#and she is a much bigger and more cunning cat than he could ever hope to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeybeezx · 4 years ago

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Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 1

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So this is the first fic I’ve ever posted on tumblr, low key kinda scary😄 But this man and his paramour have been on my mind for the longest. This is a self insert fic, but I don’t really use “Y/N”. Hope you enjoy and any feedback would be great!

Summary: You are an assassin hired by Tyrion to act as extra security alongside Bronn. He brings you back to King’s Landing just as the boy king Jeoffry Baratheon plans to marry the cunning Margaery Tyrell. But with all the guests roaming around, you begin to wonder who is a friend and who is a foe. No one makes you wonder more than the famed prince from Dorne and his captivating paramour.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of murder, allusions to sex

—————

You never knew anything in the seven kingdoms could make you feel so small. It wasn’t as if you’d ever let it show. You held your head high, walking alongside Tyrion as both of you entered the great hall of the throne room, Bronn on the opposite side of your employer. The Red Keep was even bigger than you had imagined it to be. The throne room was the tallest room you had ever seen. Against the dark ceiling the columns looked as if they stretched up into the night sky.

Every eye in the palace was on the three of you, and you felt no one’s eyes more than Cersei’s. You held her gaze. A woman who lived in luxury her whole life did not frighten you. She may have influence, but you had experience, strength, freedom, and skill with your bow that you were now acutely aware was strapped to your back. Having the protection of Tyrion’s influence and connections and Bronn’s strength and skill with a sword brought a sense of comfort, allowing you to remain calm under such scrutinizing gaze.

“Brother.” Cersei greeted with a soft smile that failed to hide all the vileness in her heart. “You come with friends.”

“Oh no, more like bodyguards. We have so many enemies now a days sister, I like to know I’m protected.” Tyrion smirked, leaving Bronn chuckling. You, on the other hand, would not let your intimidating demeanor fade, remaining as stoic and unyielding as the stone columns that held up the palace you wished to see fall. “May I introduce Bronn, Lord of Highgarden and-“

“Yes, I know all about the Silver Hawk from the North. I wonder if you are half as good as they say you are.” She mocked, her tone anything but genuinely curious. “I am told that you can hit your target 200 meters away and steal their breath before they even know what hit them.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think she was impressed, even if she did look at you as if you were the lowest creature she ever beheld.

“Perhaps I will have an opportunity to display my skills while I am here, your grace.” You’ll see first hand when my arrow is aimed just above your crooked neck.

“Perhaps.” She replied, feigning as much sweetness as a ferrel cat.

The both of you narrowed your eyes at each other. There was no outright exchange of harsh words or petty language, but the furious tension between the two of you was enough to fill the entire hall with uncomfortable silence. You hoped your unyielding gaze scared her. You wondered how many people actually defied her, you wondered how long it would take to get under her skin.

“Yes, well.” Tyrion interrupted, knowing you were bubbling with anger. Cersei was too, and although you allowed her to see your own emotions, it please you a bit to know you could anger her just as easy. You hated Lannisters almost more than anything, but you also knew Cersei’s time would come. She would pay for her crimes, fate would decide her end. You knew that fate had not brought you here to slay the queen regent, as much as you despised her. “As much as I love chatting with you sister, I simply wanted our arrival to be known. We have much unpacking to do and much to discuss.”

“Be careful, little brother.” She warned. “Your guard has little reserve and it seems your little silver hawk has a silver tongue as well. You would be wise to remember that people have been killed for that and less.”

“I’ll be sure to keep very close watch over them.” Tyrion retorted sarcastically before turning on his heal and exiting the great hall. You and Bronn followed, the later unable to contain his amusement.

“I’d say that went well!” He quipped, smiling at both you and your employer.

“She didn’t call to chop off our heads, that is some relief.” Tyrion noted. “But you both must be careful, especially you.” His scrutinizing gaze met yours.

“What? You expected me to just let her try and hold some dominate power over me? Just because she is draped in finest jewels in the seven realms and hides behind the her father’s influence does not mean I will tremble like a child before her.”

Tyrion sighed. “You must, for now, hold your tongue. Your wit does you credit, that’s why I like you, but you must check yourself. My sister is more dangerous than you can imagine. Don’t tremble, but don’t overstep either.” You remembered that Tyrion had been playing the game his whole life, he was basically born into it. He knew his sister better than anyone, and that meant he knew how to get around her better than anyone. You made a note to observe exactly what made Cersei tick, what made her preen under her usually reserved demeanor.

Despite the warm tones of the palace, you felt as though you were walking on ice. One wrong step and you were dead under a frozen tundra. You didn’t like this at all. Tyrion promised your freedom would not be at risk, yet you felt the freedom to speak your mind, the freedom to do as you pleased slip from you more and more. You were being watched here, you weren’t stupid. Every move had to be calculated, every word like honey laced with poison. The faster the boy king could marry, the less people there were for you to worry about. It made you uncomfortable not knowing who was an ally and who was a foe. The one thing you could appreciate about Cersei was that you always knew where you stood with her.

“I will try to remain civil if she approaches me, otherwise I will avoid your sister to the best of my abilities. But she would be wise not to challenge my reserve.” I huffed, earning a laugh from Bronn.

“Your reserve, little hawk, will be undone, whether it be from your words or your arrows.” He teased. You gave him a shove and he stumbled a bit, but not much. The last thing you needed was the oaf calling you “little”.

“The sooner we are out of this horrid place the better.” You huffed.

“I agree,” Tyrion agreed, nodding in understanding, “but don’t hold your breath. There is so much to be done before my nephew’s wedding and I will be relying on both of you to help me. While I am arranging more intimate details with my family, you two will be protecting me, but also doing some side tasks that I will not have time for. Bronn, for the most part you will be either at my side or Shae’s. If the palace discovers her they will use her against me. She can’t be found.”

Shae, Tyrion’s lover of sorts. You had grown close to her on your travels. You were wary at first. Your job was to protect Tyrion, naturally, you were cautious of anyone who might try to hurt him, to get close to him only for information or power. But it was a tough business, out spying a spy, and all your instincts told you to trust Shae. She had not left any of you astray thus far, and though the couple had not named their relationship, you could tell Tyrion and Shae cared immensely for each other. But Tyrion was right, she could be used as a pawn against him, especially if Cersei found out.

There was a sort of kinship between you and Shae. You were both strong, clever women, and she had tended to the few wounds you found yourself with on your travels. She seemed like a sister, and you were grateful for the company and friendship she provided.

“As for our favorite archer, you will be assisting some guests, getting information. I want to know the people attending this wedding, I want to ensure that this wedding goes smoothly. The Tyrell’s are a powerful ally, we cannot lose them.”

You nodded in understanding. Tyrion hired you to protect him, yes, but archery was not your only strength. You could be quiet, and you could listen as well as you could speak. You knew he would ask that of you with all the guests roaming around. You were curious to know what King’s Landing was really like, and even more interested in knowing the people who came here. “Ask it of me and it will be done.”

“Aye.” Bronn agreed.

“You are the most trusted of friends.” Tyrion gave the smallest of smiles. You were hesitant to even be in his service when the lord found you and offered you a job, afraid of losing your freedom. You knew the Lannisters, you knew their foul and power-hungry disposition. Being in their service seemed to you signing your life away. You were surprised to find he did not wish to take such things from you. He hired both you and Bronn to protect him, yes, but he would do the same for you both. You were an odd sort of family, but a family nonetheless. “Get settled and rested for the evening, we’ve had a long journey. We will reconvene later to discuss further plans.”

You nodded and left to your new chamber, one just across from Bronn and down the hall from Tyrion.

The trio was still not aware of the Red Viper slithering about the halls.

——————

Days passed with little to do. You hadn’t seen much of Tyrion. Since your arrival at King’s Landing your employer had become hand to his nephew king and married the pretty Stark girl you later learned was named Sansa. Still, you found ways to spend your time, keeping eyes and ears open for any useful information. You were particularly interested in Joffrey. It was astounding how a little boy could hold so much power, so much evil. You figured he inherited his terror from his mother.

Sansa was an interesting girl as well. Your heart broke for her. She was nothing if not resilient, staying loyal to her betrothed if only to keep herself alive. She was smart, you learned, but not useful when attempting to gather information. She did not deny her loyalty to Joffrey, even to those she liked. You were grateful that Tyrion stepped in to propose to the poor girl, if only to save her from the tyrant king. Both you and Shae kept close eyes on her. She was as smart and clever as Shae and yourself. You had a sneaking suspicion that she could be a close ally, if only your little family could get her away from the palace.

But today was different. Today you left your quarters to explore the palace a bit. You wanted to know what sort of battleground you were working with. It seemed surprising that a palace that was so heavily targeted was so...open. It seemed like light could illuminate any room. Even the gloomy and foreboding throne room could not escape a few beams of sunlight. If you didn’t despise every Lannister crawling about the palace, you had a mind to stay. The palace was only under the allusion of being warm and charming, the people who inhabited it ruined any chance of it being a lovely place. You noticed that the open windows and balconies made perfect outlooks should you need to eliminate a threat with one of your silver arrows.

But for now, the open windows became your place of peace as you ate a bowl of berries, just watching the rest of the sunrise. You saw the sun just barely grace the city with its light before you were called into Tyrion’s chambers. You arrived promptly, Bronn stumbling in a few minutes after you. You rolled your eyes at his lack of punctuality, which only earned you a playful nudge from the Lord of Highgarden.

“Behave you two. I swear I am dealing with children.” Shae huffed, but you could tell behind her sharp features was an air of mischief. Still, you straightened up and diverted your full attention to Tyrion.

“Well, much has happened. Prince Oberyn has arrived in The Capital. I visited him yesterday morning and he made it very clear that he wants to kill any Lannister that he sets his sights on. My father apparently ordered the death of his sister and her children. Our goal, for now, is to keep him happy, to keep him entertained. Bronn, your job will be to appear inconspicuous as you keep a watchful eye over my quarters, make sure no one goes in or out.” He ordered.

Shae huffed. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself thank you.” She huffed.

“No one disputes that my dear.” Tyrion chuckled. You remember watching Shae stab a man she did not want for laying a finger on her. “I’m not worried about you. But my sister and my king nephew are very powerful. They will know how to use you against me.” He explained. Shae still was not pleased with the idea, but she relented.

“As for our hawk,” he turned to you and gave you a list with names you did not recognize, “you will present these girls to Prince Oberyn in my place. You will tell him that royal duties as the king’s new hand have prevented me from revisiting him, but you hope he enjoys the whores as a welcoming gift to King’s Landing.”

“Excuse me?!” You snapped your eyes narrowing in on your employer. “I am not a squire whose job is to bring in girls for spoiled princes!”

“Do not think of it as that.” Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine, knowing that he should chose his next words very carefully. He could feel your eyes burning into him. “Consider it a diplomatic mission. Besides, the prince wishes to meet you. The legends of the Silver Hawk have reached so far as Dorne and he is eager to make your acquaintance. This is the perfect opportunity for the both of you.”

You still weren’t pleased. “So I am now to serve as entertainment for the prince of Dorne.” You sighed and shook your head. “I am only staying long enough to bring him the girls, then I’m leaving.”

“Fine,” Tyrion relented. “But you will be cordial to the prince. Don’t be deceived by his charming words, he stabbed one of my cousins for a few unkind, brutish remarks. I don’t want to know what he’ll do when he hears your fire-laced words.” If it weren’t such a serious situation, Tyrion might have been amused to hear you use your wit against a prince, but the prince’s history with the Lannisters was anything but a joke.

“I’m sure she can handle herself. Hawks have talons after all.” Shae teased, but squeezed your arm affectionately. You offered a kind smile, but you still loathed this plan.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Tyrion rubbed his temple like the very thought of you getting into trouble was enough to send him over the edge.

You relented and chuckled a little before placing a hand on your friend’s shoulder. “I will be on my best behavior, but only because you will worry yourself ill.” You teased. “It can’t be too bad if I just deliver your message and leave. I better get going though. Can’t leave a prince waiting.” You snorted. As if you cared what a prince thought.

————————

Oberyn Martell lied in his temporary bed at the brothel, Ellaria Sand at his right, a blond haired boy on his left. He was the picture of lustful bliss, his golden chest glistened as the small rays of light entered the sinful den. But the prince was quiet deep in thought as he started out into the empty space before them. All the pleasure the brothel had to offer could not break his focus.

“Your thoughts are too loud, my prince.” Ellaria chided as she placed a kiss to his chest. “Tell me.”

Even then, Oberyn still could not break his thoughts of you, but he ran a hand through his paramour’s raven curls in acknowledgment. “I think I found our third partner.”

Next Chapter

#pedro pascal #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell #oberyn x reader x ellaria #game of thrones #ellaria sand #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x you x ellaria #game of thrones fic #oberyn martell imagine #pedro pascal fic #got #armor

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jacks-wylan · 4 years ago

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The townsfolk indeed call for another Witcher. For all Jaskier knows, the baker's wife put a contract in a notice board in the nearest town – Corvo Bianco is small, and it's a bit farther away from any main roads – and, surprisingly, someone has arrived.

It's the innkeeper, that Jaskier meets at the well as he goes to collect water, that says that to him. “It's a Witcher I've never met before,” he says, gruffly, while he weights up two buckets full of water, “He came here this morning, flashed a strange grin when he asked us to take his things, payed a room and went to hell, probably.”

Jaskier is almost afraid to ask, “What is he like?”

The Witcher is obviously not Geralt, because the innkeeper would have known him in that case. Jaskier is scared to hope anyway – he wants him to be Eskel, or Lambert. He needs a familiar face, someone he can talk about and understand his words. A shoulder he can cry on. A friend he can ask to keep an eye on Geralt, because he can't anymore.

“He's, uh, strange. Has scars, pale skin, two swords.”

“Like any Witcher.” Jaskier almost laughs. He can be anyone, really. He doesn't dare to hope.

“Dunno if he'll come back, but he has a room in my inn. You might meet him.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, “I might.”

He does, that same evening. Jaskier doesn't even know why, after all, if the Witcher is Eskel or Lambert, they know where he lives – and if they already know about Geralt and his break up and they don't want to see him anymore, Jaskier surely doesn't want to impose his presence to someone who doesn't want it. He can be annoying, and most of the time he ignores when a person is annoyed by him, but he can take very well that kind of hint.

But curiosity's got the best of him, and won against the disappointment that is already stinging in his chest, while he walks, slowly, the small roads of Corvo Bianco. The past years, he has taken the same roads so many times that he's lost count, to reach the tavern down the village so he could perform for a, yes, a small crowd, but a very welcoming crowd. A crowd that Jaskier always adored, especially when they warmed up towards an amazed Geralt – still not used to the generosity, kindness and gentleness of this people.

He enters inside the inn and he's greeted by the innkeeper's wife. After a bit of small talks, she immediately points him a table in the center of the common room, where a man dressed of a light, leather armor is eating voraciously, not looking up as the innkeeper's wife tells him, “He's the Witcher!”, even though Jaskier is pretty sure that he's heard them very clearly.

Jaskier doesn't know what he was expecting. Not Geralt, but when his eyes lay on the Witcher's hair, he feels nonetheless a pang of disappointment when he notices that the colour is wrong, it's a too dark shade, not even close at the white strands Jaskier is so fond of. It's not even the brownish, gentle colour of Eskel's, and that is definitely not the chaotic head of Lambert. And he's never met Vesemir, but by the stories he heard, the Witcher is definitely not Geralt's mentor.

He blinks frenetically, but his eyes remain dry. He has half a mind to just turn around and forget about the unknown Witcher – right now, it's not strong enough to deal with the mess of another Witcher – but, the other half... the other half is curious. He wants to know who he is. He's been so lonely lately...

“I'll pay for what he eats.” he says then, to the woman in front of him, “Bring him another bowl of broth.”

“Want some, dear?”

Jaskier shakes his head, “I've already eaten, thank you.” he tells her, as he walks towards the Witcher that now is looking straight at him with a confused stare. He fidgets with a hem of his doublet, feeling a bit intimidated under the Witcher's unnerving eyes.

When Jaskier sits finally in front of him, he notices his medallion. The animal it represents is definitely not a wolf. “You're welcome.” he says, because he doesn't really know how to break the ice.

It works, somehow. The Witcher laughs, with a half seductive smile. “You must be the bard that lives here. There's this little girl that this morning talked my ear off about you, while showing me the way to the inn. She said you're funny and have a funny voice.”

Jaskier laughs. She must be the baker's daughter, the split image of her mother. “That must be me, yes.” The innkeeper's wife comes to them with two steaming bowls of broth, and ignores Jaskier splutters when one of the bowls is settled in front of him. She just looks at him, deadpanned, and makes a tactless remark about the weight he has lost lately, before turning back at her chores. “You're here for that child's parent's contract about a wolf.”

“That girl thinks it's a werewolf. And she's godsdamn right about that, at least.” the Witcher eyes at him through long, thick lashes. His eyes are of a strong yellow, they almost glow in the timid light of the torches. There is smudged kohl decorating his lids, it makes them bigger and more feline. They are like a black cat's. “She's wrong about you, you don't seem funny at all. You have no instruments with you, and I am not hearing a single song danced in miles. You're boring,” he grimaces, then, “And depressed. You're depressing me.”

Jaskier doesn't touch the broth, that's going cold under his nose. And really, as much as he's trying to be better, he can't deny those words. “Sorry for that. I... forgot my lute back at home.” he lies easily. His lute has remained untouched since Rinde, and now it's collecting dust inside his case under the bed. “My name is Jaskier, by the way. I was hoping–” what? What was he hoping to obtain? There is a Witcher in front of him and it's not from the Wolf's school. It's all a waste of time. “Nevermind. You're a Cat Witcher, and, I'll be honest, I haven't heard anything good about Cats. People say that you're cunning, and cruel. I, obviously, don't think it's true, because people say those things to all kind of Witcher, really,” he doesn't say that most of those things was Geralt that told him, “But I thank you for your services. If there's really a werewolf around here, it's... bad. It's a very bad... situation. Rarely we've had this kind of problem, here.”

“You know quite a lot 'bout Witchers, uh.” the Witcher pushes his empty bowl to the side, without lowering his gaze from Jaskier's face, “Name's Aiden. I'm a Cat Witcher, and I am usually cruel, if needed.”

Jaskier tries a smile, “Hopefully, we won't need it. I just wanted to tell you that here, you'll be... treated well. Not as a mutant, that is. They are used to Witchers, so no one will charge you more than needed for food and such, and they will pay you what is owed.”

The Witcher – Aiden – passes a hand against his lips, wiping the grease away with a swift move, “Good. I like when I'm payed fair and well. Now, this has been awkward enough so, if the master bard will permit it, I will head to bed. I spent all the day in the woods and found nothing, so if y'all are so cordial as you're saying, now I deserve a very good rest.” he says, standing up and stretching his long limbs. He's more lean and slender than the Witchers Jaskier knows, with less muscles and more agility, he guesses. I bet his cock is still smaller than Geralt's, Jaskier thinks, then, immediately after, he feels the urge to bang his head against the table.

Jaskier doesn't answer him, too occupied in try not to maim himself. But then, Aiden stop in his track and turns around enough to look at him again, contemplating something that Jaskier cannot read in his expression, “Now that I think 'bout it, I have another contract. Considering that I have to wait the next full moon to do anything with the werewolf, better get done with that too.”

Jaskier shrugs. It's not really his concern, after all. For a second, he has the impulse of telling him that, if only he needs it, he has some witchery potions back at his house. Just in case he hasn't enough supplies with him for both the contracts. After all, Geralt won't use them ever again. But, but something stops him to propose that: fuck, they're Geralt's, regardless of everything.

He won't give Geralt's things to anyone for any reason at all.

“The little girl hired me,” Aiden continues, with a grin. “She said that your house is haunted, because every night all the village hears wails coming from.”

Jaskier blinks, “That's... that's untrue.”

“She said that everyone is just ignoring that. Oh, it must be a very scared– correction, scaring creature living into your house.”

“There is no creature in my house! And no one wails in the night!” Jaskier snaps, incredulous. Whatever the fuck? “Well, I would know if there is something like that in my own house, I live there! There is nothing apart from me!”

Aiden raises an eyebrow.

Suddenly, hot shame creeps up Jaskier's chest, coloring his cheeks in an ugly red. “It's not me, Witcher.”

It's impossible. He doesn't cry since the day the townsfolk sent the pie to him. And during the night he, Gods, he just sleeps. He doesn't have nightmares, he has no reason to wail.

“Oh, I don't know. But worry not, bard, I am the monster hunter here, so I'll soon find out what lurks in your shadows, for very little compensation. See ya later, then!”

“Later?” Jaskier repeats, stunned. All he receives for an answer is the Witcher retreated back, and nothing else. He's totally been ignored, damn it. “Fucking hell.” he softly murmurs, even if all he wants to do is screaming for the terrible fate that has fallen upon his head.

He doesn't want another Witcher in his life. One – three, he lost them all – is enough, and he has already stomped on his poor, fragile heart, surely there's no need for another one to push his finger into the still fresh wound. Aiden will notices the evident presence – late presence – of a Witcher, from Geralt's old armors and weapons hanging on the wall, to the countless potions in the storage, and there will be questions, so many question that Jaskier still doesn't want to answer. And if he, indeed, is the one wailing during the night, he'll want to know the reason, and– and he doesn't want to explain himself. He feels so tired.

Dazed, he leaves a couple of coins on the table, next to the untouched, cold bowl of broth and gets out into the fresh evening air. He blinks while walking, not really acknowledging where he's going but pretty sure that his own feet are taking him home.

