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boneandfur · 4 years ago

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Time After Time

Pairing: Ethan x MC // Rating: T for themes of war // notes: This was written as a secret Santa gift(yeahhh I know it's late). The next part will have a link to the NSFW part on ao3, should you so choose to read it. The fic can be read without it as well. // The poem on the mood board is Flanders Fields by John McCrae. The lyrics in the fic are from When This Lousy War Is Over, a World War 1 song. // Summary: It's New Year's Eve in 1915 and Nurse Helena Valentine is on leave for twelve hours. Will she be able to say what's in her heart when she runs into Dr Ethan Ramsay, her superior at the field hospital, or will they run out of time? Note: sorry folks the cut isn't working. Will be moving to ao3 sometime here

ONE

"Rookie." The rich Scottish brogue is rough as he catches Helena's arm in the darkness of a Flanders night. "What are you doing here?"

The snow is falling thickly, beyond the ring of torchlight from the town square. In the reflection of the inky water, Helena can see the twinkling of fairy lights in the dark sky, and she steels her spine, only a faint tremor in her hands betraying a hint of fatigue.

Taking her grandfather's silver pocket watch out, she marks the time in her head:

(Twelve hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty four seconds.)

That's how much longer Helena has until she must walk back to the train station and meet the girls, and doesn't she have a warm room waiting for her, and a little fire, and some of that Flemish wine that Aurora was always going on and on about back at Smith? Yet here she is, on the very last day of the year in 1915, And I cannot seem to move an inch from it.

The strains of drunken soldiers singing makes her heart squeeze -- When this lousy war is over -- "I have official leave for the next twelve hours." I would give my eyeteeth for twelve hours of sleep, but I can't sleep. Time was, I would have given anything to sleep, back when I was studying to be a doctor, back in Boston.

When this war is over -- it feels like a lifetime before it began, just a little over a year ago.

I'll be back someday, when this war is over, Helena Valentine. And then I'll marry you, and we'll dance until Father Time forgets we are mortal.

(But he had never returned, and she went about with a band of black mourning ribbon on her upper arm, hidden under her sleeve: the bruise in her chest expanding until she felt nothing there any longer but silence, until she got on a ship bound for London Town...)

Helena feels the supple leather of Ramsey's gloves, butter soft, against her wet cheeks. She does not know if they are wet from tears, or from snow.

When this war is over/No more soldiering for me

There is a soft quality to Ethan Ramsey's blue eyes as he gazes down at her, brow troubled.

"You should be asleep behind the lines, Rookie." He ties the hood of her threadbare velvet cloak under her chin, as though Helena Valentine is still that pretty maid from Boston, the one who ran off to France to join her cousins in the war effort, three seasons past. "This isn't the place to spend your next twelve hours. You should be curled up in your cot with that book you always carry around in your apron pocket --"

"Sherlock Holmes." Helena lifts her chin a fraction of an inch, and pushes her spectacles to the bridge of her nose, meeting his gaze squarely. "He would have made a brilliant doctor, Dr Ramsey, sir."

"I am not disagreeing with you." Ramsey touches her elbow with his fingers, gesturing with his other hand towards the warmth and lights of the square. "But a bridge at nighttime, Rookie, even behind friendly lines, is not the wisest course of action."

(Twelve hours, seven minutes, and twenty-three seconds.)

The bridge begins to vibrate slightly, and Helena feels her whole body tense, a hot surge of liquid burning just behind her lashes. She sucks in a deep breath and turns her head, just -- the movement as jerky as a film reel at the pictures. His mouth moves, sound traveling as though they are underwater.

Rookie! Can you hear me, Rookie?

That's what Ramsey has always called her, ever since he found out she was a student of medicine, back in Boston. He brought her from the field hospital in Poperhinge with him, all the way to a makeshift hospital just behind the lines in Ypres. Brilliant surgeon Bryce Lahela had been there too, since gone at Loos, or perhaps not gone, but she has heard no more of him. Not even a whisper on the wind.

Helena tears her gaze from Ramsey's mouth, looking towards the eastern sky. The darkness evaporates, opening up in a brilliant reddish gold splendor of color, and Helena feels the warmth of Ramsey's grip on her shoulder all the way down to her frozen bones.

When this war is over,/No more soldiering for me./When I get my civvy clothes on,/Oh how happy I shall be.

Her debutante ball in Boston, the one her father had insisted upon, before the Titanic sank and took his life away with it -- there had been fireworks at that ball. The guests had oohed and ahhed and the bells had rung for the New Year of 1910, a lavish decade of glittering splendor laid out ahead of them -- and she had fought for her inheritance, so damnably hard -- Let me be a lady doctor, Mother, I beg you -- years upon years, gone in the blink of an eye, working with only the most wretched of immigrants in the squalid slums, and then back home to Beacon Hill, to play the debutante.

You must secure a good marriage, Helena, and put this silly dream aside...

The world rushes in with a thunderclap as the artillery barrage begins, and Ramsey pulls Helena to his chest, his hand against the back of her head, wound tightly into her dark curls. She can hear his heart beating in time to the band -- one two, one two, the steps to the waltz.

Eleven hours, fifty-eight minutes, thirteen seconds. The pocket watch ticks on. One two, one two. She pulls back from Ramsey's chest, embarrassed, and turns back to the direction of the Front.

