cast aside, and yet he finds himself locked in a kind of constant craving. It’s the one thing in his life he’s never been able to buy for himself, never been able to take from the hands of someone else–so how does a man who so easily casts aside life’s gentler aspects, learn such an art? Is it part of his need for validation, for recognition from the public that would so easily cast him aside and speak vitriol towards him if he were anyone else? Or is it something deeper, something that would actually salve some of the wounds he’s carried his entire life? So far, he’s only known it as mistake, a wound that despite being stitched closed continues to hemorrhage blood–but then he looks at a man like Santino Gallo, and sees the potential for something that almost feels gentle. If such a thing were to make itself available to him, would he open himself up to it? Or would he make the decision once and for all to remove the cursed organ that beats in his chest?

EVERY TALE CONDEMNS ME FOR VILLAIN

Ronan holds no particular loyalty to the Montagues–he could have easily bent the knee to Cosimo Capulet, had the man approached him first. The Montagues are simply a means to an end, and I could see him being willing to sell them out if the right prize were offered to him. I want to see him be treacherous, silver tongued, the consummate politician, and flirt with the temptation of easy success. Would his pride keep him from taking such a way to a promotion, to an accolade? Would he really be willing to betray those few who he deems worthy enough for his time or glance? I could also see it working in the reverse–that perhaps he could use his talents to win recruits or information for the Montagues.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Of course! It’s probably what he deserves!

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

ONE.

It begins with a question, posed by a handsome mouth, sealed with fingertips that come to gently lift the hem of ronan’s shirt, to curl themselves around the curve of ronan’s hipbone.

“Tell me your favorite place, in all of Verona, and take me there right now.”

He grins, like a knife slowly being pulled from its soft leather sheath–all glint and sharp edge. He wraps his fingers around the young man’s neck, digs his nails into the short hairs there, until he gets a hiss that could either indicate pleasure, or pain, for his efforts. He coos, clicks his tongue and placates his plaything with the tender caress of lips against well muscled shoulder, neck. The young man makes another noise, something guttural and unprompted from the back of his throat, and ronan laughs.

It’s almost too easy–like digging his fingers into the scruff of a wild cat, expecting teeth and claws, only to have it purr in response. He contemplates disposing of him then and there with a clean cut across the throat that bares for him–but to leave empty handed, simply because there was no challenge in it, no cunning required, would surely be wasteful, return him to a state of excruciating boredom and restlessness.

So he hums in mock thoughtfulness, sinks his teeth into skin and licks over his mark, before he speaks. “As beautiful as you would look, pressed up against the brick of the arena, all of the blood and bravado of a gladiator roaring through you, I hardly see the need to travel so far away. Perhaps the library, would be a better location for such things as you desire?”

There it is, he thinks to himself, as the muscle pressed up against him comes to fall still for no more than a fraction of a second. All of the confirmation he needs, so unwittingly given. He hopes the rest of the Montague stock aren’t so impossibly dimwitted, or easily swayed by the promise of a more carnal method of persuasion. Where would the fun in that be?

He takes squared off chin in hand and kisses the soldato one last time, before the blood spills onto Ronan’s chest and subsequently the ground underneath his feet. He becomes the first of them to kneel.

TWO.

Lucien rolls off of the top of him, and Ronan immediately feels the muscles in his hands twitch, send the command to his shoulders to reach out, keep the seemingly endless expanse of pale skin from ever travelling where he cannot touch. Unfortunately for the memory of meat and tendon that has never properly obeyed his command anyway, ronan shuts the notion down in favor of watching–it’s all he feels he can do, when it comes to the man who now leans against the railing of the yacht. Watch, in the hopes that an answer of some sort may reveal itself–or perhaps even the question, that Ronan knows he should ask and yet cannot find the language to form. Strange, to be so willingly robbed of his best weapon.

He suspects Lucien is aware of where Ronan’s eyes come to rest, most of the time, and chooses not to comment. Perhaps he even enjoys it–being caught but not captured in the jaws of the predator, having the power to command him to wait, to stay until he is willing to give. If Ronan were to be honest with himself, in a way that has never been his policy, he would have to admit that he enjoys it as well–being compelled, by force of nothing more than want, wrapped in the candy coating of desire and attraction.