He thought he was feeling better. He thought that after a couple of months, he's made peace with what happened in Rinde, considering that it was no one's fault, considering that now Geralt is safer that he'll ever be with him, considering that all he wants is Geralt's happiness even if it's not with him. Sure, Jaskier's always been selfish, and he's always wanted everything despite it all, but– but he thought that with Geralt was different, that he was – is – more important than his foolish humanly desires.

And yet, Gods. And yet, here he is, sad and depressed, still waiting for Geralt to come home.

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read the rest on ao3!

#okay this is almost 30k of a self indulgent nonsense #geraskier #geraskier fic #jaskier/aiden #jaskier/aiden/lambert #the witcher fic #mine:fyccina #the link is under the cut obv #lambden #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #jaskier x geralt #jaskier x aiden #lambden fic

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kitsune-kirei · 5 years ago

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Neverending Survey: Kirei Meztli

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs! (Or as many as you’d like)

Tagged by: @lightofthecrystal, @elegie-de-sang, @ataki-yuuto, and @lillies-n-lilacs, thank you for tagging me, It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these!

Tagging: @gaillaffxiv, @infiniteleftdoesffxiv, @sparrow-ffxiv, @fensa-valehart, @mai-takeda, @seina-kurokiba, @gaggle-of-dorks-ffxiv, @jorandalkitor, @thesinsofgreed

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Kirei Meztli ( @kitsune-kirei )

NICKNAME: Kitsune, Kitsu, Rei, The Firefox.

AGE: Unknown, looks in her 20′s or 30′s.

BIRTHDAY: Unknown.

ETHNIC GROUP: Half Hyur, Half Doman .

NATIONALITY: Ul’dahian, Doman.

LANGUAGE/S: Hingan, Eorzean.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Quoiromantic (thank you for this term Spurrow)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Complicated as fuck.

HOME TOWN / AREA: Yanxia, deep within the bamboo forests.

CURRENT HOME: A hidden cave in the Mists. The location is unknown, except to those Kirei has become dedicated to.

PROFESSION: Flower arranger/seller, deliverer, information broker, exorcist, spy.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Curly, wavy, and messy, fire orange in color, recently cut to cheek length.

EYES: Peculiar lavender eyes.

FACE: Almost doll-like and delicate in appearance, sometimes covered in dirt.

LIPS: A bit pouty, rarely wears lip-paint.

COMPLEXION: Olive, dewy.

BLEMISHES: A mole on the left side of her chin.

SCARS: Small, barely noticeable scars mar her entire body.

TATTOOS: None, sometimes Kirei will mess with Henna.

HEIGHT: 5′6, pretty tall for a Miqo’te.

BUILD: Skinny, lanky, tall.

FEATURES: Foxlike ears and a foxlike tail.

ALLERGIES: None.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Neutral, melancholic, bright, friendly, ever present smile.

USUAL CLOTHING: Practical clothing on the skin-showing side.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Losing sense of taste, hands and feet being cut off, feeling trapped.

ASPIRATION/S: To liberate every single slave under the Echion slave branch, to understand what it means to be human.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Empathetic, helpful, friendly, dedicated worker, passionate, self sacrificing, able to look at the bigger picture, peacekeeper.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Self sacrificing, self pitying, generous to the point of poverty, feral, half truths, holds too many secrets.

TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic- individuals tend to be relaxed, peaceful, quiet, and easy-going. They are sympathetic and care about others, yet they try to hide their emotions. Melancholic- individuals tend to be analytical and detail-oriented, and they are deep thinkers and feelers.

SOUL TYPE/S: The Shaman- This type of soul is wise and old. They can give great advice as well as truly connect with people around them. Others often feel better in their presence.

ANIMALS: Fox, Deer, Otter.

VICE HABIT/S: Smoking, drugs every so often, having strong urges to dig holes in the ground out of nowhere, toxic relationships, succumbs to feral instincts every now and then.

FAITH: Loose faith in Kami/ Shinto.

GHOSTS?: Yes, Kirei can communicate to spirits and sense ones nearby.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes.

REINCARNATION?: Yes. Kirei has brief episodes where she gets feelings from her last lifetime, and rarely, will share a familiar feeling among people she had been acquainted with in her past life.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Taught to read and write, self studying.

FAMILY.

FATHER: R’ihan Meztli - Estranged, Keeper of the Moon. Kirei traveled with her father in Thanalan for a while before he ultimately sold her to a slaver. Spent his life work searching for a powerful Kami in the east.

MOTHER: Leiote Sekai - Deceased, Doman Hyur. Leiote was a Geiko in Hingashi, and was well known for her ethereal presence, beauty, and kindness. She was ultimately charmed by the outsider R’ihan Meztli, and they both moved back to her home village in Yanxia to start a family.

SIBLINGS: Kaeyu Meztli - Half sibling, half Keeper half Seeker. Kaeyu and Kirei don’t know the other exists. Kaeyu has a reputation for being rather rambunctious and a trouble maker.

EXTENDED FAMILY: Kirei has family on her mother’s and father’s side, but she doesn’t know anything about them, or there whereabouts.

NAME MEANING/S: Kirei (きれい)- The Hingan word for ‘pretty’, or ‘beautiful’. It has been heavily implied to Kirei by others, that she was named after her mother’s beauty and kindness in hopes that she would inherit these traits.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: A Hingan child’s book called ‘The Tale of Mohatsu-Otome’, otherwise known as the Eastern version of Rapunzel.

DEITY: None.

HOLIDAY: Moonfire Faire.

MONTH: Fall seasons.

SEASON: Autumn.

PLACE: The astral plane, various hidden nooks and crannies throughout Eorzea, Doman bath houses, hot springs.

WEATHER: Sunny with a chill in the air, warm desert days, rainy.

SOUND / S: Ethereal singing, the singing of lesser nature spirits within the woods, wind chimes, ocean waves, water, the rustle of leaves in the wind.

SCENT / S: Incense, tobacco, fresh unpicked flowers, old tomes, herbs, fresh baked bread, tea.

TASTE / S: Peaches, apples, fresh sweet cream.

FEEL / S: Soft and bristly fur, warmth, fresh snow, crunchy leaves, fine sand, hot rocks, pebbles.

ANIMAL / S: Goobbue, Tortoises, smaller creatures.

NUMBER: 3, 6, 9, 33.

COLORS: Rich purple, pink, light/bright blue, green.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Dancing, healing, cooking, making shitty looking but durable furniture, sewing, manipulation, twin daggers, aether control.

BAD AT: Lying, drawing, staying clean, writing.

TURN ONS: Charming cockiness, depth, intensity, shoulders, meaningful words, white eyes, dark eyes, smirks, someone who can figure her out, making her laugh, a nice voice.

TURN OFFS: Simple minds, tunnel vision, someone who doesn’t listen to her words, racism, un-needed/careless violence and aggression, calling her a ‘cat’, unflattering colors, self absorbed.

HOBBIES: Flower frolicking, cooking, traveling, swimming, making junk, people watching.

TROPES: Girl next door, Hippie, Undere/Yandere

QUOTES:

“I want to understand... The weight of a human life.”

“We need to keep moving forward. We have our eyes in the front for a reason after all, there is no point in looking back to the past.”

“I take a hold of my fate with my own two hands. I will not leave things to chance.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : I’m not sure about the title, but it would definitely have to be an animated film. And It would probably be about Kirei’s backstory and about her parents. There’s a lot of details about her past that I don’t get to touch on too much in RP.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Something that would invoke a lot of emotion if possible. Ghibli/Disney-esque would be awesomeeee.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : Long story short, something happened to me while visiting Japan that gave me inspiration to write Kirei. Close friends know the entire story, but its a bit long and wild. I’ll just say it involves a Fox shrine I ran into!

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : Besides the thing that happened in Japan, I wanted a character where I was able to express my interest in things like shamanism and the spirit world. I also was really attracted to the idea of writing a character that was still kind to others even though she has no reason to be, due to the rough life she lived.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I’m a really open person who likes to approach people to start conversations, but Kirei is the opposite of that. It makes it a bit harder to approach in RP since I wrote her to be a wallflower. She’s also much more reserved than I am, so if there’s a wild scene happening in RP that I would like to get in on, I really can’t on Kirei since she’s not one to participate in things unless asked.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Probably too much in hindsight rofl. Kirei is the first RP character I ever wrote, so I gave her a lot of commonalities from myself so it would be easier to write her and learn how to RP.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : She would probably tell me that I’m trying my best, but she thinks that with most!

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : A whole other side of Kirei comes out if she interacts with manipulative/cunning characters, and I really enjoy writing that darker side of her that appears.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9: A big inspiration for the core of Kirei is Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket (if you couldn’t tell but all the fruits basket stuff I reblog). I just loved how she was written, and how she stayed kind despite her hard life, and I loved her layers and how she viewed others. Tohru gave me a lot if inspiration to be kind to others growing up, Kirei is really just a homage to her.

Q10: How long did this take you to complete ?

A10: TOO LONG, I worked on it on and off throughout the week.

Thanks for reading if you stuck around this long!

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ff14 #ff14 rp #kirei meztli

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years ago

Text

weathering the storm

AO3

Janis x Gretchen one shot. Janis comes to Gretchen's rescue as she tries to walk home on a miserable afternoon. Being in her old/new friend's house is odd, but nowhere near as odd as the growing feelings inside her; both new and unfamiliar. But maybe there's more to her daring and bold classmate than Gretchen thought; and maybe there's more to herself too.

Rain pours down over the suburban streets, even heavier than the news had warned, accompanied by claps of thunder that seem to shake the sky. As she tries to make her way home through the near-flooded streets, Gretchen pulls her jacket tighter around her, although if she’s honest, it’s not much of a jacket. It’s thin and flimsy, held together with a silver broach and used more for decoration than any actual warmth. But it was the only garment she was able to find in her closet that morning that went with her blue top and knee-length white skirt. All of which she is fiercely regretting now. Even with her tights, her legs are covered in goose bumps and rain clings to them like little kids in stores clinging to their moms. The rain hits the back of her neck and head hard, mussing up her carefully-styled dark hair, and her back and shoulders ache from shivering. And all that is without thinking about the pain in her ankles from trying to navigate the uneven street in her heels when she can barely see in front of herself. In short, Gretchen a lot like the weather. Completely and utterly miserable.

She rolls her shoulder around, trying to ease the pain that the weight of her bag brings. She decided to bring more books than she needed today, hoping to get into some studying after the library. She needs to get some sort of grasp on chemistry, otherwise she’ll have to face another D, and the workload for English is getting greater with every passing class so that even with dedicating her free periods to it, she feels like she’s watching her classmates speed ahead of her and leave her in the dust. Part of her begins to wish she had left some books in her locker, despite having never opened her locker since freshman year. She left a book there by mistake and ever since, the idea of opening her locker has forms a heavy weight in her stomach.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when she feels a wave crashing over her; cold water attacking her side and nearly toppling her. It’s partly her fault; these shoes were definitely not made for walking in. Gasping, she pushes a thick clump of wet hair away from her face just in time to see a small dark blue car speeding off into the distance, as well as a large grey puddle rippling beside her.

Gretchen feels her face crumple. Hot tears spill over her cheeks, a startling contrast to the cold of the rain and wind. The puddle attack had already left her breathless, but now as her chest tightens and sobs wreck through her sore body, it’s feeling next to impossible.

She tenses as another pair of headlights roll up beside her in her peripheral vision and make two bright yellow circles on the puddle. She tenses even more as the truck the headlights belong to slows down. She’s heard horror stories in assembly of kids who are offered lifts home from school. At least her heels are probably sharp enough to use as a weapon. And her bag heavy enough to use as a bludgeon. And she has her phone on her.

Except the window rolls down and she doesn’t see a man with a kind face but cunning eyes; she sees Janis. Her classmate, slash old friend, slash possible new friend, half leaning on the window of her pick-up truck, in all her purple lipsticked, thick mascara-ed glory.

“You okay there, Gretch?” she asks.

“Fine,” she says, shouting a little over the rain. She blinks are more tears make their way down her face. “Just.. bad weather.”

“Yeah, it’s a bitch,” Janis replies. She slaps the side of her truck. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s fine, really. I-I like walking.” Janis raises an eyebrow. “Okay, well, maybe not, but I don’t live that far away.”

“Yes, you do,” she replies. “Unless you moved in the last five years.” Gretchen curses under her breath. Janis went to her house plenty of times back when they were still friends. She’s sat in the back of Gretchen’s mom’s cat as they drove back from the park to her place. “And you are not walking that distance. Come on, get in. You can even pick the music.”

“No,” she says again, shaking her head. “It’s fine. Thanks, Janis, really, but I don’t need a ride.”

“Gretchen,” Janis says sternly, looking at how her wet clothes cling to her. “Either you get in or I will go out there myself and drag you in here.”

“Okay,” she sighs, cringing at the idea of Janis tossing her over her shoulder and pushing her into the passenger seat of her truck. “Fine.” She scurries around to the passenger door and climbs in, much to Janis’ pleasure. She’s smiling triumphantly as she closes the door.

“There we go,” she says, turning up the heat on the dashboard. Within seconds Gretchen feels warm air all around her, as though it’s wrapping her in a tight hug. She has to hold herself back from sighing in relief as Janis pulls away from the kerb. She’s frowning at the scene in front of her, window wipers moving frantically in a race between them and the weather. The sky is completely grey, just as it was when Gretchen woke up this morning. “Beautiful weather. What were you even doing walking in it?” She asks bluntly, no intention of holding back even a little, and for some reason it makes Gretchen smile.

“Well, Regina left school before me,” she explains. “She’s usually my ride home but I wanted to stay in the library. And Karen couldn’t stay either. And the buses have been cancelled.”

“Why? Regina’s not around,” Janis states, a broad grin on her face.

Gretchen falls against the back of the chair, covering her mouth with her hand as high pitched giggles fill the car. She knows it’s rude to laugh about what happened to Regina; she feels bad about it now and she’ll definitely feel worse later. But… well that was funny. And she does have the beck brace off now.

“It’s because of the weather,” she tells her.

“Yeah well maybe they were right there,” Janis says, leaning forward in her seat. “Can’t see shit out here.” She rolls her purple lips into a thin line, her brow furrowing in thought. She turns to look at Gretchen just in time for a shiver to run through her body. “Hey, I live a lot closer than you do. Why don’t we go to my place, you can dry off there, and then maybe call your mom? I’m pretty sure Sabrina here is going to short out if I try to take her that far.”

“Sabrina?”

“My truck.” She shrugs, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world for a white, slightly rusted truck to be named after a TV witch. “So my place?”

“Sure,” she says, curling her hands into tight fists so that her long nails press into her palms. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to go to Janis’ house and take up space there and use up her towels. But she also doesn’t want to walk out all the way to her house. And she’s not sure Janis would let her. “Thank you. So much.”

“I’m just letting you crash in my place, Gretch,” she says softly. “Not giving you a kidney.” Gretchen huffs a small laugh. Janis drums her fingers on the steering wheel, singing along to the Alanis Morrisette song coming from her CD player and bopping her head along. Janis walks through the halls like she’s in her own world, like Gretchen is on the other side of some glass wall watching her paint rainbows on the walls, taking up as much space as she likes and making all the noise she wants and not caring when people roll their eyes at her. Sometimes she wishes she could join her.

“Here we go,” Janis says, pulling up in front of her house. “Casa Janis. Or Maison Janis.” The house looks fairly familiar, not having changed much since she was here last. Small and white with a black painted roof and a flower box in one of the downstairs windows. Those flowers are being well fed now. Janis jumps out of the truck and opens the back to lift a heavy looking A3 folder out of it before running up the path, Gretchen following tightly behind her.

“I’m back!” she calls as they step into the hallway. The light is on and warmth seeps into Gretchen’s bones even with her wet clothes clinging to her skin.

“Janice!” a voice from further into the house, followed by a long stream of French that Gretchen can barely hear, never mind understand or translate. Janis responds in French as well; it rolls so perfectly off her tongue you’d think she had grown up in Paris.

“Oh that’s right! Your dad’s French!” As soon as she’s said it she regrets it. Despite weeks of trying, she still can’t seem to get herself under control. Something comes into her head and races out her mouth before she can even think about it. She steps back, goose bumps prickling on her arms that aren’t from the cold. Even Janis’ light giggle and fond smile doesn’t dispel her worries.

“Yep. But the rule is we speak English when there’s friends over.” She turns back to where her dad must be and calls again. “Dad! I’ve brought a friend over!” With that, Janis begins climbing up the stairs. She’s up four when she turns and motions for Gretchen to come with her.

“Okay!” he replies. “Which friend?”

“Gretchen,” she replies before running up the stairs, taking two at a time, and leading Gretchen into the first door on the right; her bedroom.

Just like the girl herself, Janis’ bedroom has changed dramatically since they were 13. The once blue walls are painted purple now, her single bed gone and replaced by a queen sized with a red and black check cover over it and about four plush, soft looking pillows. In the midst of all those pillows is a small toy cat, probably no bigger than Gretchen’s hand, with black fur and little white paws.

“Purrlock!” she exclaims, picking him up. Janis turns from where she stands at her open closet and laughs slightly as Gretchen holds her little cat. “Aw, I remember him. God you used to take him everywhere. Like to my sleepover when I was 11. The one for my birthday.”

“He’s my little kitty,” she answers, crossing over to the bed with a fluffy looking navy towel in her arms. She scratches Purrlock’s back with her finger. “I had to take him with me.” Gretchen’s sure she’s imagining the pink hue in Janis’ otherwise pale cheeks as the other girl hands her the towel. “Here, dry yourself off.” Gretchen takes it gratefully and runs it over her hair first before drying off her neck and rolling up her sleeves to get at her arms. Janis cocks her head as she watches her, concern flickering in her brown eyes. “Although… maybe, here you can borrow some of my clothes.”

“Oh, no it’s fine,” Gretchen argues, even though Janis is already up and at her wardrobe, one hand on her hip. “I mean these are comfortable enough.” It’s an outright lie; the skirt is sticking to her legs and coming away red and her top is clinging to her stomach like a limpet, but she’s already in Janis’ house and using her towel. There’s a line. She stands up, stumbling and falling slightly on her shaky legs, weakened by the cold and rain. She probably just proved Janis’ point to her. “That’s really nice of you Janis, but I can’t take your clothes too.”

“Sure you can.” She struts back over to the end, handing her a small dark bundle of clothes. “You’re about my size anyway. I’ll give you some privacy to change.” Gretchen can barely get another feeble protest out before Janis flounces out, clicking the door shut behind her. She’s left alone in the room, shivering in her soaked clothes, holding Janis’ ones in her hands. They’re certainly a lot drier. And warmer, heat seeping into her frozen hands. And it would be rude not to wear them now.

With a sigh, she peels her jacket off and flips her top over her head, gasping lightly as the cold air hits her damp skin. She hastily dries herself with the towel before pulling on the t-shirt Janis lent her and then pulling the grey plaid shirt on over it. The skirt is thankfully easier to get off and the gets the jeans on with a surprising amount of ease. They’re skinny, but not at all like the skin tight ones she’s grown used to wearing; they hug her legs and chase away the cold. The t shirt is soft and thick against her skin and the plaid shirt might as well be a blanket around her shoulders, the fabric impossibly soft and the sleeves falling just past her hands. As she folds up her own clothes, she bites back a laugh-and a blush-as she sees what’s on the bed; Janis left her a pair of impossibly fluffy white socks. She puts them on, immediately warming her blue toes.

She sits back down on the bed, feeling awkward and agitated as she hears Janis and her dad moving around downstairs. She looks around the room for a distraction; drawn to the canvases that hang on the walls. She guesses they’re Janis’ work, the brushstrokes strikingly similar to the ones she’s seen in the art rooms on the rare occasion she’s been in there. They’re all a bit well… not traditional; a picture of a pale girl purple hair and red eyes and pointed fangs, one of a fairy with crimson wings trapped in a jar, one of a mermaid with a shark’s tail. There’s less fantastical ones too; she spots one of Janis, Damian and Cady, all caught up in a moment and laughing with bright eyes. She forces the flicker of envy inside her to die down, not really being able to remember the last time she and Karen and Regina laughed together without Gretchen then feeling guilty for it.

She taps her toes against the purple carpet as she waits for Janis, growing more anxious by the minute. Maybe she’s meant to go downstairs and tell her she’s ready? Maybe she’s meant to text her? She takes her phone out of her bag and holds it in her lap her thumb hovering over it. The tapping of her toes gets faster.

“Gretch?” She jumps as Janis’ loud voice calls from the other side of her door. “You decent?”

“Y-yeah,” she says, jumping off the bed and running to the door to open it. Janis beats her to the punch and swings it open, a plate with two cookies in her hand and a smile on her face.

“You look good,” she says, crossing over to the bed and sitting down. “Here, I got you a cookie.”

“Oh, thanks.” It’s soft and gooey in her mouth, warm chocolate spreading over her teeth and tongue.

“Also I was talking to my dad downstairs,” Janis goes on, turning to face Gretchen and tucking one leg underneath her. “He said that a lot of the roads have been closed because of the rain. Lot of flooding and shit. So I thought… Maybe you could just hang here for a while until the roads clear up? We can study together. You can have dinner here if you need to. My dad always goes overboard with the cooking. He loves having company.”

She wants to say no. But she also knows that if she does, Janis will press her until she agrees. Anyway, it’s not like she can say no. The rain pounds against the window, the wind scrapes loudly against the glass and a clap of thunder makes Gretchen squeak.

“Okay,” she agrees. “Thanks. So much.”