It's hard to believe that only six hours ago I was in a field hospital just behind the front lines. She hasn't realized she's said it aloud until she feel his greatcoat settle over her shoulders. It smells like him, she realizes with a shuddering breath -- like him, without other men's gore staining him up to the elbows. Smoke, and peat, and whiskey.

Once, two months ago, she'd found herself alone in his office to fetch more morphine, and she'd taken the liberty of burying her nose in his extra uniform. She had lost track of how long she'd stood there, nose buried in wool, until a stretcher bearer had rapped on the door and startled her.

"Yes, and you're a dammed bloody fool of an American chit." Ramsey clears his throat. "The war won't be over any faster if you continue to stare at it like that, Rookie."

"Should just be another month." Helena tries, and fails, to sound chipper. "That's what Rafael says he heard from the Cordonians, who heard it from that fighter pilot, Jake Mackenzie, who heard it from the French Foreign Legion --"

And any minute now, out there in the distance, Rafael will come chugging up to Edenbrook Field Hospital in his rattletrap old ambulance, and out will swagger Captain Beaumont of the Cordonian Calvary, dog in his arms and patch over one eye, with a wink and a grin, as if to say, Well, I survived another match with the boys in gray -- as if they'd just had a football match in time for tea -- or it will be that Mexican mercenary from the French Foreign Legion, swearing a streak as blue as those tattoos on his skin, the indomitable Sargent Salazar, or, or --

"Come on, Rookie. Let's get you warmed up."

(Eleven hours, eleven minutes, eleven seconds.)

#long post #ethan ramsey #open heart fanfic #open heart #choices oph #ethan x mc #hope the cut works #choices the stories you play #choices fanfic #playchoices

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joie-university-rp · 5 years ago

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Dear, CHRISTOPHER HUMMEL,

It is with great pleasure we invite you admission to Joie University! Welcome to the Thunderclap family!

–

Congratulations, ADMIN D! Please be sure to check the New Members’ Checklist and send in your character’s account within 24 hours from now. We cannot wait to see all that you will bring to this roleplay! We love you already!

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Alias; preferred pronouns: Daisy (Aka Vice Provost D) and she/her

Age, Timezone: 18 and EST

Activity, short explanation: 9-9.5/10 since I have quite the abundance of free time, yet college and time with family is also a thing.

Ships: Topher/Chemistry

Anti-Ships: Topher/Forced

Triggers: RFP

Preferred photo for Character’s ID (please give a link): Here’s his face

Anything else: Get ready for angst!

IC INFORMATION:

Full Name (First, Middle, Last): Christopher ‘Topher’ Joel Hummel

FC: Miles Heizer

Age: 18

Birth date: December 1st

Hometown (please be sure to check the hometowns listed for characters your muse is related to!): Lima, Ohio

Gender/Pronouns: Male and he/him

Sexuality: Gay (closeted)

Major(s): Creative Writing

Minor(s) [optional]: Theatre

Housing request (remember only the president of a Greek Organization is required to live at a Greek House to be in it!): No preference. He could live in either Scheuster or Beiste dorms or AXi’s house.

Extracurriculars (Click here for the list. Be sure to specify any executive board positions [i.e. president, secretary, etc.] If something isn’t listed, please put it here and we will add it to the masterlist!): Drama, Film, Archery

Greek Life Affiliation [optional] (Please be sure to specify any executive board positions [i.e. president, pledge educator, etc.] or if your character is not yet a member, but plans to rush): Plans to rush Alpha Xi Lambda

CHARACTER PROFILE:

[At least] 3 Headcanons for your character:

(Car Crash TW) Topher was in a car crash with a friend of his this past winter. They’d been driving home early in the morning from a party and were tired as hell. So was another driver and next thing everyone knew, they were in the hospital. For the most part, two of the three people involved walked away with minor injuries in comparison to Topher. It would take plenty of corrective medical procedures for his right leg to get back up to full strength and even then, he may never lose the cane that he currently needs to walk.

There are those who will claim that this Hummel is a modern Renaissance man. Topher would beg to differ and just say that he has a few too many random hobbies. He enjoys reading, playing guitar, listening to music, watching movies and TV, writing short stories/scripts, swimming, acting, and archery.

Chances are that if you’ve ever had a conversation with this Creative Writing major, you’ve noticed that his speaking manner can switch between way too refined for an 18 year old and cursing so colorful that would make anybody blush at the drop of a hat. This is the base for many jokes about his 'literary’ manner of speaking one moment then having the mouth of a sailor the next, sometimes even in the same breath.

[Internalized Homophobia TW] If you were to ask for theories about why Topher hasn’t come out yet, there would be two contenders for the top spot: internalized homophobia and feeling as though there is never a right time. More often than not, he feels like there is pressure on his shoulders to marry a great girl and carry on the Hummel name, even if said pressure is self imposed. Then the latter reason is rather self explanatory, but he feels as though others have enough on their minds and more important things to focus on.

STUDENT CENSUS SURVEY:

(Please answer the following questions IN CHARACTER. Responses can be as long or short as you see fit!)

What made you want to attend Joie University? The wide range of opportunities, definitely. When I was researching colleges, I came under the impression that Joie does a lot of things differently and puts unique spins on a whole lot. So I took a chance by sending an application.

What are at least 3 positive or neutral and at least 3 negative traits that you believe you possess? Bright, devoted, and hopeful for the positive traits. Untrusting, fiery, and sardonic for the negative ones.

Which of your traits do you value most? Brightness, definitely. It can apply to both intelligence as well as general positivity.