The man turns, and the breeze rustles his dark hair across his forehead. his eyes are hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but Ronan can imagine the familiar spark of heat, of mischief, that flickers there like a matchstick flame. “You live like this every day, Councilman?” He drawls, one corner of his mouth drawn up into a smirk.

Ronan grins and leans his head back with a pleased sigh, crooks a finger to indicate that Lucien should come close again, should let Ronan show him just how decadent things can truly get, and shrugs one shoulder casually. “Occasionally there is work involved, but given the right incentive i’d be willing to throw the whole thing away. Perhaps you have an offer you’d like to make towards that end, Doctor?”

He doesn’t open his eyes when the deck chair bends with the weight of another, when lips are pressed against his own. He just slides his hands down each delicate rib bone, digs his fingers into flesh already marked with purple and blue blossoms that Ronan had planted there the night before, and tries to communicate without ever speaking, that this is only the beginning for the two of them. That when he’s finished with the work, he’ll ravish this man on a throne made of gold, decorated with jewels and the head of any who would dare oppose them.

THREE.

His sponsor is a weak-willed man, that reminds Ronan far too much of his own father–or at the very least, the passing glimpses and vitriol laced stories of his father that had fallen carelessly from his mother’s lips, after one too many glasses of wine. He comes upon ronan walking through the hallways of the library, wraps an arm around his shoulders as if to prove he is unafraid of touching a thing so malformed, so clearly repulsive to the eyes of others, and he smiles. “You have done well so far, Ronan.” he says, personably, as such men who would describe themselves as such always are. “Tell me, no big mistakes to report of? I won’t hold them against you too harshly–there is always room to grow, to learn, in a business such as this.”

He resists the urge to speak through gritted teeth that he is in the middle of running for office, and not some schoolboy in need of guidance and direction–instead his eyes catch on the silver band that sits, gleaming as the day it was put there, on his left hand. “I don’t believe in mistakes, signore.” He says, more quietly than he had intended. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, before schooling his expression into something more neutral, that feels less to him like exposing an open wound to the particles of a dust storm. “I make choices, and I live with their consequences–for better, or for worse.”

FOUR.

He stabs the man a month later, sinks his blade into the heart up to the hilt.

Someone Ronan thinks might be the capobastone comes to stand next to him, after the news of the dead Montague being found on the steps of the cathedral begins to circulate, and rests a hand on his shoulder. He resolutely does not think about breaking the bones in each of his fingers, one by one, for such a presumption. “You’ve handled yourself admirably, in the wake of such a personal blow.” He says, with an exhale of breath that causes the skin on Ronan’s neck to crawl. “It is the most difficult thing asked of us, to continue to live after another is gone.”

Ronan bites down hard on his bottom lip, by all appearances to staunch the overwhelming feelings of grief that must clearly threaten to spill forth from him, but in reality to stifle the laugh that threatens to give him away at such a ridiculous statement. He forces a slight tremble in his hands, as he brings them to scrub at the back of his eyes. “He taught me so much in such a short time–made me a better soldato.” A sharp inhale, shake of his head. “It is hard to believe, that I will never get the chance to thank him for such a kindness.”

The man nods his head in understanding, and squeezes, despite the pain that radiates all the way to the tips of Ronan’s fingers. He clenches his teeth. “We have watched you, the work you have done. And while it has at times been sloppy, and reckless, Don Montague believes that in the wake of Richard’s unfortunate demise, you should step up to take his place.”

He can taste it, in the back of his throat then. Blood, mixed with saliva, something distinctly more honeyed. Divinity, in all of its raw form–he half expects to open his mouth and see it spool out before him like ribbon, blinding everyone else in the room, rendering them nothing more than ash for him to step over as he walks towards the crown, the throne, the destiny that has been planned for him since he was nothing more than a young boy. He touches the hand on his shoulder and half expects it to be pulled away and burned. “I would be honored, signore, to serve the Don in such a way.”

FIVE.