“I’m just letting you study here, Gretch,” Janis tells her. “It’s nothing.”

“You also lent me these,” she reminds her, gesturing to the clothes. “They’re great by the way. I really love them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Janis says fondly. She gestures her hand at the shirt. “You know, sometimes the stereotypes are true.”

“Stereotypes… Oh, you mean the lesbian one.” Not for the first time, Gretchen kicks herself, especially when Janis’ smile falters a little. Those two words that Regina keyed into Janis’ locker those years ago are still fresh in her mind, and no doubt in Janis’.

“Yeah, the lesbian stereotype,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “Not all of them are true though. I don’t know jack shit about DIY.”

Gretchen doesn’t entirely get what Janis means, but she smiles and nods anyway. She sends a quick text to her mom before picking up her bag and taking out her notes, picking up where she left off in the library. She looks through her annotated copy of Hamlet, trying to do what her mum suggested and make mind maps of the important stuff.

“Ugh, English is killing me this year,” Janis says, nodding to her book.

“Yeah, but you’re really good at it,” Gretchen reminds her. “Remember you wrote all those stories in middle school?”

“Yeah writing’s the easy part. Not so much all that reading. Doesn’t help that Mr McKenna is an ableist bastard.” There’s something so compelling in the ferocity of her voice, the way she so casually slips out a swear word the way anyone else would casually call someone a friend. “He’s not very dyslexia friendly.”

“I know. Or just friendly in general.” She does remember a rather intense panic in sophomore year following one of his classes. “Ms Boyle’s an angel though.”

“Don’t I know it. She lets us use her classroom for the LGBT+ society meetings.”

“Oh, I heard about that. I mean I always mean to go, but I’ve been so busy.”

“You should come on down,” Janis tells her, propping her plastic-covered canvases against the wall. “Next week me and Aaron are doing an ace introduction workshop. For the little baby aces. Or just anyone who wants to know about it.”

“I’ll try to make it.” Gretchen wonders if she’s imagining the elephant in the room. Janis doesn’t seem to notice, humming something only she knows as she takes a ratty looking notebook out of her beg and starts flipping through it, clicking a pen absent mindedly. If she went to the LGBT+ society then that would make her…

She doesn’t know. Well, she kind of knows. She knows girls are pretty and she wouldn’t mind kissing them and that boys are… less so. No one else knows, except maybe Janis now. She studies her more than she studies her Shakespeare, taking in her furrowed brow as she tries to make sense of her maths notes. She can’t think why she told Janis. Maybe it’s because she’s never push her. Or maybe part of her holds on to middle school where Janis was trusted with Gretchen’s deepest secrets.

“Maybe I’ll just get Caddy to help me,” she sighs. “She gets all this stuff. She loves it. Sometimes I think she’s more into math than she is Aaron.”

“I mean, she grew up doing math,” Gretchen offers. “And her parents are… math people? Don’t zoologists do math?”

“I think so,” Janis says, wrinkling her nose. “Imagine if we all took after our parents. Bleh.”

“You don’t want to be like your parents?”

“Aw, not like that,” she says, leaning back on her arm. “I mean, I love them. But my dad does human resources and my mom’s a museum curator. None of that says me, you know. If I end up in a museum, I want it to my work that ends up there.”

“It will! You’re so great at art.” A little pink blush glows on Janis’ face.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been looking at art colleges and stuff. Somewhere cool. Big city. Like New York or something.” She takes another notebook out of her bag and pulls a face, showing it to Gretchen. It has “GEOGRAPHY” written in block letters and red pen on a label, but what draws Gretchen’s eye is the phrase “The Lesbian Agenda” printed across the front for all to see. “But I still have to pass this shit too.”

Janis turns on the music on her phone, letting Gretchen scroll through her library and pick a playlist, and they study with Sara Bareilles in the background. As each song plays, Gretchen feels the tension in her stomach lighten more and more, to the point where she is sitting up against Janis’ wall with her legs crossed, giggling at the faces Janis pulls at her calculus notes, which Cady is attempting to explain through text messages.

“So I never asked,” Janis begins. “What are you thinking of doing? In college I mean.”

“Um…” Gretchen taps the top of her pen with her fingertip. “I mean… I’ve kind of started looking at social work.”

“No way, that’s awesome!” she replies. “My aunt’s a social worker, and she’s a complete badass.”

“Yeah, my cousin is too. It just looks great, you know. Getting to help all those little kids.” There’s so much more on the tip of her tongue, begging to be said, but she holds it all back, the image of Regina rolling her eyes at her sharp in her mind.

“That’s what my aunt says,” Janis agrees. “So do you know where you want to go?”

“Not too far,” she says. “Maybe just stay in Chicago.” Janis hums, her wrist moving quickly as she doodles in her notebook. “But I won’t go anywhere if I don’t get my grades up. My dad will kill me if I get another C in English.” She pulls Hamlet back into her lap and frowns at it. Janis scoots closer to her on the bed, rolling onto her stomach.

“Hey, maybe we can study together,” she suggests. “Help each other out.”

“Okay,” Gretchen agrees. “But I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“Oh you’ll be fine,” she says, sitting opposite her and crossing her long legs. “Fetch, even.” She opens up her own copy of Hamlet, her scribbles sprawling out all over the pages, each one in a different coloured pen. She leans over and lifts her backpack onto the bed, pulling out her English notebook. It has pink and white stripes on the front, and it embarrassingly takes Gretchen a moment to realise it’s the lesbian pride flag. Janis wears who she is wherever she can; on her stationery, her clothes, her bag. It’s beautiful, how fearless she is. She remembers after those months when she didn’t come back to school, when she marched back in September with Doc Martens and heavy make-up. From then on she was loud and unapologetic, her middle finger her new best friend. People compare Regina to a lion; the queen of the jungle that is their school, but Gretchen secretly thinks that if anyone is a lion, it’s Janis. Fearless and proud, a stunning beauty you’d never want to cross.

She takes her notecards out of her folder.

They work through each act of Hamlet, Gretchen showing Janis her mind map for act one and Janis being so impressed with it she decides to have a go at doing one herself, the artist in her loving it and even drawing a little picture next to each sub-heading. Gretchen walks her through it, a thrill running through her as she keeps talking and Janis just nods, filling it in as she tells her. In return, Janis helps her with the character biographies, making her laugh by referring to Hamlet as a “tricky bitch” and then promptly Tip-Ex-ing it out. They’re interrupted by Janis’ dad, who comes up with two plates of vegetable omelettes with sweet potato, asparagus and a bread roll on the side.

“Thank you so much,” Gretchen says as she takes the plate from him. He also hands two cans of Diet Coke to Janis and she sets them between them.

“You’re welcome, Gretchen. Long time, no see. Isn’t that the expression.”

“Yeah,” she says, discomfort slithering around her. “Been busy.”

“Of course. Happy studying.” Janis nods, a piece of asparagus hanging out of her mouth.

“Got to love how he still acts like he can’t speak English,” she chuckles fondly. “He speaks better English than me.”

“Still, do you always get dinners like this?” she asks, thinking about her and her mom eating oven cooked chicken and fries or microwaved rice.

“Yeah,” she says. “He works part time, and he really likes cooking. Guess it’s the French in him.”

“What part of France is he from?”

“The south. Brittany. Here…” She leans over and lifts a framed photo off the bedside table, turning it around so Gretchen can see it. It’s Janis, her hair much shorter and more blonde, with her natural black just beginning to creep into it, sitting next to a red-haired girl around the same age on a grassy hill, a sparkling blue ocean behind them. “Sun all day, ocean everywhere.”

“It looks beautiful,” Gretchen says. The Janis in the photo is laughing, carefree as the breeze that blows her short hair away from her face. “I remember when you got that haircut. It looked amazing.” Of course, she’s talking about when Janis walked back into North Shore, making her grand return with shoulder length half-blonde, half-black hair and her chin up.

“I did it myself,” she confesses, her tone uncharacteristically shy. She rakes a hand through her longer hair. “It was just time for a change, I guess.”

There’s a lot Gretchen wants to say. She wants to say that she’s sorry for her part in it, that she never stood up and stopped Regina herself. She wants to say that she thinks Janis is amazing and that she wishes every day that she could be more like her. She wants to say that she’s worth ten of Regina.

“This food’s really good,” is what she says instead.

They start on Act Three after they finish eating. Janis’ phone pings as they work and she texts back quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Damian,” she explains. “Just asking about my suggestions for a movie night for the LGBT+ thing.”

“What did you suggest?”

“I wanted Jennifer’s Body,” she explains. “But Damian thinks it’s too gory for freshmen. So I’m suggesting Pride.” She grins as her phone pings again. “And Cady’s on my side.”

“Pride… that’s the one about the coal miners in England, right?” She vaguely remembers seeing the title on Netflix. And remembers suddenly looking away and feigning disinterest when her mom looked at it.

“Well, Wales technically, but yeah,” she says. “It’s so good though. My mom said she’s trying to put up an exhibit in her museum about that part of history. But there’s pushback, as per usual.” She takes another drink of Coke and taps her pen against her notebook. “We were meant to have agreed on the movie last week, but… shit happened. We’re not good at this.”

“I think you are,” Gretchen assures her. Janis looks up, her mouth falling open just slightly. “I mean, you said you and Aaron are doing that workshop thing. And I see all the posters for the stuff you do around school. All the fundraisers and things like that. It looks like you guys are handling it really well.”

“We’re like swans,” she explains with a grin. “We look beautiful and graceful, but in reality, we’re paddling for our lives. It’s me, Cady, Damian and Aaron, but we’re going to start recruiting juniors pretty soon so they can keep it running when we graduate. And then they’ll recruit juniors to run it after they graduate and then they’ll recruit juniors and it will go on and one and on until the sun burns out of the sky.”

The sun doesn’t show any sign of burning out of the sky right now, the rain continuing its attack on Janis’ window and the sky a dark shade of grey. Janis follows her gaze, pulling a face at the scene outside.

“Nice weather for ducks,” she comments, shrugging when Gretchen looks at her with a confused frown. “It’s what my mom likes to say.”

“Oh.” She checks her phone and finds no messages from her own mom. Maybe she’s stranded herself; stuck in her office building thanks to the downpour. “Maybe I should start getting home-”

“The roads are still closed though,” Janis points out.

“I can walk the rest of the way,” she says, getting up. “Thank you so much for the clothes and the food and everything, I’ll get them back to you as soon as I-”

“Gretchen.” Janis gets up and closes the space between them, placing her hands on her shoulders. Gretchen wonders how someone’s touch can be firm and also soft. That actually encapsulates Janis perfectly. A combination of fierce and gentle that shouldn’t exist but does. “You can stay here as long as you need. Or as long as this storm keeps up for.”

“I appreciate that. So much.” The words tumble and fall out of her now with no control. “But I’ve already used your towels and eaten your food and I’m wearing your clothes, and I don’t want to bother you-”

“Gretch, I invited you,” she reminds her. She hesitates for a moment and then pushes her hair away from her face, her fingers trailing down her cheek and jawline. “You’re not bothering me. Or anyone.”

Her cheeks flame red and she opens her mouth, hunting for the right words to say. Even if she could, her chest and throat are too tight for her to even speak. All she can really do is smile and nod a little and let Janis lead her back to the bed.

“You know, studying’s pretty boring,” she sighs. “What do you say we take a break? Go see if there’s any cookies left, maybe watch a little Netflix?”

Gretchen allows herself to nod and smile. She lets Janis take her by the hand and lead her into the kitchen, stealing two more cookies before slipping back upstairs. The whole way down and up the stairs, their hands stayed intertwined, palm to palm. Janis made no move to separate them, so why would Gretchen?

“Come on.” Janis lifts her tablet and settles down on the bed, motioning for Gretchen to do the same. She sits down next to her, leaving just enough space so that she can still see the tablet screen if she cranes her neck. Janis looks at her sideways, her mouth turning into a slight frown. “Is it okay if I move a little closer? Just so you can see it better.”

“Um, sure.” Janis scoots a little closer. There’s just a hair’s breadth between their knees; Janis’ fishnet tights against the grey jeans she borrowed from her. Gretchen’s heart picks up and that shouldn’t be new to her, but it’s not out of panic or fear. Something flutters in her stomach, something light and soft. When Janis is this close to her, the feeling radiates throughout her whole body, tugging the corners of her mouth into a smile and making her melt onto Janis’ bed.

“So what do you want to watch?” Janis asks.

“I don’t mind, you pick.”

“Aw, come on, Gretchen, don’t do that to me. There’s got to be something you like.” She taps out her password and opens up the tablet, revealing a sketch on a familiar character; the long red hair and green tail were a favourite of a young Gretchen.

“Ariel!” she squeaks. Immediately her face flushes, especially in front of the “too cool for school” Janis. She clears her throat. “So… did you draw this?”

“Yeah, this is my art page,” she explains. “I do Disney stuff sometimes. This one’s going on my Redbubble.”

“Redbubble?”

“It’s an online store, basically,” she explains. “Once I print this out I’ll make stickers, I’ll put it on laptop skins and notebooks. One is going to be a present for my little cousin, but the rest I charge for.”

“Cool,” she replies. “That’s really cool.”

“Hey, since you’re an Ariel fan, how about we watch some of The Little Mermaid?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Of course I do. Ariel was little Janis’ crush.” She opens up Netflix. “Yeah, one day it just all fell into place and I realised why I watched this movie so many times as a kid.”

Must be nice, Gretchen thinks. To have it all worked out. Whereas for her, the more she’s around Janis, the more confused about herself and her feelings and Janis herself she gets.

Together they watch the brightly coloured underwater adventure unfold before them, and it’s nice. It’s more than nice, really. Gretchen stopped watching Disney movies when she hit high school, hiding her DVDs in the back of her closet. Even her stuffed Flounder was hidden away under piles of coats, skirts and jeans after Regina had raised an eyebrow at him. She wishes she had him now. Maybe Janis would find him cute. Her own stuffed animal, Purrlock, lies across her lap, her finger running down his fuzzy back.

Gretchen’s hand slips from her hand as Prince Eric’s ship begins to go underwater. She doesn’t think much of it until she realises her fingers haven’t landed on the fabric of Janis’ bed, but on her warm fingers and cool metal rings. Her heartbeat pounds loudly in her ears. She should pull her hand away, but instead she just freezes and lets Janis wrap her fingers around her hand.

When Janis turns and smiles at her, she manages a smile back, and hopes she doesn’t look as freaked out as she feels.

She tries to do what her mom tells her to do when she’s feeling like this; break it all down to its bare essentials, try to work out why she’s feeling like this and what she can do to stop it. Take it apart and lay it out in front of her, count and total everything up until she finds the part of her that doesn’t work like it should.

She’s watching The Little Mermaid.

She’s in Janis’ room.

She’s wearing Janis’ clothes. Because hers got soaked by the rain which hasn’t shown any sign of changing; the frantic storm outside matching the one inside her head.

Janis’ dad made them dinner.

Janis invited her here. And she had said yes.

There it is, she realises. There’s the faulty bit. She’s sitting right next to her, long legs and dual-coloured hair and purple lipstick. She’s spent all afternoon with her and doesn’t really know why. But there’s more. Maybe there’s a reason she tends to avoid Janis; something to do with a racing pulse in the art room and sweaty palms as they stand outside the movie theatre waiting for Cady.

How long had she known? How long had she ignored it, denied it, pretended it doesn’t exist?

It’s only when Janis turns and looks at her that Gretchen realises she’s been staring at her. And biting her lip too, a habit she’d gotten so close to kicking. It makes her teeth look gross.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Warm brown eyes dusted with navy eyeshadow.

“I…” she begins. “I don’t know.”

“What is it?” She pauses the movie and pushes the tablet away, turning her body to face her. “Gretchen are you okay? If you want we can chance it and I can drive you home. Or maybe you can call your mom?”

“No.” The bed suddenly feels too small, Janis’s body so close to her making her claustrophobic. She jumps off the bed and runs over to the window, her reflection half-visible in the misty window. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She hears Janis come up behind her. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

No, she thinks.

“Why did you invite me here?”

“Because of that.” Out of the corner of her eye, she fees Janis pointing out the window. “Because I couldn’t let you walk home in that.”

“Why?” she asks again. Her fingers dig into the fabric of the shirt. It feels like Janis; unique and daring, but soft around her.

“Because you’d have gotten pneumonia if you stayed out there,” she explains, but it’s half hearted and her voice shakes. When Gretchen turns around, she sees Janis driving her fist into her palm and taking in a deep breath. She stays quiet as she watches the cogs move in Janis’ head. Somehow the girl who towers over everyone else, both with her impressive height and her fierce personality, shrinks down, her walls stripped away, the fire extinguished until it’s steaming embers. “You really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Janis sticks her hands in her back pockets, her eyes glued to the window. Her jaw is clenched so tightly it might never open. And the more sick Gretchen feels, the more she regrets ever getting off that bed, she hopes it doesn’t. “Maybe… maybe I like you.”

“Like me?” she echoes softly. The words hang between them, written in the steam on the window. Janis gives a tiny nod, her shoulders hunched over. Gretchen’s knees nearly give out when she realises when she’s seen that look on her before; in middle school, the day their friendship was knocked down.

“I mean, it’s not that I just invited you because I like you,” she explains quickly, her voice just that much too loud. “I’d have done it for anyone. Well, not anyone. But any of my friends. Like I’d do it for Cady. Or Karen. But I don’t like them. Well, I do, but not-not the way I like you.” She scrunches up her face, letting out a groan and running a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, Gretch, I shouldn’t have-”

“Why?” Every part of her is shaking; her hands, her voice, her heart. She feels like a clockwork toy that’s been wound up too tightly and is overworked to the point of breaking.

“Why?” Janis asks. Her own cheeks turn red. “Well, because you make me laugh. And you’re thoughtful. You look out for people. You want other people to be happy.” She shrugs, her eyes wide and honest and clear. “Why wouldn’t I?”

A lot of reasons.

Gretchen swallows the lump in her throat, daring to glance up just long enough to look at Janis. She’s not sure what she expected; some movies have tear stained faces, others have nothing except for raised eyebrows and a nonchalant shrug. Janis on the other hand is squirming awkwardly from foot to foot, wringing and stretching her hands, wearing an apologetic and fearful look that Gretchen knows so well she may as well be looking in a mirror.

“Gretchen, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to tell you-then I was. Damian said it’s better to tell you, but I didn’t plan for it like this.” She waves her hand, gesturing to the space between them. “Believe me, I’d have invited you here even if I didn’t like you… that way.”

“Janis.” Gretchen’s brain seems to turn on autopilot, because she closes the distance between them almost completely, tilting her chin up to look at her. She does have the bizarre idea to jump out the window, run and never speak to Janis for the rest of the year. Her feet stay firmly on the floor though. “It’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.” She pulls the sleeves of her shirt down over her hands. Janis’ shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not-I wouldn’t think of you like that.” She wants to look down and avoid Janis’ eyes, but she can’t. Janis reaches out, her finger brushing against Gretchen’s wrist, and her heartbeat spikes. Words flee her brain. “It’s okay. I-”

I like you too. Four words she couldn’t get out if she tried.

“Gretchen.” Janis’ hand stays against her wrist. The other girl bites her lip hard. Another habit she seems to share with Gretchen. “Tell me-tell me if I’m wrong.” She hesitates and takes a daring move closer. Daring-that’s Janis through and through. For one minute, the phrase her Janis crosses her mind. Janis’ eyes flit down to her lips. “Gretchen-tell me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re not,” she whispers. “You’re not wrong.”

Janis’ lips are warm. Warm enough to chase away the chill in the air brought by the storm outside. They’re soft too; Gretchen has no problem melting into her. Her arms come up around Gretchen’s shoulders, one hand tangling in her hair. She thinks that Janis must have experience in this; she knows exactly what to do and when to do it, knows how to leave her just slightly breathless. It’s not exactly Gretchen’s first kiss, but it’s the first one that matters.

Janis is grinning when she pulls away, laughing that full, bright laugh of hers and slipping her hand into Gretchen’s back pocket. Gretchen’s first instinct is to say ‘thank you’ but she beats it down quickly.

“Wow,” she breathes. She leans a little forward so that her forehead rests against Janis’. “That was… really good.”

“Thanks,” Janis replies, her cheeks pink. They dissolve into quiet giggles. The rain patters against the window, just as harshly as before, and Gretchen burrows into Janis. The other girl takes her hands out of Gretchen’s pockets and takes her hands with a heavy sigh. “Look Gretch, I don’t know how long you’ve known or how comfortable you are or how slow you want to take it. But I’ll be here. Every step of the way.”

Every step of the way. That makes her smile more than the kiss did. Well, almost more.

“Can I keep your shirt?” she asks. Janis snorts a laugh.

“Yeah. You can keep it. It’ll give me an excuse to see you again.”

“Have you ever needed an excuse for anything though?”

When Janis’ lips touch hers again, Gretchen takes her phone out of her pocket and throws it at what she hopes is the bed. The wind howls and scrapes at the window, the rain beating down harshly against the walls, and even a clap of thunder rolls through the sky. But Gretchen doesn’t mind. As long as Janis keeps kissing her like this, it can rain for as long as God wants.

#janis x gretchen #janis sarkisian #gretchen wieners #mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #janchen?#grenis?#whats the ship name pls tell me #i accidentally started shipping this lmao

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zeciex · 6 years ago

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Obsidian & Angelite Chapter 16 Part II

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, smut, penetrative sex, creampie

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya had returned to the library the moment Gallant had finished his interview. As soon as he stepped in he was bombarded with endless questions to which he all explained the basic rules for the interview and some of the questions. Apparently, Michael had struck quite a nerve, Gallant seemed positively distort, unsure what to do with himself until he found the way to mask his exposed soul with what he did best. He began speaking of the sexual tension, how Michael had made a hit on his… ‘gay-dar’ or whatever he called it, to where Coco began to prompt that he couldn’t possibly be gay if anything he was bi.