How can that trait benefit the University (or its student body) as a whole? I hope to bring either some carefully monitored positivity or outside the box thinking to the situations that call for them. I’m more than happy to lend advice or kind words whenever needed, so if anybody needs them, then they should hit me up for lack of a better phrase.

What do you hope to gain from your experience at JU? I hope to grow as a person, learn things both inside and outside of the classroom. Real world knowledge has the potential to serve people just as well as what they find in a textbook, if not more so.

What is a quote or song lyric that describes you? 'The best of us can find happiness, in misery’ from I Don’t Care by Fall Out Boy. Even in the darkest of times, I try to find the bright side in a given situation or at least a reason to keep smiling.

#accepted

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farplane · 3 years ago

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DAY 26: [EXTRA CREDIT]

(note: this is a continuation of last week’s extra credit entry)

The city was already lost by the time Wulfric made it to the surface. He’d raced through tunnels rocked by blasts above, run past frantic folk being ushered to safety by sigil-bearers whose territories didn’t risk collapsing over their people’s heads—it was already hell below, but it was worse above.

He faltered for two steps, once he was fully out of the tunnels. It was the fire-rain sky: the same he’d seen in Nhalmasque all those years ago, the black of their ships blotting out the stars with wave after wave of soldiers. For a moment he was powerless again, gripped by a boy’s fear until the sounds of gunfire shook the soldier awake. A new spike of adrenaline, and he was running again, barely aware of the tingling numbness shooting down from his right shoulder to his fingertips.

It was still a long way to his family. He cut through the alleyways like an Undercity shadow, like a Glaive infiltrator; he ignored the screams that would have forced him to fight and waste time he didn’t have.

The imperials had already barricaded the stairs that would have taken him straight to the house. Wulfric swore from between his teeth and veered west, thinking to cut through the theatre district; a blast sounded close enough to make his ears ring and send him sprawling onto the cobblestones, arms covering his head. The ground shook from a tumble of bricks just ahead of him: an archway had crumbled into the side of a nearby building.

A blessing of destruction. Sidestepping a body mangled by stone, Wulfric sprinted up the ledge the fallen bricks offered him and jumped, catching the edge of the roof and dragging himself up. Half of his body resisted the effort, grown clumsy from age and two decades of skulking underground, but quickly remembered itself. Climbing had been easy, once.

He set to running again, his path far clearer now from above—and the burning city, too, was clearer. Smoke rose from Barrel Street, he realized with a cold stab of fear. There was no time to doubt the jump without the use of magic—but Stars, he felt empty, so fucking pale compared to the man he had once been—as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Soon he was back in the streets below, just a few strides from Rinomy’s, his knee shrieking with pain from some wrong move in his landing,

But he didn’t stop. He could only run and pray it would be empty.

“Gav?” Wulfric shouted as he burst through the door. His boots crushed broken glass from the windows underfoot; there was smoke coming from the cellar. Panic set his lungs alight. “GAWAIN!”

A voice rose in answer; not Gawain’s, and not with words he could make out. Wulfric followed the cry outside, through the back door, along a trail of blood towards the shadows of the alley. He didn’t recognize her right away; not curled up onto herself like this, with half of her face mangled.

“He’s not here,” M’zahre said with a strange smile in her broken voice. Wulfric dropped to his knees beside her, but she pushed his hands away. “I told him to go home; he hasn’t slept in days. Rock-headed bastard was in with the Resistance to bring down the Mad King.”

“Fuck, M’zahre,” Wulfric said, his trembling hands still hovering over her bloody body. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

She shook her head as best she could. “That’s not gonna happen, boss. Go and keep your family safe. My man’s going to come for me.”

Wulfric didn’t know that that was true; neither did she. But still she said, “I’ll be fine! Go!”

He swallowed. “See you on the other side,” he said, finding her knee intact and giving it a squeeze before running off again.

He could have gotten lost and still known how to find the house by the crackling of magic that permeated the air, by the sharp smell of fire and smoke that had nothing to do with ceruleum: Avis was in the street with both hands raised high, holding a stormy barrier up against the sky. It covered half their neighbourhood—destructive force harnessed into protection. All her.

She could guard against magitek from above, but not the soldiers. That was Gawain, booming with anger, a bowgun in hand. And for a moment, Wulfric thought they might actually see this through, defend their home even while the whole world was falling apart around them.

He sprinted forward, breathless, knives in his hands. Then he heard something like a thunderclap, echoing loud in the dome of strange quiet granted by Avis’s magic—and he felt a burst of pain in his abdomen. He stumbled back and fell to his knees before he fully realized there were two bullets in his belly, and someone was shouting his name.

Avis’s voice cut through it all. “Frey, don’t—!”

She’d married a woman almost as stubborn as she was. Freyja came into Wulfric’s view like pale starlight, her gentle hands on his burning body as she sank to the ground beside him and pulled him up against her.

“Get down!” Gawain shouted, and Freyja was bent over Wulfric as he loosed a volley of bolts into soldiers approaching from the mouth of the street. She cradled his head and held his hand, and it was wrong, he wasn’t supposed to—

“Frey?” Avis said breathlessly over her shoulder.

“He’s gravely wounded,” Freyja called back.

“I’m still breathing,” Wulfric said, fighting through the blinding pain thundering through him as he shifted to try and put himself between Freyja and danger. A stupid, reckless, tired smile worked its way onto his lips. “How many times are you gonna have to watch me die, hey, Highness?”