“Tell me councilman,” the reporter shouts from the crowd, phone recorder thrust into the air like some sort of trophy or other holy object. “What are your thoughts concerning the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

He shakes his head, schools his face into an expression that is solemn, serious–the grim line of an Alexander or a Caesar, his heart bleeding into the streets of the city he has built, for the people who populate it and offer him devotions for their continued success and survival. “I think there will be no winners, in this conflict. And that whoever remains standing, will prove himself to be the more cruel, the more bloodthirsty, the more willing to do unspeakable acts in order to secure his own power–an honor i do not wish on even my worst enemy.”

And why would he? It is an honor he wishes for himself alone.

Extras: N/A

#accepted #accepted: richard iii

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fortunatelylori · 4 years

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Sandtion: The Sense and sensibility connection - a meta collab with @and-holly-goes-lightly

As some of you may have gathered, @and-holly-goes-lightly and I are salt mates (this is a tumblr term I have learned only recently and am planning to run into the ground. You have been forwarned. I don’t want any complaints down the line!)

It all started about a year ago, with this:

And progressed steadily until we ended up here:

Occasionally, between ogling pictures of naked men, we discuss serious issues as well. Those end up as metas for your consumption, most of the time.

It’s a colaboration that works well. I write long metas, she writes really good ones. We enjoy. We have fun.

Given that we both obssesively analyze tv content and that we tend to reach about the same conclusions, we have been planning on doing some project together for a while now.

I think if 2 months ago someone had told us that Sanditon would be the tv show that would see us join writing forces, we would have been more than a little shocked.

But here we are … hoplessly obssessed with Austen’s unfinished novel and ITV’s unfinished tv show (get the hint, ITV?!?! I hope you do. Chop, chop! You can’t live on Downton Abbey reruns for the rest of time, you know)

So on this most special of days, @and-holly-goes-lightly and I bring you the motherload of Sandtion metas. Two crazy writers, one tv show, one simple title:

Sandtion: The Sense and Sensibility connection

It’s no surprise to anyone, at this point, that Andrew Davies wears his Austen influences on his sleeve in Sanditon. You can find easter eggs for most of Austen’s work, from the famous Pride and Prejudice to the obscure Lady Susan.

However, Sense and Sensibility seems to be one work that hasn’t insipired much comparison from the fandom. And it’s perhaps for that reason that Sandion’s last two episodes were so hard to digest and why so many question marks were raised in regards to Charlotte’s characterization.

In this project we aim to dispel some of that confusion and attempt to put into prespective the character arcs of both Sidney and Charlotte in:

Sidlotte: A parallel journey between Sense and Sensibility by @fortunatelylori

As well as delve deeper into Charlotte’s POV through out the season finale in:

Charlotte Heywood - From Sensibility to Sense by @and-holly-goes-lightly

We hope you enjoy our take. Please don’t forget to leave us your comments in the reply section. This is a new format for us and we’d love to hear from you on how you like this kind of collaborative work.

Sidlotte: A parallel journey between Sense and Sensibility

As I was reading the now infamous Theo James interview, I was reminded of the “unusual” visual representation of Sanditon. It really does look quite different to most Austen adaptations which are defined by the sunny, sanitized domesticity of the English garden.

Sanditon doesn’t look like that. It’s rough and a little wild. It presents a world in the throes of change, with gales, nudity and darkness lurking around the corners. I think it’s those visual cues that made Theo link it to Wuthering Heights with its Yorkshire gloomy moors and harsh winds.

But that just goes to show you Mr. James has not done his proper Andrew Davies research (Tsk, tsk, me thinks he will need to do a few more nude scenes to atone for it) because the wind swept beaches, the wilderness of the English countryside, the cowboy motif? They all go back to this:

I imagine the visual style of Sense and Sensibility 2008 was in part generated by an attempt to separate it from the very famous 1995 version (the quintessential sunny English countryside film) and in part as a response to the earthier approach Joe Wright took for his now very influential version of Pride and Prejudice (2005).