By then Oya had lost interest in the direct conversation and instead seethered in her own sexual frustration and blatant jealousy. In this expiration she walked with intent through the halls, her purple skirts basking around her as she stormed up the steps, only to halt when she saw two hunched over shadows tip through the hall.

The anger evaporated and turned into curiosity. She stepped behind a pillar, hidden from the two teenagers clearly lurking eyes. They snuck into what she expected to be Michael's room, closing the door after them. So they were spying on him… It was laughable with the knowledge she held. If they found anything it wasn’t my mistake, it was with full intent.

He’d been here for a day and there was already anarchy in the air. Oya made a face between impressed and glee before continuing on her way, a little less angry than before. This was going to be fun.

The teens weren’t the only ones that had been up to mischief or so it would seem when the day after Oya watched Gallant be dragged away in his undies with a bothered expression upon his face that was slightly concerning given the severity of the action. Whatever he had done he looked pleased with himself and Oya could only imagine what’d he’d been up to. Which she did with a frown on her face.

Alas, she breathed out to calm herself and rolled her neck again before passing through the hall to her room.

It wasn’t before Oya was sitting in the library ignoring the stupid conversation between what Coco labelled the other team as the old people and her own team of ‘youths’ over who had it the hardest, that she was to see Gallant again. This time there was something unhinged in the way he held himself, eyes distant and still there with obscure anger. She leaned forward and sipped at the water waiting to watch the show unfold.

If she weren’t the goddess of the underworld she’d be the goddess of chaos, strife and mischief.

Evie stopped fanning herself, eyes widening at the sight of her grandson. The air shifted to one more tense and severe, with everyone but her holding their breaths waiting for what was to come. Gallant picked up a glass of sparkling water with a childish pout on his lips.

He breathed out harshly before speaking. “Surprised to see me breathing, Nana?” Now his eyes were set ablaze, his anger unquenchable. “They usually shoot people for fucking...or,” He made a face at his ‘Nana’ looking mildly manic. “Did you not remember that when you turned me in?”

Evie smiled at her grandson, though there was no love there, indifferently shaking her head. “No hard feelings, darling. I wanna live and the only way to achieve that is to get rid of these 10 little Indians who stand between me and the golden ticket out of here.”

“Umm, we’re sitting right here,” Coco intervened offended.

“I knew you were a bitch but I underestimated how big of a bitch you were…” Oya commented earning an agreeable ‘Yeah!’ from Coco and Dinah. In all honesty, she didn’t know whether to be impressed or not by how cunning Evie really was. She set her own grandson up, watched as he’d fall and find his death to be entirely justifiable. If it weren't for how much Oya hated Evie she’d think there’d be a slight chance of her joining the Sanctuary.

“It is not my fault you can’t control carnal urges,” Evie threw at her flesh and blood, trying to justify her behaviour. This was the signal, it was kill or be killed. This was battle royal, what would you do to survive?

“YOU have LIVED!” Gallant shouted pointing violently at his grandmother. “I haven't.”

“Oh yes, you have! You have crammed 10 lifetimes of failures and screw-ups into your 30 years!” Evie rose to challenge Gallant with her own raised voice. Call it a byproduct of having been locked up with them for a year but Oya felt a pang of sympathy for the man who was standing up to his bitch of a grandmother. She wondered if he’d smash the glass on the table and jab it into her wrinkly neck. Gallant wasn’t bad, he was lost and had always been.

Where Michael might have been cruel or indifferent, Oya could be much softer, it all depended on the person.

“Am I the only one who makes mistakes?” Gallant blatantly asked to the room, holding his hands up. “Hmm?”

“No, but I’m always the one that has to clean up after you. Let me see 3 expensive rehabs on my dime, fancy lawyers to keep you out of prison. When your grandfather rejected you because of your perverted lifestyle-,”

“Gay’s have been around much longer than you’re propaganda history books tell you so shove that ‘perverted lifestyle’ up your cobweb cunt,” Oya defended with deep annoyance. She always did hate how humans disenfranchised everything they didn’t perceive as natural and made it so it was permanent, especially when it came to sexuality when it is so clearly fluid and more nuanced than black and white. They did the same with cultures and skin colours, and she had seen it all with her own eyes.

“As I was saying,” Evie dismissed Oya’s comment with a scoff. “ your ‘perverted lifestyle’ I took you in! And what did I get back?” Gallant turned away from her attack, swallowing the water with clear discomfort. “Yes, you went and you bankrupted 2 salons and then you snorted the third one up your nose.”

Evie turned to the room not a hint of regret on her face. “I deserve to live. I am the bridge between the past and the future. I mean when those poor survivors arrive what do they know about culture and music, and art? And I will be there to tell them all about it.”

“You’re a rich old white hag 99% of your ‘culture’ is stolen,” Oya mumbled under her breath catching an approving glimpse of Dinah.

“One lifetime of me is worth 50 of yours! Humanity may be in a sorry state,” she stared Gallant up and down with a diminishing look. “It deserves better than you.”

With a shaky breath, Gallant drew in a breath before speaking. “I should have put you in that motion picture home years ago. The only thing I ever wanted from you was for you to love me and accept me. Why couldn’t you just give me that?”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just not in my nature,” she spoke without regret. It was like watching a painting fading, the colours drained out of Gallant with his last hope of love. Evie patted her grandson on the cheek before leaving, knowing she had devastated him.

What she didn’t think were that with every last hope of love stripped away, with the betrayal and disappointment she had caused her grandson, she had also made an adequate enemy. Gallant was now a hairpin trigger and she had a target on her back. It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge and knowing Michael, he’d see to that it’d happen.

Disappointment and betrayal make the perfect enemy. In Evie's desperation for survival, she may very well have caused her own downfall.

“Well it's a good thing you convinced me to bring your nana,” Coco commented with no feel for the tension in the room. Either that or she didn’t care. Gallant ended up falling to the cushions between Oya and Coco who so rudely rose up biting that he should sit on the other couch. He sank until his head rested against the back of the couch, eyes empty and breath still.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Coco spoke loudly and looked at Oya.

“I’m not,” she shrugged. “Sexuality is fluid. I’m not gay or straight, I’m just…” Oya made a hand gesture that was meant to mean ‘something’. A headache was forming just behind her eyes making her pinch the bridge of her nose frowning.

“That’s a shame,” Coco blabbers.

“Why?”

“Because that means you’d be willing to fuck your way into the Sanctuary.”

She isn't wrong on that one. Oya doubted that if it stood between fucking for survival and death that anyone would choose to fuck regardless of their preferences. It was just funny how Coco thought she’d stand a chance when Michael so clearly wasn’t interested in anything more than playing cat and mouse.

But the statement brought back the nib of jealousy and possessiveness both of which were irrational and if Michael were to know of it there’d be endless teasing.

“We can count Gallant out, he already tried it.”

“He’s right there and he still breathes,” Dinah commented at the distasteful words. “I’d say he’s ahead of all of us.”

“He’s the only one who’s been interviewed,” Coco barked in her usual tone of voice. “It’ll all change when the rest of us is called in. Gallant can’t be the only one Langdon chooses and he most definitely will not be on the radar if I get my chance.”

“We don’t know if it was Langdon he fucked,” Oya injected. Coco waved her hand dismissively before striking up a less intelligent conversation with Mallory. In sympathy, Oya patted Gallant on the head before leaving.

Whomever Gallant fucked remained a mystery, though Oya had her suspicions, much clearer than her co-inhabitants, but Gallant proved not to be the only one who let the desire run wild.

Through Mallory, she found out that Timothy and Emily had both been dragged away by Venables henchmen followed by the ruler herself. Their salvation came in the form of Michael who shaved them from the bullets that were going to be planted in between their eyes. Why Michael choose to save them remained a mystery but she had the suspicion that he was setting up something bigger and if anything he was just toying with them.

Soon others were called into Michael’s appointed office Oya awaited her call in the library sitting among the other residents awaiting the news of each person's interview.

There was an unease creeping under her skin, her heart beating faster each time a resident entered the room. Each had a different reaction to the interview, Mallory being the one that seemed the most jarred, while others came back sexually frustrated.

“Oya Jeon,” the voice travelled from behind the slide doors, sending a shiver down her spine and straining her heart. She drew in a deep breath and entered the room with her back held straight and head held high, hands calmly connected in front of her.

He was sitting behind the desk, eyes studying papers that couldn’t possibly be hers with disinterested eyes and waved his hand as he spoke to motion her towards the chairs. “Please take a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” Oya spoke cooly, feeling the wave of emotion collide with her body. The anger was the most prominent feeling and the one easiest explained. When it burned hot it burned blinding hot and at this moment she settled for anger and pushed any other feeling away.

Michael looked up through his lashes, blue eyes catching the orange flicker and darkening. Oya listened to the doors being closed behind her. The trap snapped shot. She masked herself perfectly with a cool expression one to rival his own. Then a Cheshire smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes swallowed up by his pupils. Slowly he stood, body stretching out before her and suddenly it was as if she was seeing him for the first time in… well, a year. The hair had grown well past his collar, all the way down to his collarbone, with soft waves that fell down around his face. He looked older somehow, his features sharper and eyes more calculating. With a predatory stalk, he walked nonchalantly towards her.

“Stop.” Her voice was firm. She glanced towards the door with a lingering question.

“No,” Michael spoke with a charming drawl. “They can’t hear us.”

Her eyes turned towards him once more, eyes burning holes in him. The only thing that could be heard was the crackling fire, the orange flames licking at the air and sending waves of warmth out into the otherwise cold room. There wasn’t a way to be sure if the room would have frozen over or been set ablaze had it not been for her powers being locked away.

Michael raised a brow at her.

“You lied to me,” she broke the silence, voice stern and unflinching. “You left me here with these people! Do you have any clue as to how fucking excruciating it’s been? And for what? For spying on them?” Her voice began to waver and it broke towards the end when Michael took a single elaborate step towards her. She held her hand up and stepped back. “Stop.”

Michael’s head fell to the side, eyes eating up every micro-expression she made and caught on to when her voice wavered with emotion. He remained silent and she wasn’t really sure as to why.

“That old hag Evie is quite possibly the most insufferable person I’ve ever met, Coco is impossibly shallow and superficial and I’m not sure if the obnoxiousness is to hide something else. Then there’s Gallant whom I’m pretty sure you’ve got all figured out by now. Dinah is elusive but quite possibly the one candidate to put a bet on. Mallory is the only interesting grey solely because her whole character seems to make herself impossibly small all the while glimpses of something else shines through. Dinah’s son is just whiny and annoying. Then there’s your choice to lead this outpost!” Her voice grew louder as she was allowed to revel in the fire of her anger, letting it all out in angry sneers and elaborate arm movements ending in aggressive pointing. Michael allowed all of it. He didn’t stop her, never attempted to. “Mrs. Venable… Why do I continue? You already know all of this, you already made up your mind about them.”

Oya was breathing heavy, eyes wild and bitter. She could feel the confining embrace of the corset straining at her ribs and thereby her lungs. With each breath she took the shadows dug into the skin of her shoulders, edging out her collarbones that had become more prominent at the lack of proper food. The fire dimmed, if only a little, quenched by the feeling of hurt.

“You abandoned me here with them,” she expressed and swung her palm through the air, the sound of it smacking against skin ricocheting through the room before the stinging set in. There was a flicker of something wicked in his eyes, an entertained tug to the corner of his lips before he brushed it away with a swipe of his thumb. His cheek burned red and so did her hand. He pressed forward and Oya took another step back swinging the other hand only for it to get caught in a firm grip. Weakly she tried to pull it to her but Michael refused to let go, his grip as iron and yet without the promise of a nasty bruise. Oya spoke again with a wavering voice trying to retain the flicker of rage that had started to slip away. “I-I thought something had happened. I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Michael countered, eyes never leaving hers, ever-changing. At this she was speechless, gaping at him with wide eyes. No? What does he mean ‘no’?

“No? No?!” She pulled her arm to her and almost stumbled when he let go.

Her eyes caught the sight of his tongue darting out to wetten his lips before he spoke again. “If I were dead you’d know.” He began stalking towards her. With each step he took, she took one backwards.

She would have thrown poison at him, spoken with violence that maybe it would have been better if he were dead because then he had an excuse to abandon her here. Instead opened and closed her hand, palm still stinging from her attack but also with a need to be swung once more. With clenched jaws and a pointed glare she spoke. “Tell me, Michael, did you fuck him?”

His lips parted to draw in a breath, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards in the most wicked way all the while his eyes drowned in mischief. His head tilted a little before he purred. “Would it bother you if I did?”

The question hummed inside her mind, tickled and grew. With another step backwards she felt the wall stop any attempt of retreat, efficiently trapping her between it and him. Michael only stopped when the tip of his pointed boots touched the skirt of her dress, all too close for her liking and not close enough. Oya realised something when she searched his eyes, read his face, almost leaned into his presence and the warmth he radiated. He was like a playful cat but far more dangerous.

The realisation was quick, the humming inside her mind stilled and soothed the sliver of jealousy that had set root within her by the lusting humans that wanted nothing more than to sink their teeth into him. It should be them that was afraid if Michael were to sink his fangs into them. But it wouldn’t of one very simple reason, it’d give them exactly what they want and there’d be no satisfaction in that. He wouldn’t just let anyone touch him. Even though Michael were the embodiment of sensuality he found no interest in sex, not with anyone but her. Sensuality was a weapon turned towards everyone else.

“No,” she drawled just like he so often did. He pursed his lips tilting his head to the other side. “You could fuck him -you could fuck any of them if you so desire.” Michael blinked at her intrigued. “But you won’t… and even if you did, I know I’m the only one you’d ever find ease with.”

“Have you thought about it a lot?” His voice was a low rumbling thunder that sends electricity throughout her system. Then she felt it, a tug at her skirt that ever so slowly hitched higher. Never did his eyes leave hers.

Her heart drummed against her fragile ribs, adrenaline spiking her system and enhancing her senses. His scent engulfed her, the familiar spice pricking at at her tongue that made her mouth water. Her red lips were parted, soft breaths filling her lungs. More than ever before were the restraints of the corset present, she felt that with each breath she filled out the confined only to feel it loosen when it left her again. She was wet, she’d lie if she said she wasn’t wet the moment she stepped into the room but now the ache became more prominent.

It had been 18 months since she was last touched, her body ached and longed for his touch, it would revel in it. For 18 months she had tried to subdue the growing want for him.

“Tell me, Love,” he purred, hitching her skirt up higher. Even though the Victorian knickers she felt the heat of his fingers burning through the fabric. The first touch was light as air, trailing up her thigh ever so slowly.

“I-I’ve been here for 18 months, of course, I’ve thought about it,” she stammered wrapping her fingers around his scorching wrist forcing him to stop. It was getting increasingly harder to think, to keep up all the pent up rage she had been building. The castle of anger she had built around herself came tumbling down with one blow from the big bad wolf.

“All those long nights,” he continued voice lowering. His hand began to move again and she felt herself weaken her grip. “Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she breathed licking her lips while his eyes darted to his.

“Did you think of me?”

“Yes.” Her knees felt weak as if they could give in any moment. Fire burned on her skin, his fingers leaving a trail up her thigh, slowly inching towards where she needed him the most. He was playing with her but unlike the other inhabitants, she was the only one to taste victory. He could leave her, just stop all of it and it would be entirely within his character, it’d be cruel and merciless, but it would also make for great sex later on.

But the thing was, she wasn’t the only one who had gone without the touch of someone else. She wasn’t the only one who felt the desire burn through her veins. And by far she wasn’t the only one affected by the presence of the other.

Michael’s pupils were dilated, blown out of proportions and swallowing up the blue of his gaze. Even though his breathing was normal he felt the air strain in his lungs. When she let him go completely he let his fingers travel to her mount and watched as her head fell back against the wall, lips parted in a silent breath and eyes fluttering. He marvelled at the sight of her, the shimmer of her lips, the flush colour building under her skin, her black eyes reflecting the fire. Under his touch she pushed her hips forward greedy for more, it made a chuckle form in the back of his throat.

“Did you miss me?” The question was light but it was like having thrown a bucket of water over you. Oya stilled, body tense and heart galloping all the while skipping beats. It felt as if she would surrender her anger to him, forfeit the grudge that had been building up in her, to give him her bitterness of being lied to and left for what felt like an eternity. Honestly, she’d have taken her little plot of land in Korea over this outpost any day.

“I can’t forgive you,” she began quietly. She reached for him, cubing his cheek and felt that he leaned into her touch just a little. “And I will make you pay for it.” She licked her lips before continuing, eyes softening with affection. “But I did miss you.”

“I’m sure you’ll make me pay in all sort of ways,” he rumbled pressing into her.

Their lips met briefly, her lips chasing his only to part in a low moan as his fingers circled her clit. The fabric stuck to her uncomfortably, cool everywhere but where his fingers touched. The ache pulsated between her legs, begging for her to just spread them right then and there so he could get between them.

“You’ve been playing a lot of games,” she purred, fingers hooking into the smooth fabric of his jacket, pulling him to her. “It’s been very entertaining to watch unfold.”

“There’s more to come,” he said, lips brushing over her jaw, nibbling at the skin of her neck. His fingers travelled downwards, pushing shallowly into her. She could have unravelled right then and there, it had been long since she came finding it difficult to bring herself to the edge and over.

Michael removed his hand, the skirt falling to the floor now that nothing was blocking it. Oya almost broke out in protest, no not protest more like sobs. A whine managed to escape her quickly shut lips. Michael merely grins at her, taking her hand and guided her through the room. With one tug she swung around, hands harshly placed on the wooden desk in an attempt not to fall straight on her face. Her nails scrapped over the wood when she balled her hands into fists, biting her lips as the skirts were thrown up over her ass, his hands gripping at her hips.

Michael knocked at her heels in a silent order, making her spread her legs more. Then she felt it, his large hand going from her hip to run down her ass, gripping it tightly. She held back a moan, melting further into the stance. Once, twice, thrice he ran his hand up and down her ass feeling her up before his fingers brushed against the wet cloth.

“Have you thought of me?” She found herself asking before she could stop the words from spilling out through her lips. With her back turned to him she didn’t see how his head fell back, bottom lip caught viciously between his teeth, but she did hear the ragged breath he took before answering.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

“No,” he answered. Confusion made its way onto her face, fisted hands turning into flat palms. She didn’t know whether to take offence or not. Or maybe she should be impressed by his restraint. She herself couldn’t exhibit the same level of it. He did have a lot to do after the end of the world, maybe the time wasn't there. But by god the vision of Michael’s firm and slender fingers wrapped around his cock with the look of desire plastered all over his face, with his perfect lips parted in soft gasps, eyes sultry and half-lidded.

“Oh?”

“I would much rather wait,” he drawled. The air hit her hot wet core as soon as the fabric was tugged down. In the candlelight, she must be glistening. He ran his palm over her mount, fingers wrapping around her swollen clit and pinched. A feeble weak sound escaped her throat, knees buckling a little. Michael dipped a finger into her and curled it, her walls beckoned him further, convulsing around him trying to get more stimulation. Then he added another finger and began to scissor them, each brush drawing out hitched breaths from her, arms beginning to tremble.

The other hand that remained placed on her hip pulled her backwards all the while bending her further over the table. If anyone walked in there would be no doubt as to what was going on with Oya lying bend over the desk, legs parted and ass bare to the world. When he moved his thumb to her clit she let out a moan, feeling just how slick she really was.

With little shame she pushed herself back onto his fingers, efficiently fucking herself. The feeling almost brought tears to her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathed.

For a moment Michael admired the view, the sight of his finger slipping in and out of her pussy with a frivolous need. He swallowed at the sight before adding a third finger, stretching her out further. “It’s almost pathetic your need to be fucked, it’s so human.”

“And you made me this way,” she bit back at him, eyes fluttering when he twisted his fingers while pushed at her clit almost too hard. “Fuck, Michael. Please, I’m ready.”

His fingers left her, her walls clenching around the emptiness. She imagined he’d use her juices to cover himself, pumping his fist a few times before gliding the head of his cock up and down her folds. The feeling was enough to make her mewl. In one upstroke, he caught on her opening and shallowly dipped in making both of them hitch their breaths in unison.

She couldn’t take the anticipation any longer and caved. “Please, Jagi-ya .”

Michael pressed into in one slow fluid motion. His fingers dug into her hips with steel and iron, without a doubt leaving bruises there for later inspection. Oya couldn’t withhold the moan that tore through her throat, nails digging into the wood as Michael pulled out and re-entered with a harder thrust. She could hear it, the low grumble from deep within his chest making its way up through his throat.

“If it wasn’t because you have to remain in the shadows, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk,” he grunted speeding up. With each thrust came a wave of pleasure. The feeling brought tears to her eyes, the delicious stretch and the full feeling better than she had imagined for months now. His words almost made her cum right then and there.

“I’m su-sure,” she agreed. For a moment she was afraid that cumming once would be enough after having repressed the aching need for weeks now. Not even when she was bound in Korea would there have gone as much time by before she had to satisfy herself. Then a savage smirk formed on her lips and she clenched around him as much as she possibly could, almost breaking her trail of thought. “But when all this is over it -it is you who won’t be able to walk. I’ll turn your b-bones into that gross jelly they feed us here. S-see what world you’d build when you’re bound to the f-ucking bed, Jagi-ya .” The last word was said in an extra sweet tone.