“You won’t die,” Freyja said. That was just for him, quiet and hard with fear.

“Sorry I made a mess of my rescue again.”

Freyja shook her head; the way she clutched his hand was more than just fear for the inevitable. “She’s tiring, Wulfric,” she said, her grave eyes darting over to Avis. “Saskia is inside. She’ll kill herself to protect her.”

Wulfric choked back a whimper as he moved again, stretching his legs out in front of him to try and sit up at the sound of heavy footsteps. When tried to hold an arm out in front of Freyja, she graciously took on the burden of much of his weight.

“I only see one way out of this. Through you,” Freyja said.

“I’m no use to anyone like this, Frey,” Wulfric replied quietly, the taste of failure thick and bitter on his tongue. All these years, all the fighting—all for this.

“If you had the strength to fight again, could you do it?”

“Planning on pulling those bullets out of me with your bare hands, Princess?”

“The queen’s magic,” Freyja said, and a wave of dizziness washed over Wulfric. “The Glaive’s magic. I could give it to you.”

Wulfric looked into her face, wide-eyed. The ground shook beneath them.

“What?”

“Could you do it?” Freyja repeated, more firmly this time.

“Yes,” Wulfric said breathlessly, unthinking as something surged through him—pushing against the white-hot chill of pain. Anticipation set his heart to racing.

Freyja’s hand tightened around his in what he next understood as an apology as it moved to his abdomen, pressing against his wounds. Wulfric bit back a scream; she touched her brow to his, her breath soft against the jagged scar on his cheek. And when she spoke, they were not Queen Eivor’s words, nor Freyja Emery’s—they were those of Celes Altius, the Oracle, his queen.

“Blessed Stars of life and light—” she began in a soft voice, an achingly familiar prayer that gave way to the firmness of one who knew how to commune with the gods themselves— “I, Celes, daughter of the last queen of Nhalmasque, beg of you a knight. Deliver us my champion, Wulfric of Clan Greyhunt.”

When she poured the magic into him, Wulfric did scream. His vision sparked, black and sylleblossom blue; his whole body burned in an instant as power rent his veins and took up every space, every last hollow inside him. For a moment, he thought he had died once more as he felt the touch of the Stars themselves, unfathomable and ancient. Already once they had denied him, when Ysbrand’s corpse had been weighing his own broken body down, and now—

You again.

There was only complete and utter clarity in their wake.

He raised his hand and threw a burst of lightning down the street, stopping the advancing magitek weapon in its tracks—and he sprang to his feet as though he were thirty years old again, as though he hadn’t had two bullets inside him moments ago, breathing through the exhilaration.

“Wulf,” Gawain said.

“I’m fine,” Wulfric called back. He helped Freyja to her feet, holding her hands tightly in his—there were no words to say what he felt towards her in the moment—as he guided her towards Avis. “Let go of the barrier and get your wife inside,” he said to her.

Avis looked at him with dark eyes, unwilling to lower her guard at first—but she trusted him more than he ever thought he might deserve from her, and she was exhausted. Her hands shook as she dropped her arms and surrendered. The noise of chaos was deafening in the absence of her barrier, closer than ever.

“I’ve got the neighbourhood,” he said. “All of you inside. Gav, make sure she saves her strength—last resorts only. And keep that crossbow close.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Gawain said.

“I know,” Wulfric replied with a smile. He glanced over his shoulder at the mouth of the street again; the magitek weapon was still crackling with electricity, but it wouldn’t stay down for long, and neither would more soldiers be far behind. When looked back to Gawain, he knew this was a farewell; Gawain knew it, too.

“Come back to us, brother.”

“Wait for me.” Wulfric pulled his hood over his head and secured his mask over his nose, giving a single nod. “For hearth and home.”

With one last look at his family, he took up his dagger, and then he threw it down the street—and his body followed, leaving only sparks of magic in his wake.

For the first time in over two decades, Wulfric was whole.

The battle had already taken him halfway across the city when he first stumbled at the end of a warp—as though he were fighting Ysbrand again, Ysbrand who understood his mind and his instincts and would swat his daggers away to sabotage his jumps. But his blade had gone down his chosen path; it was his body that half-resisted the jump. Wulfric ducked under the swipe of a gunblade, threw his dagger to strike into the imperial’s neck, and it felt as though the jump had taken strips of his skin away.

Blood slicked his hands, almost cold against the white-hot sparks of magic crackling beneath his flesh. And he knew, intimately, that it was not Freyja’s gift failing him.

When he threw his dagger to jump to a rooftop, nausea gripped his belly like a bad memory; he came up short of the roof thinking not now, not now, threw again, and then he was freefalling as his body refused to answer, just for an instant—long enough for his heart to thrum with panic before he was barreling across the roof. He scrambled to his feet with the weight of his years on his shoulders and saw the size of the pursuit below.

More imperials on him meant they weren’t in the streets after the more vulnerable, but he wasn’t going to get out of this; not with exhaustion sinking into his limbs, with his body’s growing resistance to the one thing that made it alive. He conjured fire and launched it down at the bulk of the imperials, and it singed his fingers.

Wulfric ran across the rooftop to lead them farther away in their chase of him, feeling the blinding white of their searchlights on his back; he warped back down into the street and, soon after, felt a trickle of blood from his nose. His breathing was starting to burn in his lungs.

He had to duck behind a mass of rubble as gunfire cracked through the air, panting as his flesh remembered the so recent puncture of their bullets—and then it stopped, and he heard their comms screeching awake.