But I do think Sanditon owes more to S&S 2008 than just its visuals. I’ve talked about this in the past but Sanditon, to me, is really Davies’ homage to Austen’s entire body of work so the more you dig and analyze, the more similarities and parallels you are going to find between Sanditon, its characters and the rest of the Austenverse (I really hope this is just a thing I say in a sarcastic way on tumblr. Not everything needs to be a –verse, people!).

Episode 8 really brought this theory into focus for me. In my review I said that the finale marked the tonal shift of the story from the naïve, hopeful and mostly comedic territory of Northanger Abbey and Pride and Prejudice towards the darker, more reflective tone of Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility.

Of course, comedy and witticisms are a core trait of all of Austen’s work. Her voice is so powerful that she is always an extra character in her own stories. However, Persuasion and S&S are also permeated with a sense of loss and angst that her other works don’t really have.

They’re more mature I suppose one could say. And it’s that maturity that plays a role in the shift that occurred in the season finale of Sanditon. Because Sanditon is really all about Charlotte Heywood. We enter this world with her and we follow her coming of age story throughout the season. And that story is marked by a pretty steep transition from the romantic, hopeful heroine represented by Marianne Dashwood to her restrained, sensible sister, Eleanor.

One of the things I liked the most about S&S 2008 was how much more balanced its view on Marianne and Eleanor was. In the 1995 film, it always felt as if Marianne was presented as a cautionary tale while Eleanor was the heroic nurturing woman who endures everything stoically and is rewarded for her restraint in the end.

But that’s not really, to my mind, the message Jane Austen would like us to get out of S&S. Just like with Pride and Prejudice, Austen is shining a light on the folly of both extreme sense and as well as extreme sensibility. It is not wise to jump head first into situations having only Lord Byron’s poems as your guide but it’s also equally unwise to constrain yourself to the point where you are unable to confide in anyone, to the point where you deny your feelings and end up a passive participant to your own life.

With Charlotte Heywood, we get to explore both those behavioral patterns.

The change from Marianne to Eleanor doesn’t occur in episode 8, by the way. It occurs at the end of episode 6 and carries through to the finale. That’s why people, including myself, were taken aback by Charlotte’s apparent change in demeanor in episode 7, from the girl who always spoke her mind (even when she shouldn’t) and wore her heart on her sleeve to the outwardly detached, apprehensive young woman who was waiting for the other shoe to drop even as the man she loved was about to propose to her.

It would be easy to blame this transition on poor execution and I do believe the shift was too sudden and it was a mistake to have it start off screen (in between episode 6 and episode 7). However, the arc itself is not a mistake and it’s actually very clever.

For one because it allows us to explore this story both from the naïve, romantic perspective as well as the angst filled one.

Secondly, and most importantly, because it works in tandem with Sidney’s arc, who is going through the exact opposite journey from the emotionally repressed outlier to the open hearted tormented hero, representative of the Byronic romantic ideal.

What was supposed to happen is that by the end of episode 8, Sidney and Charlotte would meet in the middle, she as a more controlled romantic, he as a warmhearted stoic. What Davies gave us instead is two ships that passed each other in the night and have, by their last scene in episode 8, completely exchanged places.

So I think it’s important to go back to the beginning and analyze how the meeting between the naïve romantic Charlotte and the world weary Sidney ended up altering them forever and how, while deeply painful for both of them at the moment, their separation and behavior shift will end up benefiting them when their eventual reunion occurs (whether or not ITV decides to renew this series, Charlotte and Sidney WILL get married and have 2 to 3 adorable children because this is an Austen story and I will accept nothing less, damn it!)

One of the most important scenes in the whole season for me was the carriage scene in episode 6. I wrote a whole meta on it that you can find here and I have to go back to it in order to reference this extremely important exchange that sits as the lynchpin of this meta:

Sidney: And what do you know of love? Apart from what you’ve read?

Charlotte: I would sooner be naïve than insensible of feeling.

We’ve spent a great deal of time analyzing this scene and how pivotal it is in the story of Sidney as the motivator behind his lowering of his emotional guard. But I don’t think we’ve spent nearly enough time asking ourselves what this exchange tells us about Charlotte.