Michaels strong hand wrapped tightly around her throat, forcing her backwards to him. Her back was arched. The grip was tight enough to make her feel her own pulse but not tight enough to do any form of damage. His breath was in her ear, lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I could make you go out there with cum leaking out of you.” He snapped his hips to her making her eyes roll back in pleasure. “Or maybe have your breath smell of cum.” His grip tightened as he snapped his hips to hers, the lewd sound of flesh hitting flesh filling her ears with a low hum of her own pulse. “But I can be nice.” Now his voice was dripping with sweet sweet poison. “So very nice.” She could feel herself clench around him, the wave of hot white pleasure washing over her with vengeance. One hand found its way from the desk to Michael’s fine jacket, clutching the fabric violently as her breath was caught in her lungs. “I’ll let you choose.”

“C-come inside me,” she croaked out, voice dampened by his tight fingers. She heard him take a strained deep breath, she could almost feel him bite his lip and he tried to concentrate.

“How lascivious of you, Love,” Michael moaned thrusting into her one last time, burying himself deep before spreading his seed. The warmth was familiar, it was strangely obscene, but it felt… missed. She didn’t know whether it was him buried deep within her or the feeling of his seed she missed, most likely the former. Michael released his grip on her, Oya falling forward with a relieved breath, hands firmly planted on the desk’s cool surface. She felt him withdrawal, felt the movement of his seed.

Oya swallowed before letting out a breath, slowly beginning to redress herself, putting on the Victorian knickers that she’d have to wash herself to remove the cum stains guaranteed to happen. Cum stains she could handle, what she couldn’t handle was her breath smelling of it when she was to face the other inhabitants.

“You’re enjoying the humiliation of me going out there, asshole,” she said lightly with a faint smile on her face. Of course, he did, he enjoyed toying with people and she was no different, though with his way of toying with her were only between the two of them. The embarrassment came from both of them knowing.

Michael tugged up his pants, fixing the slick fabric to a point where it looked utterly perfect, while she fought with the barbaric ruffles of her dress to make it sit properly. He had the devil on his shoulder, that’s how he managed to look completely perfect while she lacked her own little devil. He was cheating . With a huff, she pulled of the purple fabric and swore that whenever she got out of here she’d never wear purple ever again. Fuck purple and fuck Venable for making them wear it.

Michal sank into the chair behind the desk, palms flat on the surface like hers had been. He watched her as she prepared to fall into the role of Oya Jeon once more. She brushed her tied up hair back in place, the loose strands fastened by tying them into the elaborate hairdo Gallant had managed to give her. Of course, Coco never allowed him to let Oya outshine herself.

Now that everything was in place, she let their eyes meet. “So, do I meet the requirements of the sanctuary?”

Michael tried to repress the smile on his lips, forcing it into seriousness. “You will know in time.”

“Did you miss me?” They looked at each other silently for a moment before Michael went to answer in a smooth drawl.

“Yes.” The answer made her heart flutter. The orange flames caught his blue eyes with warmth. Then the warmth seeped out and he fell back into the role of Michael Langdon, the one mean to pick and choose who to save and who to kill. Oya let herself find the mask she had worn, let his presence affect her negatively to a degree as a cover for what really happened. She brushed her hands over the material of her dress, collecting her hands there and waited.

“You may leave now,” Michael said with indifference, waving his hand towards the door and turned his attention to the papers in front of him. Oya rose from her chair, slipping out of the room and was met with curious stares that picked at every seam of her being to see if they could catch something beneath her blank expression. Oya decided to lean up of the others accounts of what questions he asked, how he had acted and made it convincing by the jaded tremor in her voice.

“Did you hear?” Coco asked after the endless questioning. Oya shook her head with a weary frown. The blond woman licked her lips and inched closer, a smile unmistakable smile on her lips. “The old hag died in her sleep! No more listening to her endless stories.”

This surprised Oya. She thought the bitch would never bite the dust… Unknowingly, her eyes travelled to Michael’s closed doors. Nothing happened in the bunker that he wasn't aware off, nothing happened without him pulling a string. For a moment Oya wondered just how intricate a web Michael had spun, just how deep the game was and if she were a mere piece or puppet.

“These past several months have been difficult for all of us. And perhaps in my efforts to keep us safe, punitive measures have been taken too far. I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration. Comradery. Which is why, this weekend, as a gesture of goodwill we will have a Halloween soiree,” Mrs Venable voiced out loud with a smile on her darkened lips. Coco and Gallant looked at each other in excitement, one seemingly shared with most inhabitants, if not with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Oya was the ladder, finding the sudden need to celebrate perplexing, to say the least. For months it had been the same. No holiday celebrated, no birthdays, no celebration of any kind, just the same disgusting jelly, the same vitamin water, the same music over and over. The sudden change was worrying. Not only that but earlier the grounds had once more been breached and no word of what it was had yet been told. It all smelled fishy, or so the Americans tend to say. She couldn’t help but feel strings were being pulled, and she knew exactly who was the puppetmaster. This celebration was not the work of Mrs. Venable, though she might not know it.

“It will be in the style of a Victorian masquerade ball,” Mrs. Venable continued.

“If only my Nana were here to enjoy it with me,” Gallant muttered, the sudden excitement turned into something solemn and dark.

“We’ve all lost track of time a bit. And this festive occasion is the perfect opportunity to remedy this. And I encourage you all to use your imaginations,” Mrs. Venables voice rose with festiveness. “To create what I am sure will be exquisite costumes.” Now her voice fell into the same old track, stern and cold. “Attendance is mandatory.”

With that everyone was allowed to leave, most hurrying to make their costumes. Oya adopted the same vigilance and glee the others held while maintaining the slightest sliver of scepticism. Dinah held the same look in her eyes, the gleam of knowing something the others didn’t, knowing something similar to Oya’s own knowledge. The two women looked at each other, their masks off to reveal both of them being wary, before plastering a polite smile on their lips to maintain the mask once more.

“I know we’ve only just been told of this but do you have any idea what you’ll wear?” Dinah asked, taking Oya’s arm in her own as the two of them headed towards their quarters.

“No,” Oya answered frankly. “I have the six same dresses in my closet that I’ve always had and have no idea how to transform them into something new. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of wardrobe choice nor any excess material to work with.”

“I find it odd that they chose Halloween of all holidays, though I suppose it falls into Mrs. Venables taste,” Dinah shrugged and chuckled at her last sentence.

“Victorian masquerade! Couldn’t she just have called it Masquerade? We’re already in the Victorian,” Oya gestured to the tight garments with puffy skirts. She had lived through the times where victorian was the fashion, she had pale strangers come to her for her abilities, wishing remedies or blessings or curses. She had seen the fashion first hand even without leaving Korea and her plot of land. She had lived through many fashions, many invasions and occupations trying to take the land from the ones living there. Hell, she had seen kingdoms rise and fall, both her own and the in the world around her.

“True,” Dinah agreed. “Admittingly I do look forward to the celebration, we have to take what we can, right? And by the looks of it Mrs. Venable has something in store for us.”

“She sure does,” Oya grumbled, eyes flicking over the firepit in the middle of the room as they passed through the hall and up the stairs. The flames danced with gleeful abandon, the shadows following suit on the walls. Sometimes she had through to put her hand in the flames just to feel the pain but she didn’t.

“Do you think Mr. Langdon will join us?”

“Mr. Langdon?” Oya looked puzzled at Dinah who smiled kindly to her, her dark eyes catching the flames, lips thick and pretty. Dinah was a beauty but she was also that ever so positive talk show host through and through. Sometimes it was too much. Enough to make Oya want to strangle her. But there had always been something else, something hidden, a dark tint.

“Yes, the party would be the perfect time to tell us who’ll join him at the Sanctuary.” Dinah let go of Oya’s arm having reached her door. She brushed her fingers over her purple dress nervously, with hope and something else in her eyes.

“It is a possibility,” Oya commented meekly, not able to agree or disagree. It seemed to be enough for the darker woman, she smiled at Oya as she headed into her room and closed the door behind her. Now Oya was left alone in the hall, the cold creeping along the stone walls, nibbling at any exposed skin. She let out a breath and rolled her neck, heading towards her own room. The door closed and locked behind her with a soft click. Oya trotted to the bed, sinking down onto it with a huff before ripping the leather laces up from her boots, kicking the leather off with a sigh of relief. Those boots might look good but by the gods were they confining and painful. For a little while, she sat and massaged her feet dreaming of planting them on the soft soil, letting her toes dig into the ground as she walked through the garden. She missed it, having something to do, letting things grow and expand. She missed lifeunrestricted but knew it wouldn’t come for many years to come. There was also a bigger part of her that missed her powers, how they flowed through her, how they could twist and curl, how it was mischievous and playful. Michael had them, somewhere.

Oya took of the dress and kicked it across the floor with venom before attacking the corset hidden beneath, that which was thrown through the air and into the wall with just as much venom. “You better have tons of airy clothe in the Sanctuary and much prettier because if I’m forced to wear something like this again, every fucking day, I’ll castrate you.” She threatened the empty room, trotting through it and into the shower. The warm water relaxed the tension in her shoulders while she washed the sex off of her, fingers splashing water between her legs while the dirty imagery of her interview played in her head. He had looked better than ever, more mature and grown somehow, his edges refined and perfect. In the 13 months, she had been nothing but human he had grown to be the master in a lot of things, he had found himself, or rather, he rested in himself. The confidence had always been there but now it was matured. There was still a vulnerability to him but she hadn’t yet seen it fully, just caught glimpses. She supposed it was to keep level headed, being apart so long and with such difference in power and environment would have changed anyone.

But they were still connected, she felt it in that room. Oya had been herself for the first time in months and the relief of that was hard to hide. When she’d get her powers back she could finally breathe again, she knew it.

Oya turned off the water and exited the shower to find a note written on the foggy mirror. Come to my room. She wiped the surface clean, revealing her reflection beneath. Her features were sharper and more edged out due to the lack of food. Although she had always been on the thin side, visible collarbones and ribs, they were now edged into her like a crude statue, showing just how little they got. She couldn’t wait to soften her look, not feel so fragile and delicate. Oya dried her hair and braided it into a long thick braid, then twisting it into a bun held together with what once was a decorative letter opener, forced between the strands. She threw the towel over the side of the tub, one much smaller than what she had grown used to, before entering her room naked and clean. A dress had been neatly placed upon the covers of her bed, it’s look a mix between Victorian and something along the lines of traditional Korean hanbok. The fabric was much softer than the other dresses in her closet, it was without ruffles and strange textures that was nothing more than a terrible fashion choice. No, it was cut cleaner, with lone soft lines, a neck dipping an inch or two lower than what she was used to, with black see-through puffy sleeves.

She drew in a breath and began dressing, the Knicks, the underskirts, the corset and then finally the dress. It fitted her perfectly and she shouldn’t have expected anything less, it was after all Michael who had left the dress there. It was a plum purple that managed not to make her want to throw it in the pyre.

The door was unlocked, daring anyone to enter, with only a few brave or stupid enough to accept that challenge. Oya entered the room, locking the door behind her. She had made sure the shadows had hidden her form as she moved through the halls, no eyes catching sight of her.

The room was like any other, though it was a bit smaller. It had the same furniture, the same bedsheets, the same dark aesthetic. The candles flickered upon her entry, shadows dancing on the walls. Michael silently entered too, a towel wrapped around his lower body while his hair was tied up loosely to escape the water he had just exited.

Oya clenched her jaw at the sight, eyes following his every movement as he stalked through the room, throwing the damp towel he used to dry his upper body with onto the bed.

“If anyone were to have seen me...” She said calmly walking to the wardrobe to pull out one of his black shirts. By the time she turned around, Michael was hitching up his pants.

“They didn’t, although it would have made quite the tale,” he drawled, zipping up his pants. Oya nuzzled the soft fabric of his shirt between her fingers as she waited for Michael to be ready for it.

“What have you been planing? You’ve been puppeteering, I know you have.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, eyes bright blue with mischief. “Now, it wouldn’t be much fun if I told you.” With her help, he slit his arms into the shirt. Her hands trifled over his shoulders, fingers brushing against him as she came around to face him.

“You’ve made your decisions then?” Oya asked and began to button up his shirt, fingers working nimble.

“Yes, I will be making the final draft during the festivities,” he answered her with a slick smile. Oya pursed her lips at him, brows furrowing together in a frown. There was the slightest touch, a simple brush of his fingers against the fabric of her dress. She paid no mind and looked up at him, buttoning yet another button. “You will not be joining us?”

“As much fun that may entrail I still have work to do and I’m sure Mrs. Venable wouldn’t mind my lack of presence.”

“Paperwork even after the apocalypse,” Oya grumbled discontent with that matter. She was now half way up his chest. With a flash of her displeasure shining through her eyes Michael chuckled. “And the witches? They were the reason why we’re here after all, what of them?”

“A few survived the blast, that I’m sure of.” he breathed with a low voice, fingers dancing through the air to motion ‘somewhere out there’. Oya buttoned the last one, prushing her hands over the fabric and ran her eyes up and down to see if she had missed one or it the shirt was crooked.

“How so?”

Michael smiled entertained and began to fidget with the cufflinks. “Haven’t you felt them?”

“I’ve felt a lot of things, Michael, and most of it were pure and utter rage for you, ” she poked him right in the chest in the most childish manner. What was he expecting? That her hair would stand on the back of her neck? A tingle under her skin? Goosebumps? “I’m human, unless it’s in my face and obvious I won’t notice a thing.”

“Dinah Stevens was the voodoo queen of New Orleans before she became a talk show host and Mallory...Mallory is something ,” Michael informed with vague interest in what he was actually saying. Oya narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms over her chest and made a displeased motion with her mouth. Voodoo queen? Dinah didn’t seem all that powerful and she certainly wasn’t a threat, but it did make sense why the mask of positivity sometimes cracked to reveal someone more clever and cunning underneath. But Mallory, she surprised her in a way Dinah didn’t, mostly because of the way Michael said her name.

“Is she something to be worried about?”

This seemed to draw attention from him, his eyes flashing up at hers. Michael breathed in between his teeth and tilted his head. “No, not that it mattered if she was.”

“Because you’re going to kill them.”

“Actually,” Michael began, a devilish smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not the one to kill them.”

“Venable is,” she finished with an eye roll of his dramatics. There was no reason to get blood on his hands when all he had to do was pull a few strings to watch the whole outpost unravel. And that’s what he wanted, he wanted the humans to be the cause of their own destruction, he simply laid out the tools and waited for them to choose. “I don’t know whether to think it’s going to be a dull party if everyone dies or if its ‘a total banger’ as Gallant would phrase it.”

Oya walked to the closet and picked out a black jacket, helping him in it with ease. Michael released his hair from the small bun, letting it wave down over his shoulders, perfect as always. She was fixing his collar when suddenly he pulled an apple out of thin air, the red fruit catching the light of the candles. Oya paused, eyes growing at the sight of something fresh, it’s sweet smell engulfing her and made her mouth water. Then she looked past it, to the mischievous smirk of her counterpart and withdrew from reach with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion.

“Is it poisoned?” Now she knew of the lure Snow White couldn’t resist, the lure Eve couldn’t resist.

“Not this one no,” Michael answered her, taking her hand and placing the fruit in her palm. He could clearly see the hunger in her, the starvation that had cast shadows over her form and edged out her bones. There were no doubt that he admired her, if she wasn’t so transfixed on whether to believe him and sink her teeth into the apple or to throw it at his head, she’d have seen the abortion shine through the cheeky smirk. He admired her persistence.

“But the rest is,” she concluded and fished out the knife hidden in Michaels jacket. The blade cut through the fruit with incredible ease and she quickly ate the piece eyes fluttering at the taste. “I suppose this is a nod to the forbidden fruit.”

Michael took hold of her jaw lightly, bringing her sweetened lips to his only to find the touch of her fingers on his lips as she withdrew. Oya tsked and shook her head, rivaling his own playfulness. “I spend too long on this makeup for you to ruin before the party.”

“And I, who gave you a most precious gift! You wound me,” he fauxed hurt, hand on his heart as if to underline what he said. Oya chuckled at him, enjoying the playfulness she had missed so much, the ease of his presence.

“What of the rest of the witches?” The seriousness returned.

“They could have died in the blast although I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. They’re like cockroaches,” Michael said with such an ease it filled her with confidence. If it wasn’t for the makeup or the apple currently being enjoyed to the fullest, she’d have kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

When the apple was carved to the core, Michael took it from her thin fingers discarding the remainder in the fire. Oya placed the knife on the mantle before coming up behind Michael, wrapping her arms around him and pressed into his warmth. His scent was intoxicating.

“We’ll find them. One way or another we will find them and then destroy them,” she assured him and tightened her grip to emphasize. Although she couldn’t see him, a rumble tingled through his back and into her. He turned to her, her hands working around his movements and landing on his chest as he came to face her.

“I think it’s time you wear this,” he said and held up a stone black as obsidian framed by silver so that it hangs as a pendant from a chain. It was beautiful. Oya touched the stone and felt a tingle at her fingertips, warmth radiating off what should have been cold. She recognized it instantly.

Michael opened the chain and led the parts around her neck, the black stone standing out against her otherwise pale skin, lacking the touch of the sun and health of nourishment. It almost hummed against her chest. Was it as alive for him as it was for her? Michael’s hands came to rest against her neck, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin while he angled his head towards her. “You will know when it’s time to break it.”

“Thank you,” she breathed softly feeling closer to freedom than what she had felt in a long time.

Everyone had on their finest attire and masks placed upon faces. Oya watched as they were all drawn to the perfect red apples that had been rolled in like fine dining to be placed in the small tub of water. They had all drawn in a breath of the sweet smell, mouths watering. She had watched them with amusement and played her part as well. Gallant was right about the symbolism… Something that’d soon turn to irony.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Mrs. Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt,” Mallory introduced from above in the most expanced way possible clearly tired of Coco’s bullshit. Coco stepped out onto the balcony, lips painted in a heart shape and hair rising so far up from her head it reminded her of the elaborate headpieces back in Korea once upon a time. She stood as Marie Antoinette, or a watered down version anyway. The hair was impressive, even she had to admit that.

“Mhm! Can we clap please, thank you!” Gallant implored for people to clap at his masterpiece, clapping his own hands in the face of others to push their own actions. Oya joined in, eyes following the girl down the stairs.

“You did that?” Mrs. Mead asked in astonishment.

“Without a blow dryer sometimes I even astonish myself,” Gallant beamed with confidence. Clack, clack, clack, the erie sound of Mrs. Venables cain beating against the tiles travelled through the hall and into the library. It was a clear indicator of what came next. The claps slowly died out but Coco didn’t realise the shadow that had fallen upon her, not before Mrs. Venable leaned in beside her ear and said ‘boo’. Coco jumped in chock, the light teasing air within the room now tense with the usual kind of cold that followed Venable everywhere. Intimidation was the perfume she wore.

“Tonight is all hallows eve,” Mrs. Venable began after Coco had scuttered away like a small mouse, the longing for the spotlight already showing upon her face. Oya breathed in, quietly moving into the shadows. “-Which marks the beginning of the dark half of the year, when the boundary between this world and the other thins, and lost souls pierce the firmament desperate to find their way home. It is a night to remember the dead and there have been far too many to mourn.” A chilled quiet formed within the room, the losses heavy on their souls. Oya couldn’t count herself a mourner, she had lost far too many and the people that had been alive not long ago, were all mere spectres, mere thoughts.

“But also to celebrate,” Mrs. Venable continued with a smile on her lips. “That we have yet to join them.” The tap of her cain began anwe, Venable passing through the room with the air of superiority surrounding her, shoulders almost razor sharp with the edge she had on them. “We delight in the small things, that were once taken for granted. To eat, to drink, music and dance. Everyone! -and I mean everyone, should savour this night as if it were their last.”

Oya wanted to burst out laughing or quite maybe just yell. Venables whole speech was littered with cues and indications, like any villainous speech. The idea of throwing one of the candles at the redhead crossed her mind, but she remained quiet, the itching in her fingers never subsiding. It was a speech Michael would have liked, just for the fact that he knew exactly what was going on. He’d love the irony, appreciate it even. In this instance, she didn’t.

The music began, a new song and slowly the room began to move, bodies dancing throughout the space. Oya herself began to sway, taking a glass of sparkling water that quite honestly tasted like ass. Timothy and Emily swayed together, eyes connected in loving gaze. It was nice, she had to admit that, regardless of the end in sight.

“It is bewildering is it not?” Mrs. Venable said approaching Oya, whom eyed her over the rim of her glass nothing how revived the woman before her had become by the decision to play god with her own garden of Eden. Venable would present herself as God and the snake lureing starved humans to their own ruin. Poetic. “What little it takes to change everything, something so simple as apples.”

“I believe the promise of hope is what brings this change,” Oya voiced, fingers tapping with the rhythm on the glass. Venables eyebrows rose slightly, dark eyes fiery.

“Hope?”

“Hope is the smallest of things, it’s almost impossible to get rid of and it brings the biggest of change with it. Hope, want, desire, they all set root and grow.”

“And Mr. Langdon brought all of this? Hope? Want? Desire ?” The way she says the word, like it burns her mouth and leaves nothing but ash. Venable had always been opposed to desire, it was so easy to see in the way she gripped at control that desire was the fundamental of which the world was brought to ruin. That desire was the thing that made everyone who possessed it no better than rats. They were beneath her, those who were controlled by it and she was so far above because she was in control.