“All units cease fire. Ala Mhigo is fallen.”

Wulfric wanted to laugh, wild and frantic with the grief of what he already knew but couldn’t face.

“Repeat, all units cease fire. First cohort, report to the royal palace to await the orders of Gaius van Baelsar, viceroy to the imperial province of Gyr Abania. Second cohort, begin patrol and restore order in the streets. All remaining insurgents are to be summarily executed.”

You are out of time, Deathseeker.

I know.

Wulfric closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rubble, drained of everything he had left. All that remained to him was surrender—but he wouldn’t surrender to Garlemald. Not in life, and not in death.

He dragged himself back to his feet and, with the last of his strength, slashed his dagger in an upwards arc through the air, cloaking himself from the imperials’ eyes. He didn’t have to look down at himself to know that it was more a shivering mirage than a proper cloak, but that didn’t matter; all that did, now, was that he could make his way out of the city before they caught him.

He could have gone home—back to Avis and Freyja’s and Gawain’s, to see them all one last time, but he didn’t want Saskia’s last memory of him to be the broken, disfigured shadow he was now. Better it be whatever she remembered now, the uncle she had known when he could bring himself to be with his family.

And Gawain would find his body when he didn’t return. He would know where to look.

The sun was beginning to rise from behind the smoking wreck of the city; it lightened the sky across the lochs, grey-blue and without stars. Wulfric let go of the last of the cloaking magic clinging to him as the rise of the hill came into view, or maybe it wore away—he didn’t know. He only knew how weary he was, how badly he wanted to breathe without the taste of blood in his mouth.

Somehow, he managed to climb the hill with the very dregs of his strength, stumbling the last few steps to the lone tree—the one whose roots had known Marco’s ashes.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Hope you don’t mind that I rest the old bones here a bit.”

He settled down with difficulty on the ground, in the cradle of two roots, and pressed his back to its trunk. A breeze rose from the waters: a westerly, pushing away the smoke and bringing salt up to his lips. His eyes fluttered closed, if only for a moment; when he opened them, the sky was awash with pinks and oranges.

“I’m glad Ashley picked you a nice view,” he said, blinking away tears he hadn’t shed for Marco in a long time. He pressed his lips together; it pulled stiffly at the pinched skin of his scar. “I hope him and his are all right.”

It was what it was. Wulfric didn’t have enough left in him to wallow in what was lost, in his failures; he simply closed his eyes and decided, for once, to feel peace for having come to the moment he had waited for since he was eighteen years old.

CODA

“Come on, old man.”

The girl was patting his cheek and tugging at his arms, her struggle against his weight evident. Dead weight, and her a scarecrow, not yet twenty.

He wasn’t dead yet, because he said, “Neesa?”

“Yyyup. Gonna help me help you, or what?” When he didn’t move or answer, she groaned out an exasperated breath. “Look, Auntie would kill me if she knew I was out here for you, so let’s crack on.”

Everything hurt, but with Neesa’s help, Wulfric managed to get himself to stand. She wrapped a skinny arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair, supporting him against her own weight.

“There. Let’s get you home, Gramp.”

Wulfric looked back at the tree one last time as though expecting to see his body still nestled among the roots, slowly rotting away atop the hill; but there was nothing but grass, disturbed by his and Neesa’s footsteps.

Home. What a strange, unfeeling word.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #c:wulfric #f:xiv #p:queensglaive

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arwenkenobi48 · 7 years ago

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Love Thy Enemy ~Chapter 8~

Third time’s a charm <3 I’d grab the tissues if I were you.

Ezra’s P.O.V.

This really wasn’t what I’d been expecting. Maul and I were the only living people on this lifeless planet and we were about to perform a potentially dangerous ritual. All at once, I suddenly felt extremely unsafe. The walk through the dark - with the only sound being our own footsteps - seemed to take forever and I was immensely relieved to see small speckles of light up ahead.

These turned out to be burning torches. In the room we entered, I saw that these torches were arranged in formation around some kind of stone altar. Directly ahead of us was a narrow doorway, from which a faint golden light was coming. Not knowing what to say and feeling too afraid to run, I simply followed Maul.

After what seemed like years, we finally entered through the doorway. We were standing in a small hut filled with melting candles and all sorts of weird bric-a-brac. I even saw a word written in a language I didn’t know on one of the walls. I wasn’t sure that word had been written in ink. Maul finally broke the silence. “I have gathered many things,” he said. “Secrets to help us restore our memories.”

Thinking out loud, I murmured: “Look at all this junk.” Maul glared at me with surprising ferocity. “Do not touch anything,” he warned. “These are artefacts from my past. From a time when my power was almost absolute.” He knelt beside a strange golden orb, which was surrounded by a shrine of candles, as he said this, gazing at it fondly. Curiosity replaced my fear and I took an opportunity to explore Maul’s refuge. The first thing my eyes settled on was a rather haunting painting. Like everything else, it was surrounded by candles, which had all but melted into a pool of wax.

The painted woman, dressed in blue, had a kind of sad beauty about her. What disturbed me, however, was the dark stain that looked like blood across her eyes and chest. At the foot of the painting was an object that resembled a lightsaber, surrounded once more by candles. I reached out to touch it, questions racing through my mind. “GET AWAY FROM THERE!” Maul’s voice almost gave me a heart attack. I jumped an inch in the air and turned quickly around to see him standing right behind me, a look of relief on his face (much to my surprise).