Because this doesn’t just announce a change in Sidney, it also foreshadows one for her. Sidney is correct in implying she doesn’t really understand love because she’s never experienced it. She is, however, about to realize that she’s in love with him and thus her assertion that she’d rather be naïve than insensible of feeling is just about to be tested.

And the surprising result is … Charlotte fails at her own paradigm. For the rest of the season, she will never be as emotionally open as she is in episode 6.

Charlotte is unable to remain the open book, expansive girl in the face of first supposed unrequited love and then as she experiences loss. She, instead, withdraws inward and begins building up her walls just as Sidney did after Eliza left him.

I think Davies understands Austen’s ultimate message that you fall into the extreme of sense or sensibility at your own peril, which is why he chooses to have his main two characters traverse opposite journeys so they can be brought closer by the end of the story (in season 2 of course).

That’s because at the core of all of the fights and misunderstandings between Charlotte and Sidney sit two problems:

Sidney Parker does not believe in the good intentions of other people. He is operating from a place of hurt and feeling under attack. He is essentially under the impression that the people he comes into contact with have ulterior motives, and none of them are good. And you can’t really blame him for that distorted image of reality when you consider what the two most meaningful relationships in his life have been up until this point.

On the one hand you have Tom who weaponizes even the most benign of compliments:

Tom: At least I have your prowess on the cricket field to be thankful for.

Sidney: Well in truth you have Lord Babington to thank for that. I am here at his behest to give him support in his time of romantic need. God knows he shall need it.

Tom: You’re a good friend, Sidney … I don’t suppose you could try just one last time… [to go ask for money]

On the other hand, you have Eliza Campion who says stuff like this with a straight face:

Sidney: You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.

Eliza: I’ve waited for 10 years. What’s another quarter of an hour?

While researching this meta and also trying to figure out my Christmas fic, I’ve come to realize that both Tom and Eliza are using a victim narrative to get what they want from the people around them. What Sidney has learned from these relationships is that nothing in life comes for free. Any compliment, any sign of affection comes with a price tag or an eventual let down.

For her part, Charlotte Heywood is suspicious of Sidney because he doesn’t make himself easy to understand.

Charlotte thrives on communication and she tends to empathize and like people who share, or overshare, information with her. Her opinion on Tom shifts the moment he starts including her in his Sanditon projects. She is apprehensive of Otis for quite a bit of episode 4 but ends up completely on his side the moment he talks about his past as a slave and making innuendos about Sidney, despite neither one of those things really resolving her initial reasons for being apprehensive.

This behavior is really down to Charlotte’s upbringing in a very large but very happy family. Or as Eleanor Tilney in Northanger Abbey would put it:

Eleanor: I think you have had a quite dangerous upbringing. You’ve been brought up to believe that everyone is as pure in heart as you are.

Incidentally another Andrew Davies adaptation …

In Charlotte’s mind, people who are open emotionally and speak their mind must be good people. After all, she is this way and she certainly always has the best of intentions. When someone doesn’t do that, or worse they evade and try to manipulate, she distances herself from them, as is the case with Edward and Clara.

And since Charlotte views meaningful communication as the ultimate sign of trust, it’s this withholding of information, this emotional barrier she can sense in Sidney, that makes her mistrustful of him. She can’t understand his emotional withdrawal for what it is – a response to trauma - because she’s never experienced it. And as such she will always fundamentally misunderstand him.

We see these two character hang ups rearing their ugly heads again and again in their conflicts:

Episode 1

Sidney: And what have you observed about me upon our small acquaintance?

Charlotte: I think you must be the sensible brother of the three. I may be mistaken but it seems to me that your younger brother, Arthur, is a very … contrary nature. Alternately over lethargic and over energetic. While your elder brother, Tom, could be called over enthusiastic. I’m afraid that despite his good nature, he neglects his own happiness and his family’s in his passionate devotion to Sanditon. Don’t you agree?