“Mr. Langdon brought many things, didn’t he?” Oya asked, following Venable through the room. They walked slowly, with sure steps although Oya trailed a few inches behind letting Venable control the pace. There was no need to look at the taller woman, she already knew the look of loathing upon her face mixed with the knowledge that she was soon to be rid of the thing she found so displeasing. “There’s been desire.” Oya said looking out into the room. “There’s been want.” They passed Mrs. Mead by the radio. “There’s been hope…All of this brings chaos of course, and this unabided is what brought the world to its knees, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Venable looked slightly surprised halting. “The old world was built on desire and the constant need to fulfill it. There was no control. People just did whatever they wanted. They were without discipline and those who was supposed to be the authority disregarded rules and mismanaged entire countries.”

“The world was ended because of men like him.” Venable looked over Oya with contemplation the younger girl giving no nod to her own thoughts. She wasn’t sure if Oya was taunting her, if the girl had some sort of knowledge and was now just toying with her or if she revealed for the first time her true thoughts. To her Oya had always been dubious, her intentions had always been unclear, she was a mystery that presented herself as simply another body that inhabited the place and her file had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Then Oya continued. “So why should we follow him?”

“I am not sure what you are saying, Miss Jeon,” Venable said ambiguously. “Do you not believe in the Sanctuary? Or do you not believe you’ll get in?”

“I am as sure as my position as any,” Oya said. “But these days it’s hard to know who to trust.”

“Indeed, which is why it makes me question your intentions. You’ve never been interested in the politics of this place, while the others have thrown their childish fits you’ve remained quiet. Now, however, you’ve decided to voice your views. You say men like him were the cause of the apocalypse and yet you’re willing to put your life in his hands?” Venable shook her head, eyes dark with fiery teeth ready to sink into any weakness presented. It was admirable what she was willing to do to be the queen, paving the way to her kingdom with the corpses of those who got in her way.

“For survival, I’d do anything. Wouldn’t you ?” Oya answered with a tone Michael would have been proud of, the same nonchalant mocking he had mastered so well. Venables eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Oya send Venable a sweet innocent smile before turning around and joining Gallant and Coco on the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Venable return to where Mrs. Mead was, the two clearly sharing a few unknown words. If Michael had been there he would have been proud.

Mrs. Venable was a fox in sheep's clothing but there were other bigger and more dangerous creatures mimicking sheep as well.

A dark tall figure entered and began dancing with Coco. It wasn’t Michael that she was sure of but it could be one of this tricks, Oya simply shrugged and joined Dinah by the fire, chatting together as the mood began to brighten even further. It wasn’t before Coco’s disappearance down dim lit hall that Oya excused herself, disappearing as well. She had done her part, she had shown her face and now was the time to withdraw into the shadows while the attention was elsewhere.

“Let’s begin the bobbing for apples!” Mrs. Mead voiced out loud, turning down the music and gathered with the others around the small body of water. Oya looked over her shoulder one last time before walking to her own room.

Death had been invited in with open arms, a feast was thrown as a welcome and now was the time kiss death on the lips and take his hand for the festivities were for a goodbye and another world awaited.

When the door opened and Mrs. Venable and Mrs. Mead entered, Oya stood by Michael, she had one hand that rested on his shoulder in a familiar touch. Already she could feel the hardened glare of Mrs. Venable, the eyes that cut like glass and pricked at her back. The cane tapped at the floor, one after another until it came to a rest and then the door clicked closed.

“Ladies I’m a little busy right now formulating my selections,” Michael voiced with a nonchalance Oya couldn’t match. She was after all human and her body reacted to the threat of these people by sending a spike of adrenaline through her body even though her mind knew that Michael wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“This won’t take long,” Venable said with a cold venom. Oya turned to face her, mild entertainment showing on her face. Venable’s eyes cracked to her the hostility almost unnerving. Michael shut the laptop gently, turning towards the intruders with the same nonchalance that he had spoken with.

“What’s this?” Michael asked with faux obliviousness, one that tugged at the corners of Oya’s mouth as Venable narrowed her eyes at him. The cane clicked as she came closer, invading the space of the two.

With one last click of her cane Venable answered with a victorious smirk. “We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon.” Her eyes traveled to Oya with sharp accuracy, the anger towards the other woman apparent. “I see you really would do anything for survival, Miss Jeon. I will admit, I am a little disappointed by your choice, you were after all supposed to be the smart one…. But you’ve made your choice.”

“And so have you,” Oya responded in a tone equal to Venables.

Venable drew in an unbothered but still strained breath before speaking, her eyes once more on Michael, who remained in his mask of faux confusion and obviousness. It was so apparent that it was faked. “And I’m afraid neither of you made the cut.”

Oya and Michael looked at each other and burst into chuckles that was neither warm or friendly but rather mocking. It was hard to keep the chuckle in when faced with someone who thought they were the puppeteer when in reality they had as many strings as the ones they thought they controlled. Venables power had been as superficial as Michael’s confusion.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in,” Michael said carelessly. He could be looking down the barrel of a gun and know it’d not be enough to take him down. Venable thought herself superior in the face of a god. That was better entertainment than what she had seen the last year. Still the arrogant smirk remained on her dark lips.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think I’m impressed, Mrs. Venable,” Michael answered. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” Stretching his body to the fullest of his height, Michael stood. He glanced at Oya before returning his eyes towards the enemy. “You passed the test. You’re perfect for the sanctuary.”

The woman behind him made a face of disagreement but remained silent. If Michael wanted her to go with them, then she’d accept it but that didn't mean she’d like it. Maybe he’d forgive her for killing Venable because that certainly would be the case if Oya had to live with that wretched woman for the rest of her human life. But of course, the woman she knew would never agree to fall in like under the heel of a man like Michael, any man actually.

“Mrs. Mead,” Venable breathed with annoyance. The smaller woman with ink hair and paper-pale skin fished a gun out from under her jacket, the sound of it clicking following quickly after. With her human body, Oya reacted to the sound, a wave of goosebumps washing over her. Unconsciously she stepped behind Michael, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket, the motion of it without a doubt known to Michael. She knew he felt her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Michael warned and by doing so extending another chance for survival. He wouldn’t give another one. Venable’s smirk grew, the fire in her eyes burning bright by the victorious end in sight.

Michael tilted his head towards Mrs. Mead, brows rising in anticipation. By this show of what some would call carelessness but in reality a certainty, Oya felt a boost of confidence. It was strange to watch Mrs. Mead with her ghosty blank expressions as if a million thoughts were going through her head.

The delay became too much and Venable’s delight turned to impatience. “Mrs. Mead.” Venable turned to glare at her companion but found that the gun was now pointed at her. Before she could register it went off, the expression of her face changing to surprise and then betrayal. One Oya recognized all too well. The sound of the shot resonated through the room and ran a cold finger down her spine. The air smelled and tasted metallic, a small gush of blood exploded into it.

Oya couldn’t help but breathe relieved, the joy of seeing Venable fall from her pedestal to lie on the ground among all those she had killed. If she believed in karma this would be it. But there were also surprised bubbling within by the reveal that Mrs. Mead had been the one among all of them to protect her. That she hadn’t seen coming.

Mrs. Mead, however, looked as shocked as Venable, her actions a complete surprise to herself. She shook at it, body trembling while she watched the woman she had thought she was to protect now lying dying on the ground, gasping for air as she drowned in her own blood.”I don’t know why I did that. I was always so loyal to her.”

Oya felt sympathy for the woman but remained standing in silence while Michael crouched down to look Venable in the eyes as life left her. Rarely had she felt pleasure to watch life leave a person but a few occasions changed that.

“It’s alright,” Michael said with a calm voice. “You were obeying command. Like you’re programed to do. My commands.”

Oya stepped up to him, placing a hand on his back as he stood and looked at Mrs. Mead, satisfaction shining through his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned into a delighted smile. “Did you enjoy executing the poisonous apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?”

Mrs. Mead was at a loss of words for a moment. You could see everything going through her head, how disoriented her thoughts were. Her body was frozen in time, still pointing the gun as if Venable was still standing. “You wanted everyone dead?”

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty,” Michael explained with a drawl. “Learned that from my father.”

Oya looked down at Venables dead body, the bullet torn through clothing and skin as if it were the same and left a bloody gaping wound in her chest. From the looks of it it had tron through her chest plate and into her lung. There were no blood splatter nor any bullet hole behind her, so the bullet was still inside of her. Either she drowned in her own blood or her heart gave in. By the time Oya looked up, Mrs. Mead was trembling even more, bottom lip quivering and tears streaking down her pale cheeks.

“-Always more fun to entice men and women to dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed.”

“W-wa-what do y-you believe?”

“That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus are evil motherfuckers,” Michael continued. Oya made a face and pursed her lips. Whether there was a flaw in Michael’s belief or not, were not hers to dispute. To her humans was oblivious little creatures capable of great monstrosity or kindness, each holding their own value. Humanity was flawed and just maybe a new set of rules, a new world, could make up for that flaw. In chaos, there were always the greatest fun.

“I-I’m having trouble with this,” Mrs. Mead stammered. “I know, I’m just a machine-,”

“Never say that!” Michael broke, the tremor in his voice indicating how emotional he was in this moment. It cut into her, the sudden realisation that this woman was more important to him that she initially thought. “You’re not just a machine. Not to me. When I tasked the Cooperative’s R&D department to have you constructed…” Oya put a hand on the small of his back, coming up to stand beside him. Michael glanced at her and revealed the tears in his eyes, the pain and sadness in the blue. “I gave them a prototype to model.”

“A prototype?”

“Someone from my childhood,” Michael said gently. “This one very dear to me.”

It was like she was watching the sun rise for the first time. Pure and adulterated realisation shining through every ounce of her. It looked like a door had opened and all that was hidden behind it washed over her.

Oya couldn’t help but feel a strange sadness at the bottom of her stomach. This woman was created in the image of someone else, someone human and she had been lost to him. This woman was made out of his pain and sorrow and loneliness to replace the one he had lost. But in the end, to Oya at least, a robot could never replace a human.

“The beautiful boy,” Mrs. Mead said calmly.

“That was me,” Michael said back, voice barely above a whisper and breaking. “But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind.”

“Why?”

“To protect you,” Michael answered. “And the plan. But now it’s time to remember it all. I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t imagine a new world without you by my side. One of two women who ever really understood me.”

There were no other way to explain it other than pure happiness showing upon her face. “Who ever really loved you.”

Michael embraced the woman, hugging her tightly. The sight moved Oya, her heart swelling in her chest. He looked like a child, a boy who was finally hugged by their absent parent that had returned to them. She had seen the boy in him before, seen the loneliness and heartbreak. If a simple thing like a rose or an embrace could bring this sort of happiness, belonging, she’d shower him in it. For all he had gone through he deserved better.

Michael sat Mrs. Mead down and told her about the woman in which image she was created. The conversation was intimate, between the two, mother and child, and Oya felt strangely out of place. She watched as the two were hunched together, the aura around them thick and warm. Standing back she wrapped her arms around herself and looked away while nibbling at her bottom lip.

“...Who better than the one person who I never stopped trusting,” Michael said with a gentle drawl. “Or loving.”

Mrs. Mead smiled, eyes sparkling with artificial life, with joy and prosperous love. Truly, it was like she was looking at her son, with the same proud eyes mothers had when their child achieved greatness. An oddly jealous ache settling in her heart. The woman stood and Michael with her, she took his hands with a gratified smile upon her lips.

“Mrs. Mead, I do believe you’re glowing,” Michael smiled at her.

“For the first time I feel like I know my place in the world,” she said. At this Oya smiled, knowing exactly what that felt like. She walked to Michael, wrapping her arm around his and smiled at the both of them.

“Oya,” Mrs. Mead said and looked at Oya who’s eyes widened a little unsure what to expect. The woman simply smiled and brushed a hand down her arm and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here,” She answered. Michael smiled down at Oya only for his smile to stifle, slowly turning into a frown as his eyes unfocused out into the room. The air changed, electricity filling it up making the hairs on her body stand. Not even the candles and fireplace managed to warm the air that seemed to be forever chilled.

“What is it?” Mrs. Mead asked.

“A powerful presence,” Michael answered.

“What do you mean everyone is dead.”

“Not anymore.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #obsidian & angelite

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aboutnorsemythology · 6 years ago

Text

III

They traveled east through Jotunheim, always traveling toward the sunrise, for some days.

At first they thought they were looking at a normal-sized fortress and that it was relatively close to them; they walked toward it, hurrying their pace, but it did not grow or change or seem closer. As the days passed they realized how big it was and just how far away. “Is that Utgard?” asked Thialfi.

Loki seemed almost serious as he said, “It is. This is where my family came from.”

“Have you ever been here before?” “I have not.”

They strode up to the fortress gate, seeing no one. They could hear what sounded like a party going on inside. The gate was higher than most cathedrals. It had metal bars covering it, of a size that would have kept any unwanted giants at a respectable distance.

Thor shouted, but no one responded to his calls. “Shall we go in?” he asked Loki and Thialfi.

They ducked and climbed under the bars of the gate. The travelers walked through the courtyard and into the great hall. There were benches as high as treetops, with giants sitting on them. Thor strode in. Thialfi was terrified, but he walked beside Thor, and Loki walked behind them.

They could see the king of the giants, sitting on the highest chair, at the end of the hall. They crossed the hall, and then they bowed deeply.

The king had a narrow, intelligent face and flame-red hair. His eyes were an icy blue. He looked at the travelers, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Good lord,” he said. “It’s an invasion of tiny toddlers. No, my mistake. You must be the famous Thor of the Aesir, which means you must be Loki, Laufey’s son. I knew your mother a little. Hello, small relation. I am Utgardaloki, the Loki of Utgard. And you are?”

“Thialfi,” said Thialfi. “I am Thor’s bondservant.”

“Welcome, all of you, to Utgard,” said Utgardaloki. “The finest place in the world, for those who are remarkable. Anyone here who is, in craft or cunning, beyond everyone else in the world is welcome. Can any of you do anything special? What about you, little relative? What can you do that’s unique?”

“I can eat faster than anybody,” said Loki, without boasting.

“How interesting. I have my servant here. His name is, amusingly enough, Logi. Would you like an eating competition with him?”

Loki shrugged, as if it were all the same to him.

Utgardaloki clapped his hands, and a long wooden trough was brought in, with all manner of roasted animals in it: geese and oxen and sheep, goats and rabbits and deer. When he clapped his hands again, Loki began to eat, starting at the far end of the trough and working his way inward.

He ate hard, he ate single-mindedly, he ate as if he had only one goal in life: to eat all he could as fast as he could. His hands and mouth were a blur.

Logi and Loki met at the middle of the table.

Utgardaloki looked down from his throne. “Well,” he said, “you both ate at the same speed—not bad!—but Logi ate the bones of the animals, and yes, it appears he also ate the wooden trough it was served in. Loki ate all the flesh, it’s true, but he barely touched the bones and he didn’t even make a start on the trough. So this round goes to Logi.”

Utgardaloki looked at Thialfi. “You,” he said. “Boy. What can you do?”

Thialfi shrugged. He was the fastest person he knew. He could outrun startled rabbits, outrun a bird in flight. He said, “I can run.”

“Then,” said Utgardaloki, “you shall run.”

They walked outside, and there, on a level piece of ground, was a track, perfect for running. A number of giants stood and waited by the track, rubbing their hands together and blowing on them for warmth.

“You’re just a boy, Thialfi,” said Utgardaloki. “So I will not have you run against a grown man. Where is our little Hugi?”

A giant-child stepped forward, so thin he might not have been there, not much bigger than Loki or Thor. The child looked at Utgardaloki and said nothing, but he smiled. Thialfi was not certain that the boy had been there before he had been called. But he was there now.

Hugi and Thialfi stood side by side at the starting line, and they waited. “Go!” called Utgardaloki, in a voice like thunder, and the boys began to run. Thialfi ran as he had never run before, but he watched Hugi pull ahead and reach the finish line when he was barely halfway there.

Utgardaloki called, “Victory goes to Hugi.” Then he crouched down beside Thialfi. “You will need to run faster if you have a hope of beating Hugi,” said the giant. “Still, I’ve not seen any human run like that before. Run faster, Thialfi.”

Thialfi stood beside Hugi at the starting line once more. Thialfi was panting, and his heart was pounding in his ears. He knew how fast he had run, and yet Hugi had run faster, and Hugi seemed completely at ease. He was not even breathing hard. The giant-child looked at Thialfi and smiled again. There was something about Hugi that reminded Thialfi of Utgardaloki, and he wondered if the giant-child was Utgardaloki’s son.

“Go!”

They ran. Thialfi ran as he had never run before, moving so fast that the world seemed to contain only himself and Hugi. And Hugi was still ahead of him the whole way. Hugi reached the finish line when Thialfi was still five, perhaps ten seconds away.

Thialfi knew that he had been close to winning that time, knew that all he had to do was give it all he had.

“Let us run again,” he panted.

“Very well,” said Utgardaloki. “You can run again. You are fast, young man, but I do not believe you can win. Still, we will let the final race decide the outcome.”

Hugi stepped over to the starting line. Thialfi stood next to him. He could not even hear Hugi breathing.

“Good luck,” said Thialfi.

“This time,” said Hugi, in a voice that seemed to sound in Thialfi’s head, “you will see me run.”

“Go!” called Utgardaloki.

Thialfi ran as no man alive had ever run. He ran as a peregrine falcon dives, he ran as a storm wind blows, he ran like Thialfi, and nobody has ever run like Thialfi, not before and not since.

But Hugi ran on ahead easily, moving faster than ever. Before Thialfi was even halfway, Hugi had reached the end of the track and was on the way back.

“Enough!” called Utgardaloki.

They went back into the great hall. The mood among the giants was more relaxed now, more jovial.

“Ah,” said Utgardaloki. “Well, the failure of these two is perhaps understandable. But now, now we shall see something to impress us. Now is the turn of Thor, god of thunder, mightiest of heroes. Thor, whose deeds are sung across the worlds. Gods and mortals tell stories of your feats. Will you show us what you can do?”

Thor stared at him. “For a start, I can drink,” said Thor. “There is no drink I cannot drain.”

Utgardaloki considered this. “Of course,” he said. “Where is my cup- bearer?” The cup-bearer stepped forward. “Bring me my special drinking horn.”

The cup-bearer nodded and walked away, returning in moments with a long horn. It was longer than any drinking horn that Thor had ever seen, but he was not concerned. He was Thor, after all, and there was no drinking horn he could not drain. Runes and patterns were engraved on the side of the horn, and there was silver about the mouthpiece.

“It is the drinking horn of this castle,” said Utgardaloki. “We have all emptied it here, in our time. The strongest and mightiest of us drain it all in one go; some of us, I admit it, take two attempts to drain it. I am proud to tell you that there is nobody here so weak, so disappointing, that it has taken them three drafts to finish it.”

It was a long horn, but Thor was Thor, and he raised the brimming horn to his lips and began to drink. The mead of the giants was cold and salty, but he drank it down, draining the horn, drinking until his breath gave out and he could drink no longer.

He expected to see the horn emptied, but it was as full as when he had begun to drink, or nearly as full.

“I had been led to believe that you were a better drinker than that,” said Utgardaloki drily. “Still, I know you can finish it at a second draft, as we all do.”

Thor took a deep breath, and he put his lips to the horn, and he drank deeply and drank well. He knew that he had to have emptied the horn this time, and yet when he lowered the horn from his lips, it had gone down by only the length of his thumb.

The giants looked at Thor and they began to jeer, but he glared at them, and they were silent.

“Ah,” said Utgardaloki. “So the tales of the mighty Thor are only tales. Well, even so, we will allow you to drink the horn dry on your third attempt. There cannot be much left in there, after all.”

Thor raised the horn to his lips and he drank, and he drank like a god drinks, drank so long and so deeply that Loki and Thialfi simply stared at him in astonishment.

But when he lowered the horn, the mead had gone down by only another knuckle’s worth. “I am done with this,” said Thor. “And I am not convinced that it is only a little mead.”

Utgardaloki had his cup-bearer take away the horn. “It is time for a test of strength. Can you lift up a cat?” he asked Thor.

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I can pick up a cat.”

“Well,” said Utgardaloki, “we have all seen that you are not as strong as we thought you were. Youngsters here in Utgard practice their strength by picking up my housecat. Now, I should warn you, you are smaller than any of us here, and my cat is a giant’s cat, so I will understand if you cannot pick her up.”

“I will pick up your cat,” said Thor.

“She is probably sleeping by the fire,” said Utgardaloki. “Let us go to her.”

The cat was sleeping, but she roused when they entered and sprang into the middle of the room. She was gray, and she was as big as a man, but Thor was mightier than any man, and he reached around the cat’s belly and lifted her with both hands, intending to raise her high over his head. The cat seemed unimpressed: she arched her back, raising herself, forcing Thor to stretch up as far as he could.

Thor was not going to be defeated in a simple game of lifting a cat. He pushed and he strove, and eventually one of the cat’s feet was lifted above the ground.

From far away, Thor and Thialfi and Loki heard a noise, as if of huge rocks grinding together: the rumbling noise of mountains in pain.

“Enough,” said Utgardaloki. “It’s not your fault that you cannot pick up my housecat, Thor. It is a large cat, and you are a scrawny little fellow at best, compared to any of our giants.” He grinned.

“Scrawny little fellow?” said Thor. “Why, I’ll wrestle any one of you—”

“After what we’ve seen so far,” said Utgardaloki, “I would be a terrible host if I let you wrestle a real giant. You might get hurt. And I am afraid that none of my men would wrestle someone who could not drain my drinking horn, who could not even lift up the family cat. But I will tell you what we could do. If you wish to wrestle, I will let you wrestle my old foster mother.”