“Is that a lightsaber?” I asked, once I had recovered from my initial shock. “Indeed,” said Maul, who was carrying a pair of old goblets. “But not like any that you would know. If your Mandalorian friend was here,” - here, he uttered a knowing smirk - “She could explain it to you,” He smirked again and handed me one of the goblets, once again giving me that proud smile. There’s something going on now, I’m sure of it. Maul’s never been this emotional before. All the same, I know how that feels. I can tell that just being here is a huge burden for him. Poor man.

Maul’s P.O.V.

I lead Ezra back to the altar, where I explained what my plan was. “I have studied the ways of the Nightsisters and found a spell that suits our needs,” I said. “This altar is the focus of their ancient power.” Taking a tall vessel and pouring its contents into the two goblets, I continued. “Now, to initiate the merge, we must each drink this potion,” I handed Ezra a goblet. “Errr, you first,” he shivered, understandably nervous. Clinking my glass against his, I quickly drank the potion.

I could already feel it beginning to work inside me. “To complete the spell,” I told Ezra, who had been watching me the whole time. “You must drink it all, just like me. All of it,” Ezra did this. I could feel the power coursing through my veins. My hearts pounded in my chest and my ears began ringing. “It’s...it’s working!” I gasped, clasping my hands over my eyes. It felt almost exactly like the fusion of the two Holocrons; that rushing sensation, the overwhelming blend of sights and sounds. And above me, a shimmering light.

I could just about see Ezra’s silhouette as we both gazed into the light. It was now or never. “Where is he!?” I called in desperation. The bright light before me changed. Now I could see a planet rushing towards me. A desert planet with twin suns. I seemed to fly across the desert sands and stopped above a small rocky outcrop, where I saw him once again. But this time, there was someone else beside him. It was Ezra. “I see. I understand.” I said out loud.

Within a split second, it was over. A loud bang like a thunderclap, followed by a blinding flash, and Ezra and I were back on Dathomir, utterly shaken by our experience. “Of course,” I murmured, gasping for breath. “It ends where it began. A desert planet with twin suns.” “He’s alive!” Gasped Ezra. “I can’t believe he’s alive!”

As we both got back on our feet, however, I heard a noise which made my blood run cold. The sound of whispering voices. The fires went out and we were plunged into darkness. “It is time to pay our debt,” I whispered in horror. With a crash, the goblets toppled over. “What’s happening!?” Asked Ezra, terrified. As the altar began glowing and pouring green mist, we both backed away.

Two screaming ghosts emerged from it, swarming around us like predatory birds. “What is that!?” Ezra screamed. Equally terrified, I shrieked: “Oh! The spirits of the Nightsisters! They must be compensated for the use of their Magick!” “So pay them and let’s get out of here!” Ezra begged as one of the ghosts tried to grab him. “The price is our flesh and blood!” I yelled. “Don’t let them touch you!” He narrowly avoided one as it swiped at his head.

All of a sudden, my need to protect Ezra became greater than my fear. “Wait! Sisters, do not touch him!” I begged. “Take my flesh! I am yours!” Maul!” Ezra shouted. “Don’t do it!” I don’t care! Even if it costs me my life, if that’s what it takes to protect Ezra, so be it! But to my horror, the sisters just kept repeating over and over again: “Not enough! Not enough! Not enough!” Over their screeching, I heard a familiar voice from below. “EZRA!” It was Kanan Jarrus himself!” What is he doing here!? Oh, Force, this may cost us our lives!

Ezra’s P.O.V.

I turned around and saw both Kanan and Sabine standing there. At first I was furious that Kanan hadn’t trusted me as he’d said, but that quickly turned to fear of him and Sabine being killed...or worse. “Kanan! Sabine! Stay back!” I shouted. But it was too late. Sabine ran forward, blasters at the ready. What happened next felt like some sort of nightmare. Kanan and Sabine both screamed as the ghosts went inside them. They just seemed to...merge. It made me feel sick to my stomach. It was all I could do to stop myself from throwing up. Kanan...Sabine...This is all my fault! Have I lost you both?

An eternal moment passed. Then the true nightmare began. Kanan and Sabine both stood up, as if they were puppets on strings. “Ezra? Stay back,” Cautioned Maul, who sounded as horrified as me. I slowly approached my friends. “Kanan? Sabine?” And then it happened. Kanan removed his mask and his eyes were glowing with a nauseating green light. As I watched, Sabine also bore the same light in her eyes. They were both possessed. And it was all because of Maul and me.

Kanan drew out his lightsaber and attacked Maul. Sabine drew out her blasters began firing at me. I quickly blocked the shots with my lightsaber. “Sabine? It’s me, Ezra!” Maul was still locked in the duel with Kanan. “You’d better not hurt him!” I called in desperation. “We cannot defeat the spirits of the Nightsisters!” He shouted back. “Follow me!” With that, we ran for our lives. Only sheer terror kept me going. “Faster!” Called Maul. “We must reach the entrance!” I ran as though death itself followed me.

Once we were outside, however, I noticed something. Neither Kanan nor Sabine were following us. Instead, they were prowling in the shadows. “Wait, why aren’t they coming after us?” I asked, still overwhelmed with fear and confusion. “The altar is the source of their power,” Maul explained. “They cannot venture beyond the cave. It is unfortunate about your friends, Ezra. But this, this is your opportunity to embrace your destiny as my apprentice.”