Sidney: Upon my word, Miss Heywood, you are very free with your opinions. And upon what experience of the world do you form your judgments? Where have you been? Nowhere. What have you learnt? Nothing it would seem. And yet you take it upon yourself to criticize. Let me put it to you, Miss Heywood: which is the better way to live? To sit in your father’s home, with your piano and your embroidery, waiting for someone to come and take you off your parents’ hands? Or to expend your energy in trying to make a difference? To leave your mark. To leave the world in a better place than you found it. That is what my brother, Tom, is trying to do. At the expense of a great deal of effort and anxiety, in a good cause in which I do my best to help and support him. And you see fit to … to criticize him … to amuse yourself at his expense.

Fortunatelylori: … I have a theory that the reason why Sidney’s been forced into prostitution by the end of season 1 is because he used the argument of the fucking patriarchy to defend Tom The Worst Parker. Gee, Sidney, us women would love to go out there and change the world but your male friends are forcing us to stay home with our pianos and embroideries to make sure they take full advantage of our ovaries. Please take several seats!

Fortunatelylori: Also … fyi … Tom isn’t protecting England from the French or helping Warren de La Rue develop the freaking light bulb. He is trying to run a dime a dozen seaside resort and failing miserably at it so spare us the change the world one naked ass at a time speeches.

Charlotte is baited by Sidney, the emotional recluse, into oversharing which she can’t help herself from doing because even at this early stage she has a crush on him and wants to impress him with her insight. He takes that rather kind take on his brother Tom and spins it into a narrative of inexperienced superficiality and mockery because that’s what he’s conditioned himself to think about people.

Episode 2

Charlotte: Our conversation at the party … I expressed myself badly and I fear you misunderstood me. I didn’t mean to disparage your brother or to offend you. Indeed I have the greatest admiration for what you and he are doing here in Sanditon. You were right to rebuke me and indeed I am sorry. I hope you won’t think too badly of me.

Sidney: Think too badly of you? I don’t think of you at all, Miss Heywood. I have no interest in your approval or disapproval. Quite simply, I don’t care what you think or how you feel. I’m sorry if that disappoints you but there it is. Have I made myself clear?

Fortunatelylori: Badly done, Sidney! Badly done indeed!

Not much to say about Charlotte in this one as this argument is ALL on Sidney and his trust issues. In his world, this kind of earnest apology and brave taking of responsibility is always a precursor to a guilt trip or a victimization episode. So he has become very adept at shooting down any such attempt forcefully.

It’s only in episode 3, when he sees Charlotte helping Mr. Stringer without any expectations of reward and her accepting his apology without any hint of emotional blackmail that Sidney is able to lower his guard and begin to see Charlotte for the honest, kind and generous human being that she is:

Fortunatelylori: Awwww! This is Sidney essentially seeing his unborn children in Charlotte’s eyes. (that is the most romantic lyric in the English language and no one will convince me otherwise)

However, what ends up happening? Sidney lowers his guard just in time for Charlotte to reactivate her suspicions which leads to their most explosive fight to date:

Episode 4

Sidney: Did we not agree that you would look out for Georgiana? Keep her out of trouble? I should have known you weren’t to be trusted.

Charlotte: And I should have known, despite your professed concern, you care nothing for her happiness.

Sidney: I would ask you to refrain from making judgments about a situation you don’t understand.

Charlotte: I understand perfectly well!

Sidney: Of course you do! Even though you’ve known Georgiana but a handful of weeks and him but a matter of hours.

Charlotte: That was time enough to learn that Mr. Molyneux is as respectable a gentleman as I have ever had cause to meet.

Sidney: You seem to find it impossible to distinguish between the truth and your own opinion!

Charlotte: The truth? You wish to speak of the truth, Mr. Parker? The truth is you are so blinded by prejudice that you would judge a man by the color of his skin alone.

Sidney: You speak out of turn.

Charlotte: Why should I expect any better from a man whose fortune is so tainted with the stain of slavery!

Sidney: That is enough! … I do not need to justify myself to you.

They essentially spiral out of control in this scene. Sidney’s trust issues come back and his lack of feed-back to Charlotte’s accusations make her provide increasingly horrible explanations to fill in the blanks.

Because their fights tend to be very intense (they are both people with very strong personalities), it’s easy to think of the two of them as simply not being compatible.