“Your foster mother?” Thor was incredulous.

“She is old, yes. But she taught me how to wrestle, long ago, and I doubt she has forgotten. She is shrunken with age, so she will be closer to your height. She is used to playing with children.” And then, seeing the expression on Thor’s face, he said, “Her name is Elli, and I have seen her defeat men who seemed stronger than you when she wrestled them. Do not be overconfident, Thor.”

“I would prefer to wrestle your men,” said Thor. “But I will wrestle your old nurse.”

They sent for the old woman, and she came: so frail, so gray, so wizened and wrinkled that it seemed like a breeze would blow her away. She was a giant, yes, but only a little taller than Thor. Her hair was wispy and thin on her ancient head. Thor wondered how old this woman was. She seemed older than anyone he had ever encountered. He did not want to hurt her.

They stood together, facing each other. The first to get the other one down onto the ground would win. Thor pushed the old woman and he pulled her, he tried to move her, to trip her, to force her down, but she might as well have been made of rock for all the good it did. She looked at him the whole time with her colorless old eyes and said nothing.

And then the old woman reached out and gently touched Thor on the leg. He felt his leg become less firm where she had touched him, and he pushed back against her, but she threw her arms around him and bore him toward the ground. He pushed as hard as he could, but to no avail, and soon enough he found himself forced onto one knee . . .

“Stop!” said Utgardaloki. “We have seen enough, great Thor. You cannot even defeat my old foster mother. I do not think any of my men will wrestle you now.”

Thor looked at Loki, and they both looked at Thialfi. They sat beside the great fire, and the giants showed them hospitality—the food was good, and the wine was less salty than the mead from the giant’s drinking horn—but each of the three of them said less than he usually would have said during a feast.

The companions were quiet and they were awkward, and humbled by their defeat.

They left the fortress of Utgard at dawn, and King Utgardaloki himself walked beside them as they left.

“Well?” said Utgardaloki. “How did you enjoy your time in my home?”

They looked up at him gloomily.

“Not much,” said Thor. “I’ve always prided myself on being powerful, and right now I feel like a nobody and a nothing.”

“I thought I could run fast,” said Thialfi.

“And I’ve never been beaten at an eating contest,” said Loki.

They passed through the gates that marked the end of Utgardaloki’s stronghold.

“You know,” said the giant, “you are not nobodies. And you are not nothing. Honestly, if I knew last night what I know now, I would never have invited you into my home, and I am going to make very certain you are never invited in again. You see, I tricked you, all of you, with illusions.”

The travelers looked at the giant, who smiled down at them. “Do you remember Skrymir?” he asked.

“The giant? Of course.”

“That was me. I used illusion to make myself so large and to change my appearance. The laces of my provision bags were tied with unbreakable iron wire and could be undone only by magic. When you hit me with your hammer, Thor, while I pretended to sleep, I knew that even the lightest of your blows would have meant my death, so I used my magic to take a mountain and put it invisibly between the hammer and my head. Look over there.”

Far away was a mountain in the shape of a saddle, with valleys plunging into it: three square-shaped valleys, the last one going deepest of all.

“That was the mountain I used,” said Utgardaloki. “Those valleys are your blows.”

Thor said nothing, but his lips grew thin, and his nostrils flared, and his red beard prickled.

Continued...

#loki #norse mythology #my edit #neil gaiman #aboutnorsemythology.tumblr.com #thor

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infernoroleplay-blog · 6 years ago

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ILYANA STOYANOVA

THIRTY. RUSSIAN-POLISH LIAISON. NEUTRAL.

Life takes, takes and takes away from you until you have nothing left. Until there's only you, standing still like a wounded soldier, knowing no one's gonna come for you. No one's going to hold you or keep you close anymore -- there's only you left.

But life begins soft and silky first, in London, UK. 1989. Born to a loving, filthy rich family, Ilyana was spoiled rotten. Daughter to a famous diplomat and a darling Russian socialite, she had everything it took to succeed and follow her father's footsteps: his diligence, his calmness, his loving pair of brown eyes, his smooth disposition. She remembers dearly his Cheshire cat smile, his way of secretly slipping love letters into her mother's pillow, ever so carefully so she'd wake up to them in the morning. She remembers how he gave Ilyana her own ruby necklace, something which she cherishes until this day.

He was a busy man, though. She remembers the echoes of voices in the hallway, yelling at him in Italian, sometimes in Russian -- but she couldn't make much of it. Ilyana was seven years old, yet something about it still felt wrong, like her father was doing something awful but she couldn't pinpoint what it was precisely. Her suspicions would be confirmed later on, at the brink of ten years old, when her father was charged of corruption in an international money laundering scandal involving the English prime minister and Italian mobsters. The government did not take kindly to it, and the witch hunt began, prying from her grabby little hands the love of her father then, when he was eventually arrested and thrown into prison in a life sentence. She didn't get to say goodbye. All that she remembers is that her mother had connections all throughout the US, and her friend Dmitri would help them.

Dmitri Nikolayev. It all traces back to him, doesn't it?

Life in LA wasn't good, but it wasn't bad, either. She simply adapted to it without a word. Surely, the kids were mean, liked to pull on her hair sometimes and mock her London accent, but Ilyana still held onto her mother. Only eleven, she learned how to make the best out of most situations, hoping she'd have her father's skills someday. Little did she know her diplomatic gifts were more of a curse than a blessing.

Her mother was often absent, leaving her at the mercy of Dmitri's servants at the time. She remembers his big shiny guns, his wicked smile and the way his soldiers treated her. She was nothing but a pawn in their games. In her mother's game. In everyone else's. So when her mother took off to live with a French businessman, leaving nothing but a damned letter behind, Ilyana's world collapsed. She was fourteen -- only a child -- when she learned of her mother's connections to the mafia and how Dmitri was not her uncle but rather, one of her mother's infamous lovers, leaving Ilyana at his mercy at fourteen years old.

He did not discard her. She could be of use. Ilyana's involvement with the mafia started early on, when she would deliver letters and messages to Dmitri's enemies and allies alike, like a liaison, like another disposable piece n a game of chess. She was no longer made of heartfelt laughter, but of steel and iron, unwilling to become ruthless and coldhearted like those who had their involvement with Dmitri. Some saw her softness and diplomacy as weakness, as a mere façade to hide the broken girl... And in some ways they were right: she had been born for something better, something glimmery and gold. Yet, she had been handed the short end of the stick.

Life as a Russian-Polish messenger was not nearly as thrilling as some pegged it to be. It mostly consisted of making your voice heard in conversations and compromising when necessary. She did not disappoint -- she was her father's daughter after all, a good conversationalist, and an even better liaison. She knew how to keep secrets, even from herself, and when Dominik Pruszkowski settled into town -- she remembers Dmitri's association with the Polish mafia all too well -- she felt war raging from both sides.

Dmitri went as far as to give her two bodyguards, should anything happen to her. She was a witness to the destruction and the glimmery, shiny, polished world of Inferno. Its web of lies, deceit and death tugging on her shoulders, at her every being. No matter how much Ilyana missed London, she had now given her life to the Russian-Polish cause... She could not afford to go back, nor could she afford to walk away. Her hands had been stained with blood just the same, and much like her father's, she was now tainted with the corruption of others. Just the thought of it was enough to make her ill, unable to stomach the fact she was deeply intertwined with the lives of killers and kings alike.

But it was the disappearance of Rebekah that would take its toll on Ilyana. One more to bury, one more pawn going down. If a Pruszwkoski life was at stake, what did Ilyana's life mean to them? She could easily be taken down as well. The two had been friends every since Rebekah's brother, Dominik, had taken on the throne, and whilst Ilyana didn't have a particular feeling about him, now she does. He did not protect his family -- how could he protect anyone else? Ilyana never voiced her feelings or opinions intensely, for she knew it could get her killed... But Dominik... The thought of him brought an intense feeling of fear and dislike in her gut, like he was responsible for every wrongdoing. It always felt like the bigger evil was Nik himself, for not having saved Rebekah from his own greed and prejudice.

Now she carries the weight of all the losses she has witnessed. Her father. Her mother. Rebekah. Everyone she has known and cherished has left in some way or another, leaving her stranded. Leaving her alone, at last. Knowing of the Russians' likely betrayal does not make things easier either.. She has been treading on dangerous waters, holding back a secret or two from everyone she knows. These days she just keeps mostly to herself, knowing the wrong words could get you in a bad twist of fate. Killed or worse.. Missing.

CONNECTIONS

DMITRI NIKOLAYEV: She knows of his killings. She knows he’s far from innocent, and still, she’s in debt with Dmitri. Knowing he did the right thing by taking her in is one thing, but having her become a Russian-Polish messenger and liaison is another... She still cannot make much of it. Her memory remembers everything almost too well, and Ilyana knows better than to hold a grudge against the man who had mercy upon her, but a part of her wishes she could have been another normal, ordinary girl.

REBEKAH PRUSZKOWSKA: Rebekah was a good person... And now she’s likely dead. That’s what the mob does to you: it twists and turns the knife into you if you’re good, if you’re uncorrupted. Ilyana wishes she could’ve done something to prevent Rebekah’s missing. But she knows she doesn’t hold much power -- despite her knowing secrets atop of secrets, she doesn’t have nearly as much influence as she wishes she did. She’s just a messenger, after all. Her opinions don’t matter.

DOMINIK PRUSZKOWSKI: He’s a dangerous man. He seems more reliable than Dmitri, but that’s all he does: plays the part of a sane man. When in fact, he’s more than ill, he’s more than wicked and doomed. He’s a sick one -- and she doesn’t trust one bit of his words. The fact that he’ll do whatever it takes to have what he wants and needs scares her, because a man this young and this powerful should not have been allowed to take the throne. But then again, they always do.

KATERINA GUERRERO: Ilyana hopes it’s not too late for Katerina to leave the Pruszkow mob. If she had a choice like Katerina, she’d flee the country, but the two are the different sides of the same coin: both tied to their loyalty to wicked men who have had the mercy and the cunning of taking them in. Perhaps it’s not so much about mercy after all, but about seeing the potential in these women and taking them as their soldiers, associates, messengers, and all of the like. She takes Katerina as a good companion, despite their differences.

FACECLAIM: BLAKE LIVELY (NEGOTIABLE)

#inferno: neutral #inferno: takenf #inferno: taken #inferno: female #ilyanabio #ilyana stoyanova

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killthebxy-archive · 7 years ago

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1. being bastard born in Westeros

let me start with a simple but crucial point: Westeros is a medieval society --- which means it is traditional and built on strong patriarchal foundations, for the most part. Westeros is a racist, sexist, ableist society. and, in Westeros, and especially among the highborn, it is very rare that you will marry for love. if you are highborn, you will marry someone of similar status based on some benefit that this alliance will bring to your parents/ family/ house. if you’re lucky, you will eventually learn to love your spouse, but that is not a requirement --- what is expected of you is to have strong sons (preferably, that the firstborn is a boy) and beautiful daughters to continue your legacy. and you are expected to fulfill this goal together with the lord husband/ lady wife so carefully picked for you.

what does being bastard born mean? simply put, it means your parents are not married. it means either you were conceived before your parents got married (either to each other or to another person), or that you were conceived through adultery (consensual or not). and, let’s be real, six of the seven kingdoms, Dorne being the exception, do not regard illegitimate children in a positive light. being bastard born, based on what i wrote before, means you were born from lust and/or from betrayal, and this, in this society, immediately implies you have bad blood. it immediately implies that a baby still in the mother’s womb is already expected to grow up to be wanton, treacherous, cunning, ambitious.

this may not seem obvious but, in a way, being a highborn bastard is more difficult than being a lowborn one. one the one hand, it is rare that the illegitimate child of a big (or even smaller) House of Westeros will be allowed to live with their family, or even to be acknowledged at all. for example, out of all the bastards Robert Baratheon fathered, only Edric Storm and Mya Stone are directly linked to his name. Ned Stark is a rare exception in this case, for raising Jon Snow as his own son. note: for the purpose of this meta, i am assuming what we know from book canon up until the end of ADWD: Jon is the child of Ned and an unknown woman. i will speak of Rhaegar Targaryen further on, but this is the assumption of this whole piece of text.

for this reason, highborn bastards are also seen as a much bigger threat. why? because it is common belief that they will try and steal what belongs to the legitimate children by birthright. again, because they are seen as inherently envious and treacherous. GRRM provides some tales throughout the books, of bloodshed between half-siblings for the sake of power, and Ramsay Snow/ Bolton emerges as prime example of such --- stopping at nothing to earn himself a legitimate name, first, and then the ruling of House Bolton + Winterfell.

2. Jon Snow as a bastard child

no surprises, everything i just mentioned is valid in Jon’s case. Catelyn Stark herself worries that Jon will be a threat to her children, and, for example, argues with Robb when it is his will to make Jon the new King in the North, should Robb himself fall in battle. and this is important to mention for two motives. one, because Cat doesn’t despise Jon for his personality or character traits or any possible flaws --- she despises him for the symbol he is. and we are presented with evidence that she resents herself for being this way, for being unable to love a motherless child, but the very negative connotation of Jon’s birth and everything it entails make it impossible for her to treat him differently. and it doesn’t help that Jon is always described as the spitting image of Ned Stark (or the Starks in general), while her own legitimate children (Arya being the exception) have 100% the Tully looks.

and, before i get to the second motive, let me point this out. have you wondered why Jon hates to be called Lord Snow, once he arrives at Castle Black? it may seem odd, because, objectively, it is a respectful title --- Jon is technically highborn, and Snow is his last name. however, the negative stigma of being bastard born is, exactly, why this title is both used and taken as mockery. because a bastard has no right to inherit anything --- therefore, has no right to be a lord unless legitimized. treating Jon as Lord Snow is actually incredibly cruel, because it is both throwing on his face something he can never have (i.e., Lord), and, at the same time, the reason for it (i.e., Snow, the name given to the bastards of the North). and this is so prevalent that it keeps happening even after Jon is elected to be lord commander, as we can clearly see in the discourse of Janos Slynt and Godry Farring, for example. even Ramsay, after becoming a Bolton, is still often described/ regarded under the light of his birth. being bastard born is something that accompanies you for life, almost always in a negative manner, and there is very little (if anything) you can do to distance your own identity from it. for the most part and for most people in Westeros, you don’t exist as Jon Snow --- you exist as Ned Stark’s bastard.

3. internalization of the stigma

everything above brings me to the core of this meta: the impact that being bastard born has on Jon’s identity/ personality/ psychological functioning. and, to start this, i could pick half a hundred quotes from Jon’s chapters, but i’ll pick one that particularly speaks to me:

they still think me a turncloak. that was a bitter draft to drink, but Jon could not blame them. he was a bastard, after all. everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit.

A Storm of Swords --- Blood and Gold, pp.171

this isn’t anyone talking about Jon; this isn’t Alliser Thorne of Janos Slynt or Cregan Karstark calling him the bastard son of a traitor --- this is Jon speaking of himself. this is Jon describing himself as a bastard and everything it entails, to the point where he cannot even bring himself to blame others for mistrusting him --- because it is to be expected, because it is his own fault for being bastard born. this isn’t the first time in the books such an appreciation is found, we can already see similar introspection in the first half of the first book. Jon has entirely internalized the stigma of being bastard born. now, from the ever-helpful Wikipedia:

social stigma: disapproval of (or discontent with) a person based on socially characteristic grounds that are perceived, and serve to distinguish them, from other members of a society.

internalization: involves the integration of attitudes, values, standards and the opinions of others into one's own identity or sense of self.

basically, what this means is that Jon sees himself, whilst a bastard, the same way society does. it means that he was taught what being bastard born means (all the negative connotations i wrote before), and he’s accepted this as being true in regards to himself. he seems himself as different, for being bastard born, and he sees himself as lesser. and this doesn’t happen at Castle Black, where he starts being mocked as Lord Snow. this has started before he was even born, because he’s not seen as a baby but as the proof that even the honorable Eddard Stark once screwed up, and this continued throughout his childhood and early teen years, when he was raised and educated like the rest of Ned’s children but, at the same time, was ever made to know his place and that he was different --- that he was below them. for example, how he’s not allowed to sit at the dais together with his family when King Robert’s court visits Winterfell, because such a thing could cause offense to the royal family. as curiosity, reminder that, in the books, this is exactly the reason Jon gives to Mance Rayder to convince him that he was a desertor: did you see where i was sitting, Mance?

what is this impact on Jon’s functioning then? first and foremost, it means he tends to see himself in a negative regard. during his first chapters, like when he firstly arrives at Castle Black, he tries to externalize this burden. he’s cocky and he’s immature and he acts on his short temper and makes every other new recruit hate him. why? because he so much wants to prove (to them, to Benjen Stark, to the Night’s Watch as a whole, to himself) that he’s better than everyone else --- that he’s better than his symbol as a bastard, that he’s better than what everyone expects of him. we don’t really get a chapter where Jon tells Benjen (or anyone) why he wants to take the black --- by the time they talk, Jon has already made up his mind. therefore, this bit is a headcanon on my part, but i don’t think i’m wrong in assuming that Jon wanted to join the Night’s Watch because he didn’t have anything else left for his future. he’d never have a right to Winterfell, and the most he could ever hope to inherit was, maybe, some little keep somewhere in the North, and to defend it under Robb’s name. the Watch gave him at least an opportunity to rise above his bastard status, and, when he arrives there and keeps being treated the same, that’s when he snaps and starts literally bullying everyone else for it.

Donal Noye has a crucial role in Jon’s change, and he is also the underlying tone of the whole kill the boy and let the man be born --- but this is subject for another meta, and i will not touch it here. basically, once he starts treating the Night’s Watch as his new family/ home, Jon’s negative regard of himself slowly and gradually stops being directed to the outside, and starts being directed to the inside --- to his own self. this becomes exponential after Ygritte’s death (which he blames himself for, not exactly for being bastard born, but he still does and this adds up), and even more so after he’s elected lord commander. and, as i like to say, when you look at AGOT Jon and ADWD Jon, you see two different persons. lord commander Jon forces himself to be guarded and isolated, for the sake of better leading his men, and he suffers a lot with insecurities and self-doubt --- because, let’s be real, he’s a 16 year old boy suddenly charged with responsibility to guide nineteen castles and all the men and women inhabiting them. we often see Jon wondering what Ned would have done in his stead, and even more often we see him worrying if he’s making the right decision --- but having to push through, anyway, because winter is almost upon them and he doesn’t have time to sulk.

and what does being bastard born have to do with this? it is, exactly, the fact that Jon, simply put, believes he’s a bad person because he’s a bastard --- and how he’s come from trying to fight against it, literally fight, to accepting it and letting it subconsciously become his default mode of functioning. Jon is a perfectionist and very, very hardworking, because he knows there’s no other way for him to be. let it be known that both Jon and i love Robb beyond any words, but Robb is the heir --- whenever Robb makes a mistake, that’s okay because everyone knows he’s honorable and righteous like his father, so it’s human to make mistakes. when Jon Snow makes a mistake, it is because of his bad blood and because he’s the bastard son of a traitor, and what else could you expect. this is why none of the Stark children can ever understand what being a Snow entails, even Arya who ever fought for the sake of her brother being treated as an equal. Jon lives on the edge, constantly, and he’s well aware he’s got no room to make mistakes.

this is why he’s always so sullen, this is why he takes apparently harmless jokes very personally, this is why he has a hard time believing in praise offered to him. because his entire identity is built on being inherently less than most others, even before his birth, which leads him to always having to push his limits and be perfect --- being good isn’t enough for him, he cannot allow himself the luxury of making a bad decision --- and this is tenfold when he’s in a position of leadership, be it as lord commander or, in show canon, King in the North. which, non-surprisingly, is extremely tiring and always has him under tension. and this is also why he tends to draw to himself the guilt over matters that aren’t even directly under his control, and why his biggest fear is the fear of failure. because, all his life, Jon Snow wanted to be Jon Stark --- wanted to prove to his father, and then to everyone else, that he was more than a negative symbol, and worthy of his/their trust and acknowledgment. failing, even something as silly as sending a raven during the night when he was supposed to send it during the morning, means he’s not worthy of his father’s name; it means that the world is right, and that he’s no more than his bad blood. needless to say, all of this is why Jon is so adamantly against fathering bastards of his own --- because he would never want a son/daughter to have to carry the burden he’s carried for his entire life.

as a conclusion, this is also why, in this blog, the annulment of Rhaegar’s and Elia’s marriage will never be accepted. it goes without saying that Elia deserved so much better, but the point of this meta is that being bastard born is the foundation of Jon’s identity, and it has impacted his story and functioning in ways that cannot be erased. suddenly making him Aegon Targaryen 2.0. for the sake of sitting his fine ass on the Iron Throne does NOT change his past and does NOT change who he is. therefore, in my personal portrayal of Jon Snow, even in purely show-based threads and despite what season 8 may throw at us, he will always be bastard born --- Ned’s bastard or Rhaegar’s bastard, it makes no difference. because the Jon i love and write doesn’t need to be of legitimate blood to matter and to be valid, nor will i ever completely erase and disregard the circumstances that made/ make him who he is.

#long post #𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚐 ❄️ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʳᵒʷ ᶤˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵃᵛᵉᶰˢ ᵖᵒᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵘˢᶤᶰ #i finally wrote this #and now i can go cry in the corner over how much i love this boy

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fatesinthenight · 7 years ago

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The Triangle of Heartbreak (part 1)

"Ok I can take a couple of more pictures." Mark smiles.