Maul placed his hand on my shoulder again. Rage surged through me. I still regret what I said. But I was so angry and upset about Kanan and Sabine that I didn’t care. I completely lost it. I pushed Maul away. “I told you, that is never going to happen!” I shouted. I regretted the words as soon as they’d left my mouth and turned away, tears running down my cheeks. Now it was Maul who shouted. “Forget the past! Forget your memories! Forget your attachments!” His voice quaked with emotion as he pleaded.

“Ezra, our futures converge on a planet with two suns. We can walk that path together! As friends! As brothers.” My heart ached again. Through sheer force of will I found sympathy for him, but I knew that abandoning my family was out of the question. I made an attempt to reach out for Maul again. “My friends are trapped in there because of us!” I insisted. “I can’t just leave them!” Maul didn’t understand and my heart broke at his response.

Maul’s P.O.V.

Tears welling up in my eyes, I stared at Ezra in horror and disbelief. Why has he turned against me? What have I done wrong? Am I still not good enough? Why can’t he see he doesn’t need them? Apprentice, brother, why? I only just managed to force the words out as I turned to leave. I can’t stay here any longer! “You disappoint me, Ezra Bridger.” I was unable to stifle a sob as I ran into my ship. I waited until it had left Dathomir, before the pain in my hearts was so great, I had to bend over to stop it. I sank to the floor, beating my fist against the wall, crying uncontrollably. I felt so sad that for a few minutes, I didn’t want to get up again.

To be continued...

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joie-university-rp · 5 years ago

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Dear MONTGOMERY PRESCOTT,

It is with great pleasure we invite you admission to Joie University! Welcome to the Thunderclap family!

Congratulations, RY! Please be sure to check the New Members’ Checklist and send in your character’s account within 24 hours from now. We cannot wait to see all that you will bring to this roleplay! We love you already!

Application:

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Alias; pronouns: Ry

Age, Timezone: 26 EST

Activity, short explanation: you know me

Ships: Mont/male

Anti-Ships: Mont/female

Triggers: we cool

Preferred photo for Character’s ID (please give a link):

https://images.app.goo.gl/Z1xWamCdhj5dyzZ67

Anything else: hello yes we knew i couldn’t resist

IC INFORMATION:

Full Name (First, Middle, Last): Montgomery Jason Prescott aka “Monty”

FC: Noel Fisher

Age/Year at University: First Year Grad student, age 22

Birth date: March 13 1996

Hometown: St. Louis, Missouri

Gender/Pronouns: Cis-Male; he/him/his

Sexuality: Homosexual

Major(s): Physics

Minor(s): Engineering

Housing request: Beiste Dorm, single suite.

Extracurriculars: Science Club, (Can robotics club be a thing because he would love that)

Greek Life Affiliation: none

CHARACTER PROFILE:

History:

Monty is short for Montgomery and you can bet Julia and Sean were high as kites when they named their son. Being from a stereotypical bad neighborhood Monty was laughed at for his so-called hipster name, kids would make fun of him saying his parents were trying to sell him off to the young families moving in who were trying to gentrify the neighborhood. Other than that he was just like the other kids, always fighting to survive.

Most were resigned to a life in that place, but not Monty, not when he realized he was smart as a whip and figured out he had a chance to get out of there. When he was young he didn’t know what to do with his intelligence, for the most part he would hide it, skipping class and getting involved with bad people.

The main source of income for the family was drug deals ran by his father and Monty was expected to help out from the age of 12. He became used to banging down doors for late payments all too quickly. From then on he wasn’t ever opposed to use violence to get what he wanted. But he was also an expert manipulator because he could talk circles around most of the goons he had to deal with. Soon his father had Mont making the deals with the higher ups to get them a better deal and make more profit.

Mont was too smart to tell anyone about his sexuality. He knew coming out to his family would lead down a bad road for him. But his younger sibling was different. Like Monty, Niko was smarter than their older brothers and also had a secret. In the end they shared their secrets with each other and grew closer for it. Monty quickly figured out how to skim money off the top of their fathers profits in his illegal dealings and gave it to Niko because Testosterone wasn’t easy to get hold of in the trade and surgery wasn’t cheep when you had no insurance.

Monty spent most of his free time in an abandoned apartment building reading anything he could get his hands on until he found a passion for physics. Once Monty figured out he could use his brains to get to college and that a degree would get him out of this place that kept him down trodden he began to teach himself; it wasn’t like any of his teachers or his parents expected him to get more than an 8th grade education so he knew they would be no help.

Monty was able to use his powers of manipulation to get his brothers to do more of the leg work for their farther and he barely lifted a finger past the age of 16, his natural intelligence made him haughty and arrogant.

Connection fill for Schuyler Pillsbury Schuester:

Monty was called upon by the professors who organised Joie Radio to speak about the upcoming National Physics Day which happened to be during orientation and Schuyler PS happened to be the one interviewing him.

His overconfidence followed Monty to Joie where he found Schuyler. Schuyler was attractive to Monty because he seemed keen to prove himself and do a little rule breaking. He was the perfect target. In college Monty wasn’t quite the hot shot he had been in his home and he needed a way to let out his frustrations and prove he could still be top dog. All it took were the right words and the right gestures and the younger man was wrapped around his little finger.

After Schuy found Monty cheating the older boy didn’t bother with trying to win him back. He had a line of boys around the block begging to be his next love, to be more than the mistress, already so well trained it took little effort to get them where he wanted them but he would never admit part of him did miss the redhead; he was just so pliant and well behaved.