But their issues aren’t a matter of compatibility but rather an inability to find the right channels on which to communicate with each other, despite both wanting to.

Which brings us to episode 5

I love these little acting choices Theo James makes. This sigh is so evocative because it’s pretty clear it’s not frustration or boredom, but rather Sidney still reeling from her accusations in episode 4.

On the other side, Charlotte looks at him and thinks he is distant and non-affected and because, despite being angry, she still wants to connect with him, she tries so hard to use Sidney’s acerbic wit against him and keeps attempting to poke the big grizzly bear:

Charlotte: I assume you are here for the cricket.

Sidney: Never short of assumptions, Miss Heywood.

Unable to find a chink in his cold shoulder, Charlotte tries again at the cricket match:

Charlotte: Good luck to you too, Mr. Parker. Although I imagine you don’t think you’ll need it.

Sidney: Yes more assumptions, Miss Heywood?

Sidney is so pissed at her in this episode, not even her low key flirting with James Stringer galvanizes him.

But then something quite unexpected happens … Without actually realizing it, Charlotte manages to find the right channel to communicate on:

Stringer: You haven’t got another player to replace him. We win.

Charlotte: I’ll play.

With the wide eyed enthusiasm of a true romantic, Charlotte taps into the core of what Sidney desperately needs in his life. She doesn’t just help and support him when he needs her to but crucially she doesn’t put a price tag on it.

Charlotte: Is that a smile I detected?

Sidney: Oh, I doubt it …

Charlotte doesn’t enter the cricket match because she wants to use that gesture to ask Sidney for money for her pyramid scheme or gaslight him into thinking her betrayal was actually her “waiting” for him. Charlotte does it because she wants to see him smile. And just look at him …

Unfortunately that momentary progress is derailed again when Georgiana is kidnapped which will eventually lead to the carriage scene in episode 6 where Charlotte’s need for feed-back clashes with Sidney’s trust issues in their most revealing conversation.

It’s tempting to look at this argument and think Sidney is the only one who is in the wrong and who needs to change. But that would be missing a few important aspects of the story.

Charlotte: Otis never meant to place Georgiana in harm’s way. Any more than I did.

Sidney: And yet you both did.

I think a lot of people, Charlotte included, fall into the trap of believing that if someone didn’t intend to harm someone else that means they haven’t actually done something wrong. Which is why there are still people in the Sanditon tag that are resisting the idea that Tom Parker is a villain. Surely he never meant to hurt his brother and he didn’t force him to propose to Eliza, so why is everyone so hard on him?

But like Charlotte had to learn with Otis, just because Tom didn’t intend to cause Sidney harm doesn’t change the fact that he very much did.

In this case, Charlotte’s major mistake was not that she helped Georgiana stay in touch with Otis. Charlotte’s mistake was in assuming she had the whole 1000 piece puzzle completed when she only had about 200 pieces in place.

Charlotte: All I ever cared about was Georgiana’s happiness.

Sidney: What did you think I cared about?

Charlotte: That is anyone’s guess!

Sidney: I’ve done the best I can by Georgiana.

Charlotte: No! At every turn you have abdicated responsibility. If you truly cared for her welfare, you would have watched over her yourself.

Sidney: It is a role I neither sought or asked for.

Charlotte: Of course not! Because you are determined to remain an outlier. God forbid you give something of yourself!

Sidney: Please do not presume to know my mind, Miss Heywood.

Charlotte: How could anyone know your mind? You take pains to be unknowable. All I know is that you cannot bear the idea of two people being in love.

Despite admitting she doesn’t know his mind, Charlotte can’t help herself from filling in the blanks with what she assumes is a conscious desire to be uncaring. Because she doesn’t have the life experience to come up with another answer.

For his part, Sidney is hurt by her lack of trust in him but unwilling to trust her enough in return to tell her the whole story. Still her words do affect him enough to make him begin to lower his barrier and give Theo James one of his best acting moments:

Sidney: And what do you know of love? Apart from what you’ve read?

Charlotte: I would sooner be naïve than insensible of feeling.

Sidney: Is that really what you think of me? I’m sorry that you think that. How much easier my life would have been if I were …

Fortunatelylori: I just … he’s very good … that is all

It would be very tempting to assume that since Charlotte admits to being naïve once the whole Otis and Georgiana’s situation is revealed:

Charlotte: It’s all so overwhelming! I hardly know what to think anymore. (beat) About anything! I’ve always felt so certain of my judgment. But now I see that I have been blinded by sentiment and naivety. How could I have gotten it all so wrong? No wonder your brother has such a poor opinion of me …

and Sidney begins to show more outward concern for the people around him and validate Charlotte in ever increasingly romantic ways:

Charlotte: I know … I’m too headstrong. I’m too opinionated. I’m too …

Sidney: No. You are not too anything. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re more than equal to any woman here.

That their clashing world views are now aligned. But the truth is, Sidney isn’t the one to explain to Charlotte how it was that he became “insensible of feeling”. It’s Tom that tells her that story (and then promptly bungles whatever help he might have provided his brother). Sidney’s trust issues remain which is evident even as late as episode 8:

Babbington: I believe she’s tamed me.

Sidney: Yes … I just imagine how that might feel.

And

Sidney: I have never wanted to put myself in someone else’s power before.

Don’t get me wrong, I melt every time I hear that second line but it is indicative of the fact that love still feels like an inherently risky and dangerous thing for Sidney where he is obliged to hand over his power to someone else and pray that person doesn’t abuse it the way Eliza did.

For Charlotte’s part, Sidney beginning to reveal more of himself and show her the true man underneath the armor, makes her fall more and more in love with him. And the more she loves him, the more afraid she is of outwardly showing it. His confusion over his feelings for her and Eliza’s reappearance in his life, cause her to attempt to fill in the blanks again in episode 7. First by proxy, while talking to James Stringer:

Charlotte: You are far too sensible to form such a misguided and futile attachment.

Stringer: Why should it be futile, Miss Heywood? For all you know your feelings are repaid 5 times over.

Charlotte: I allowed myself to believe so for the briefest of moments. But I cannot deny the evidence of my own eyes.

And then directly:

Sidney: I hope you weren’t too offended by Mrs. Campion. It was only meant in jest.

Charlotte: Is that all I am to you? A source of amusement?

Sidney: No. Of course not! You’re … Forgive me.

Charlotte: On the contrary, you’ve done me a great service. I am no longer in any doubt as to how you regard me.

So what happens in episode 8? Well, they essentially trade places, going from this:

Charlotte: I hope you won’t think too badly of me.

Sidney: Think too badly of you? I don’t think of you at all, Miss Heywood.

To this:

Sidney: Tell me you don’t think too badly of me.

Charlotte: I don’t think badly of you.

In one of my metas I made the point that Sidney Parker IS Charlotte Heywood’s coming of age story: he is her first love, the first man she is sexually attracted to, her first kiss and well … unfortunately also her first (and hopefully only) heartbreak.

By being forced to deal with her own sense of loss and the pain of being separated from the person she loves, Charlotte will finally be able to understand the true nature of Sidney’s insensitivity of feeling. Instead of causing her suspicion or apprehension, she will be able to connect with it because she’s lived through it herself.

As for Sidney … I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in the end he is forced to do to Charlotte what Eliza did to him all those years ago. He chooses to marry a wealthy woman he does not love and disappoint a poor woman whom he does love.

I think given that his motives are obviously altruistic while Eliza’s were not (both per Tom’s story as well as her general character as revealed in the show so far), the point of the similarity is not to bring him closer to Eliza. Certainly not when he’s looking at Charlotte like this:

Which means that him being forced to contend with what happened 10 years ago by reliving the incident, this time in the role of the aggressor, is there to increase his level of vulnerability and put him in the place of the earnest person trying to reach out for emotional connection and having to fight to pull down the walls he himself helped put up in Charlotte.

You know what they say … If you really want to know someone, walk a mile in their shoes. No one ever said those shoes would be comfortable.

#sanditon #sanditon meta #sidlotte #sidlotte meta #jane austen adaptations #sidney parker #charlotte heywood #sense and sensibility #sanditonmetacollab

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