Monty has never known love, he has never loved anyone or been loved in return. The way his conquests loved him wasn’t real, it was something he made them feel, and his family certainly didn’t love each other.

Monty is now a Grad student and found Schuy still at Joie Radio where he had been persuaded to give an interview because he had won the Junior Arthur L. Schawlow Prize in Laser Science. Schuy coincidentally happens to be covering the show that day.

#Accepted

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joie-university-rp · 5 years ago

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Dear, ROSIE ALLEN-DANVERS,

It is with great pleasure we invite you admission to Joie University! Welcome to the Thunderclap family!

–

Congratulations, RY! Please be sure to check the New Members’ Checklistand send in your character’s account within 24 hours from now. We cannot wait to see all that you will bring to this roleplay! We love you already!

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Alias; preferred pronouns: Ry, She/her

Age, Timezone: 25, EST

Activity, short explanation: 7/10

Ships: Rosie/Chemistry

Anti-Ships: Rosie/forced

Triggers: RFP

Preferred photo for Character’s ID (please give a link): https://scbuz.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/d6d4244f438abeac1a725c2e314f50bd-271x365.jpg

Anything else:

IC INFORMATION:

Full Name: Rosie Alexandra Allen-Danvers

FC: Willa Holland

Age/Year at University: Senior, 21 years old

Birth date: September 22nd, 1997

Hometown: LA, California

Gender/Pronouns: Female, she/her

Sexuality: Pansexual

Major(s): Nursing

Minor(s): Psychology.

Housing request: Apartment

Extracurriculars: Joie Psych Research Lab, Yearbook Committee, Volleyball

Greek Life Affiliation: None

CHARACTER PROFILE:

Rosie was the only child of Alex Allen-Danvers and Jason Danvers. Alex was a famous actress in LA when she met and married Jason. However, once Jason found out he was going to be a father he left the family, saying he was no ready to be a parent. Alex was left to raise Rosie alone but did managed to balance her family and career by hiring a nanny for Rosie. Much of the time Rosie resented her mother for choosing her career but she did find a loving mentor in the woman who raised her for 13 years, her nanny Ellen was more a parent than Rosie’s mother or father had ever been. In fact, Rosie didn’t even meet her father until she was out of High School.

At first, High School was a great time for Rosie. She was popular and had many close friends but little did she know it was all for her name, she was the daughter of a famous actress after all. The boys made bets over who could sleep with the innocent little Allen first and all the girls wanted her closet not her friendship. It took Rosie until junior year to realize the truth when the quarterback of the football team, her so-called best friends boyfriend, tried to have sex with her at a house party. When Rosie tried to protest to honor her friend all he said was she would be proud he was the first one to get her in bed. Rosie left the party without another word and as soon as she was home she begged her Mom to send her to a dedicated performing arts boarding school in New York City.

After graduating High School Rosie decided to stay in New York, she wanted a new life where she could open up again and be her loving self not return to the city where everyone knew her name. In New York nobody knew who Alex Allen was so she could make a name for herself and that’s what she did. Rosie successfully made a name for herself as a Broadway dancer.

The fall after graduating high school Rosie released her first album and did a small tour of the USA, she was living the dream. Rosie couldn’t have imagined things would turn out so well for her on her own. She finally felt like she was out from under her mothers shadow and the pain of never knowing her father.

Rosie, so pleased with her accomplishments, signed a contract without a second thought. But in her hurry to make her own name Rosie did not fully understand what she was signing on for and found herself doing things she would never have done of her own free will, and she was not the only young girl being taken advantage of. Panicking Rosie got back in touch with her mother only to discover her father was a lawyer and he was able to fight for her.

These were awful circumstances for Rosie to meet her father under but she was secretly hoping this meant they could finally have the relationship she had always dreamed of, and so they did, until the trial was over and Jason walked away again once he had his handful of cash. Rosie was left heartbroken and decided to apply to a quiet Ohio college to escape.

Rosie is now majoring in Nursing to get her bachelors degree, and eventually her masters. Rosie wants to escape the limelight for good and help other people. She hopes to specialize in women health as a nurse to help women like herself.

STUDENT CENSUS SURVEY:

What made you want to attend Joie University?

I wanted to get away from New York City and California and so I looked for highly rated universities in quiet towns and found Joie, it seemed like the perfect fit. I also recently found out I have a half sister from my father and I’d like to meet her.

What are at least 3 positive or neutral and at least 3 negative traits that you believe you possess?

Three of my positive traits would be that I am passionate, creative, and empathetic. I think my negative traits would be I am too forgiving and I can be impulsive or foolish, I am working on these things right now after some hard things have happened in my life, which in turn has actually made me a workaholic in a bad way by pushing myself I sometimes become too caught up in my learning it can be detrimental to my happiness.

Which of your traits do you value most?

I believe my empathy is my most valuable trait. I am studying nursing and I think having the ability to empathize will be very valuable when I am trying to work with people. I will be able to see their side of the problems and come up with a solution with them.

How can that trait benefit the University (or its student body) as a whole?

I think my empathy could benefit the student body and University because I could support my fellow students like a mentor, I want to be able to help them with any problems they may have.

What do you hope to gain from your experience at JU?

Apart from getting my degree I want to live a normal life, I want to be able to go out and make real friends and have fun. Joie seems like a great place to meet honest people.

What is a quote or song lyric that describes you?

She found herself and somehow that was everything

#Accepted

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