The cameras flash as Mark poses for more pictures. It is a premier of a movie he stared in and he was loving the attention. After his first roll his popularity had sky rocketed. He was getting noticed and he was making his name known. As Mark poses for his photos he looks over the photographers and sees the people he was most eager for.

"Colonel! Damien! Over here!" Mark waves at them. He makes his way to them and wraps his arms around them. "I'm glad you made it."

"Mark we never miss your premiers." Damien smiles.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Colonel beams at him.

"But this one is the one. I can feel it. This is the one that is going to make me a real star." Mark is grinning from ear to ear. His eyes are sparkling at the thought.

"Your going to be great. I know it." Colonel pats Mark on the shoulder. "I'm glad things are working out for you." Colonel smiles but deep down he is not all to cheerful. "Lets head into the theater." He walks ahead of them.

"He still is taking it bad isn't he?" Mark watches Colonel sadly.

"He is. He did lose the mansion. It was his home." Damien sighs.

The Colonel could not keep up his payments as of late and in return he lost the house. He was so upset by it and did not know what to do. He started to think it was only bound to happen. He is hardly there, always gone and going out to explore. His trips were getting expensive and it finally got to him. Mark and Damien had offered to help him out but Colonel wouldn't allow it. These past years were not going so well for Colonel.

"I wish I could do something for him. I hate seeing him this way." Mark walks slowly into the theater with Damien. "By the way how it the campaign going?"

"Its really coming along. I really feel like I can do this." Damien nods.

"Of course you can. You were always the smart one out of us all." Mark pats Damien on the back.

"Don't give me that much credit. If anything having Celine talk to the people also helps. She always had that charm with people." Damien chuckles.

"Is she coming?" Mark looks around for a girl in flowing black clothes.

"She said she might be late but she is coming." Damien reassured him.

"Good... That's really good." Mark smiles softly at the thought. "I really want her to like this movie."

Damien sees the look in Mark's eyes. His eyes grow soft when he thinks of Celine. The few years she has been with them all Damien has noticed he way his two friends are with her. The way they both are eager to talk to her, being on their best behavior, smiling the brightest near her. Damien doesn't know what to think of it. They may be his best friends but it is also his little sister. He did talk to her about it once and she blushed telling him she likes both of them the same. What also makes Damien worried is that his two friends don't seem to know how deep the others feeling are for her. Mark thought Colonel was like a child with a school crush. Colonel thought Mark was only acting as he does the every girl that comes to him. Damien knew better.

Some where in the theater Colonel was munching on chocolate. He broke the bar into a piece and popped it onto his mouth. Usually candy made him feel better but this time the sweetness was making him sick. He was honestly not in the mood to be here but he pushed it aside for Mark, he would not want to disappoint him. Colonel felt like things were not going the way he thought they would. He was a colonel for the past years and had accomplished so much. His metals shine in the light at his chest but he looks at them and feels nothing. Just as he is about to pop a bite of chocolate in his mouth it gets snagged from his hand.

"Hey! That's mi-" Colonel stops and feels his chest become lighter. Celine's giggle makes his mood become ten times better.

"Got you." She smiles and eats the chocolate. "I knew I would find you here by the snacks."

"Celine. Damien said you were going to be late." Colonel looks at her softly.

"I thought so but I got done early so I came. I thought I would surprise Mark." Celine looks around. "He isn't around right now right?"

"No he must still be at the front. You know talking to famous people I guess. He has really gotten himself known. I'm proud of him." Colonel smiles.

"What's wrong?" Celine looks at him concerned.

"What do you mean? I'm fine." Colonel wiggles his mustache. He knows Celine likes it when he does that, makes her giggle usually.

Celine doesn't laugh this time. "I have know you for years already Colonel. I can tell when your upset. Talk to me." Celine's eyes look into Colonel's.

He feels like he is in a trance looking into them. He sighs and looks away. "I rather not. It's Mark's day and I don't want to damper the fun now." He buts on a fake smile. "O look they have fresh popcorn waiting shall we get some?" He starts to go get some when his hand gets caught.

Celine tugs his hand. "You don't have to pretend to be happy when your not. Colonel please tell me whats wrong." She gives him a soft look with pleading eyes, something he can't say no to.

He looks at her hand holding his. It looks so small in his hand, so delicate and soft. It feels warm and he feels like his heart is going to jump put of his chest. "Alright..." He takes a deep breathe. "I feel lost Celine. I don't know what I am doing anymore. I lost my home. I don't know where to go from there. I was going out doing something I have always wanted to do as a boy and now here I am not happy with it. I have so many memories there with everyone. I let myself get carried away and neglected my home. It's my own fault."

Celine takes Colonel's hand and holds it tight. "Colonel I may not understand what you are going through but I know you can make the best out of it. I mean you are an amazing man. You are so funny and exciting. You have a huge personality more so than Mark at times. Sure you did lose your home but who is to say you cant get it back again. Colonel don't ever think you should put on a brave face for everyone. It is ok to tell people how you really feel. Don't bottle it up I could make you go mad. You know Damien and Mark will be there for you at the drop of a hat. I will be there for you too, always."

The last line made Colonel feel light. He wished they were alone right then so he can just wrap his arms around her. He has hugged her before and had an arm around her playfully but what he wanted was different. Colonel wanted to hold her like they were the only two people in the world and than being close to her was giving him meaning to life. His heart is pounding so much that it could cause an earthquake with its power.

"Celine... thank you." Colonel only smiles at her.

"Of course. Your my dear friend. I care about you William." She gives him a kiss on the cheek.

Colonel turns red. He was so used to being called Colonel by others than when someone used his name it takes him back. This was different though because it wasn't just anyone who said his name. It sounded so much sweeter hearing her say it, he could listen to it on repeat for days. Her kiss on the cheek felt like a tease. It took every part of him not to lean in and kiss her on the lips.

"Celine I-" Colonel starts but gets interrupted.

"Celine your here!" Mark rushes over.

"Mark! I guess the cat is out of the bag. I was going to surprise you. I finished early." Celine smiles so brightly at Mark.

"You sneaky girl." Mark hugs her. "Thank you so much for coming. It means the absolute world to me."

"I wouldn't miss it. I found Colonel and was hoping he could hide me for the surprise but you found me." Celine looks at Colonel.

"I don't know if that could work. You would have been giggling the whole time hiding away." Colonel laughs.

"True. That's why you could never sneak up on anyone." Mark laughs too.

"But I was able to sneak up behind Colonel." Celine looks proud.

"At my most vulnerable state. I was eating chocolate." Colonel playfully makes a fist pretending to be defeated.

"Celine you cunning one you." Mark claps. "We all know Colonel is most open when he is having his sweets."

"Of course. After years of studying you all I know your weaknesses." Celine teases.

"Well now I'm scared." Mark chuckles.

"As am I. If anything I'm letting you get bested first." Colonel hides behind Mark. "Take the less handsome one first."

"Hey!" Mark turns to Colonel and puts and arm around him. "Who is the one called the most handsome actor ever o yes that's me." Mark and Colonel laugh together.

"The film should be starting soon." Damien comes in. "We should be taking out seats."

"Can't play the movie without me." Mark holds out his arm for Celine. "I have the best seat for you. Care to join me?"

"Always Mr. Markipler." Celine holds Mark's arm and cuddles it.

Damien follows them from behind then looks back to see Colonel not following. "Colonel?"

"You go on. I see a bag of popcorn with my name on it." Colonel smiles.

Damien hesitates then goes on. Colonel gets his popcorn and walks into the theater for the movie. It is packed. He finds the others and as he makes his way to them he notices something he with he didn't.

Celine and Mark are sitting together. They look really close together huddled up. Celine is laughing out loud at something Mark said. Her eyes are sparkling as she looks at Mark. Her smile bigger when he looks at her. He whispers something in her ear making her blush and giggle. They look so happy together, like two lovers. Colonel looks on feeling something in his heart chipping away. He makes his way to his seat which is between Celine and Damien.

"You got your popcorn." Celine smiles at Colonel.

"Indeed I did." Colonel gives her a soft smile.

She feels something is off. Before she can ask the lights begin to go off. She feels Mark's shoulder pressed against hers making her blush. She looks up at Mark who is looking at the screen so eager and happy. She can't help but smile looking at home happy he is, it makes her glad. Then she looks back at Colonel and sees him smiling happily eating his treat leaning into Damien as they softly laugh at something. She can feel it, Colonel is not fine. Something was eating him up but she dint know what it was. She tugs his sleeve making him look at her. She pats his hand hoping that will help and gives his hand a soft squeeze. Colonel only smiles back and tips his bag of popcorn to her.

As she takes some and happily eats Mark looks at them with a hint of jealousy. He hates that he feels that way. He cares about both of them and if he was not the one for her he would be hurt but then again he rather she be with someone good like Colonel. Still he wishes he could be that friendly with Celine like Colonel was. They always made it look so effortlessly while Mark always tries to be the cool one for her. Mark looks back at the screen, hoping his small feeling of jealousy goes away.

#who killed markiplier #markiplier #mayor damien #the colonel #celine the seer #fanfic

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ts-indonesia · 5 years ago

Text

Episode 1 - "Time to put on a bra and take some selfies." - Leigh

Episode 1 saw eighteen players, some fresh faces, and some veterans arrive on the Indonesia beaches, ready to play and ready to win. On a somewhat quiet Obor tribe, Leigh/Trent bonded over the age difference on the tribe (with a cunning plan reliant on using the word ‘lit’) and Anabel/Trent begun to form a bond that would survive the test of time.

On the Cahaya tribe, Matt/Jess feared the casting of one another, and Julian arrived plucky and ready to avoid another prejury experience, determined to improve. Owen/Stoner quickly formed HOS 22: Bermuda, and set to work spreading their connections across the tribe, forming at trio with Julian.

After a decisive victory in the Scavenger Hunt, it was revealed the returnees would have to send two returnees to the other tribe as “infiltrators” casting a sole vote. In an attempt to force the result, Julian went “offline”, in an attempt seen-through by his fellow tribe mates, but one that was ultimately successful, with Owen & Julian sent over as infiltrators.

At Obor’s tribal council, Evan quickly emerged as an easy vote, for his minimal challenge contribution. Two key alliances formed, a newbie majority alliance of Trent/Chris O/Leigh/Anabel/Lorelei and a girls’ alliance of Lorelei/Anabel/Leigh, with Anabel armed with an idol to boot.

As expected, Evan was sent out unanimously, but not before Julian trashed on the Cahaya tribe during tribal council... in a tribal seen... by the Cahaya tribe. With Evan out, the torches still inspiring such hate, and the infiltrators returning... that drew round one to a close.

MATT

first confessional give me idol?

also hi Jones

OWEN

okay so im walking onto the boat.... my hair is thinning, my skin is getting wrinkly, im ancient at this point. nonetheless im back for like the sixth time. or seventh, honestly who can keep track anymore. i see these like cute little new people. ANABEL's vid is AMAZING gay icon, lorelei legend likes pokemon mystery dungeon, Leigh is near chicago, like... i literally love all these new players but then i realize NONE OF THEM WILL BE ON MY TRIBE SKADSFJH. instead? im stuck with crazy ppl. there's julian who i voted out premerge in the season I won, and Matt who was in my most recent season nnn but NOT the matt I worked with in that game. and of all people CHRIS STONER LMAO. to be fair, chris isn't that bad bc I know he'll work with me hopefully but also I know he's a good player and wouldn't hesitate to cut me out. thank god olivia and jess are here tbh. omg and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse.....a furry shows up. WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK lmao I remember foxx back from the old old days and he seems scary :(((( good news is julian said him and isaac haven't ever gotten along and that isaac has voted him out twice :') so that might be good. and i'm fairly sure stoner and jess would have my back rn i just need to talk more to them. but for real, as soon as there's a swap or something if I survive that long? bye bye returnees :) i dont see myself getting very attached to anyone at the start so ill just do my best to ride out this beginning and maybe have some fun

LEIGH

I'm looking forward to seeing how long our tribe chat is just "Hey *Tribe Member's Name*!"

I think it could go on a while.

OWEN

chris: ditching u for the other stoner tho chris: tumblr needs an all stoner f2... 7:23 PM me: thats ok im ditching u for the gay girl from the first post me: but for now? u and me <3 7:23 PM chris: deal stoner and I rlly did speak this into existence....... it'll happen

LEIGH

So this tribe has literal children on it. 15, 16 years old. I might have to backstab ACTUAL CHILDREN! How do I even fit in with them? Trent suggested we could buy fidget spinners. I said maybe yoga pants and a crop top? There are people here BORN AFTER 9/11!!! What the fuck I didn't even know you could be born after 9/11 and be out of kindergarten. What year is it?

EVAN

Just met some other castaways, they seem pretty chill.

FOXX

What's up. So this fox has returned after an eternity of a hiatus with more grey in his muzzle and hopefully some self-awareness to go with it. I played some pretty solid games in the past but after taking a long time lurking and sort of forgetting Tumblr Survivor Crooks asked if I wanted to play despite not knowing I have played before. That's how old and irrelevant of a has-been I am. Back from the dead. I'm glad my star has faded and I can go in with a blank slate. My biggest concern is that I am not on my anxiety medication so my social interactions, especially on call, will be a lot more stilted and I'm terrified this will impair my judgment but we'll see. Right now I'm not trying to come off as a huge strategist. I made an intentionally crappy intro video, made fun of myself, and just tried to be funny without coming off too weird/desperate etc. Almost like I'm not taking this too seriously. However, already I'm noticing a patterns in how people on my tribe are. I have no fucking clue who these mammals are. People will have extensive conversations about people, twists, running jokes, etc and I'm totally lost. That hiatus really did fuck with my ability to ingratiate myself with this community. That will be a huuuuge advantage coming to dealing with the newbies since I can leverage that to not seem so threatening but right now I think I'm doing a fair job being friendly and making people laugh. I hope. God. So my thoughts on my tribemates thus far: Stoner: Vaguely know who this guy is. Aptly named. He's clearly blazed as hell but I can tell he's bright and likable. Says "oh shit" a lot and he seems like depsite his facade he's probably someone I can work with. Isaac: We talked about Overwatch a bit and he seems nice but he's not coming on my radar too strong. Jess: Definitely made a fairly strong impression on me since we're similar ages, Francophone, and we bonded over our mutual detest and hatred of furries and then I calmly sneak in the fact I am a furry an hour later and holy shit I was trying so hard to not bust into tears. She's funny and likable and seems like she's someone I could work with. Matt: Talked a bit about me coming back. Very little in group call. Michael: Talked a fair amount about D&D and made some fun Upside Down jokes. Seems like we have a lot in common but him being a different time zone could prove hard to keep up with. Being the outlier on Time Zones is playing on Hard Mode. Olivia: Love her! We bonded over animals and she seems like a total sweetheart and I definitely wanna share pics of my cat with her some more! Owen: We talked a bit about literature and it was fun. Definitely seems intelligent and he's someone I know a bit about from Olympics. In an ideal world I'd want to work with Stoner, Jess, Olivia, & Michael but everything in on fire. Also, no luck on the idol so fuck me I guess

JESS

So... first night has been interesting? I was going to do your typical "first impressions" confessional but... FOXXX or whatever the fury's name is.... is playing too hard too fast. Am I being a Paranoid Patty and reading this the WRONG WAY entirely? Possibly. HOWEVER... It's been less than 5 hours since we were thrown into this hell hole of a game (The hosts are lovely individuals but we all know this is about to get insane) and he's telling me if I want to make a move that he's my guy? Ummm.... WE HAVEN'T EVEN GOTTEN OUR FIRST IMMUNITY YET? I'M NOT THINKING MOVES RIGHT NOW? I BARELY CAN REMEMBER YOUR NAME!

MICHAEL

https://youtu.be/Swisjdq1R4s

OLIVIA

Have I befriended a furry???????? Is this real life????? Is he actually a furry or just really in deep on this joke? Why are there so many Dylans in orgs? Also fucking goddamnit I like EVERYONE HERE I just wanna be friends with all y’all damn. All of the newbies are so adorable and seem so excited and unknowing to the pain that’s gonna come :’) Annabelle especially like my wig flew with that intro! I wanna meet them all. Also wtf is with the torches I WANNA KNOW ALREADY! Anyways that’s all I’m excited for this season. Owen and I renewed the o alliance :-) and Jess seems cool as hell I really clicked with her and the furry. Michael seems sweet and I already know Julian from Mykonos, the absolute crackhead. Real sweetie tho hopefully we’re friends. I hope I’m not coming off as too insane I was so nervous on the phone call with the tribe :( it was so fun but I felt like every time I said something it fell flat I felt so awkward abhhhhhahshsjaj. Anyhoo yay! New season!

Should I write the rest of my confessionals in japanese? Neko. Boom

JESS

So coming into this game with a TS under my belt is different... I still have no expectations whatsoever BUT I do know how HARD people go for in these games and I'm planning to go just as hard. The first night was wild. Everyone on my tribe except for Matt and Julian were lively on the tribe call. Everyone seemed pretty cool and super... out there.. I think Isaac might be the one to watch on my tribe. He's been around the block and knows most people on my tribe (new and old). WHICH IS WHY.. I'm going to try my best and get super close to him. I need to make sure I'm not disposable to these "older players" and as asset to these "newer" players. I just know need to cool my jets on the whole socializing bit in the main chat (Yes I know it's literally day 1). I want to be as irrelevant as possible so no one thinks I'm a threat but no one really wants to get rid of me either. Gotta focus on those INDIVIDUAL RELATIONSHIPS. Hopefully these other players with more TS's under their belts become bigger shields than me because if not... yikes on yikes.

ROB

I like everyone so far. Evan is giving me a few red flags because he’s only giving me one word answers, so i might take that into consideration when voting.

FOXX

We had a very fun group call with the tribe last night. Definitely haven’t laughed that much in a while. Love my tribe thus far so I hope we can keep the good vibes going. Jess & Stoner are people I feel like have talked with me the most Nd Olivia, Owen, & Michael are also friendly so I think I have options. One thing I’ve noticed is how casual and sociable this tribe is. Nothing is more frustrating than a tribe full of overserious gamebots (*cough* Selwyn *cough*) but it’s a group of funny and chill people. It’s gonna be a great game!

OLIVIA

I love these hosts 🙂 HATE the idol system but honestly it doesn’t change much I’ve never gotten an idol before and probably never will so it won’t change my gameplay lmao

I like Isaac a lot too! Forgot to say. But I’m also a little wary of him because I know he’s very experienced

JULIAN

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKDvx7VxRC8

ANABEL

well. yesterday i found an idol on my second guess. and made two new friends. so yesterday was great. today was bad. i outed myself. my mom heard me tell my eyebrow lady that i was gay. this is a sad confessional and i wish i wasn’t so loud. im real fucking sad. sorry. but at least i have an idol and some friends.

LEIGH

Time to put on a bra and take some selfies.

I'm glad I shaved today for that tattoo selfie.

OLIVIA

There’s an alliance I’m not in isn’t there

Why am I so FUCKING awkward

ANABEL

im so fucking good at survivor like... good lord. trent and i are like best friends already (see, i knew this would happen, i always meet a nice old usually straight man and we become friends, it's like the hallmark of my survivor experiences) and we came up w a plan where i am gonna try and seduce evan and rob and make them my lil minions so im gonna lie to them and tell them that im a cheerleader bc that's hot right?? so ya my womanly charms will be utilized to their fullest potential. go me.

MICHAEL

https://youtu.be/aAqEUHoyy78

LEIGH

Can we talk about how bullshit it is to have "Lipstick in your tribe's color" when we're yellow and they're RED? Honest to god might as well have "Lemon in your tribe's color" to make it fair.

Alex coming in with bold capslock "MAKE SURE EVERYONE ON YOUR TEAM HAS SUBMITTED AT LEAST ONE THING" ... Just DM Evan directly my dude.

OLIVIA

Feeling much better about this game today than I was last night I think I was just spiraling 🥰 we’re doing really well on the challenge and I hope we win!! Two people messaged me saying I’m doing great on the challenge and idk how to respond. Just tryna make sure we don’t lose I will NOT be the first vote out. Newbies go hard on scavenger hunts but I go even harder 😈

LORELEI

Ok so! I'm super bummed that obor lost the challenge, I really thought we would win! Now we have to get rid of someone and it sucks but I feel like we all know who it has to be. It's not even personal, it's just the fairest thing and the best thing for our tribe. Also, alliances are forming! I like Anabel, Leigh and Trent so I'm with them but I'm gonna try to connect with everyone so I'm not on the outskirts. I hope that the boys haven't formed an all boys alliance bc if they have, then the girls could be in danger. That's it for now!

STONER

guess I’ll follow Alex crook’s rules... https://youtu.be/ndsfCdjtcQI

Not much, about to sleep! https://youtu.be/v12a2AbklVw

MICHAEL

https://youtu.be/4inKBNkg87M

JESS

It's 2:30am so WHY NOT post ANOTHER confessional? Am I right? Honestly, we won which I'm BEYOND THANKFUL for. I hate tribal and I can now at least say I wasn't first boot. THANK GAGA. I'm just really trying to solidify things with Michael right now. I think out of everyone on my current tribe I can honestly see myself making a run at this game with him (at least up until merge). I offered him the prospect of sharing idol clues (it's literally the only collateral I have at the moment) so hopefully this doesn't bite me in the fucking ass. Other than Michael I was kind of hoping to somehow get closer to both Julian and Matt (plot twist I know). Matt has hosted me before and it's no secret he is a founding father of the "I Hate Jess" Club. However, these two seem to be the odd men out right now. They aren't overly socializing with people so there's a high chance they'll be taken out if our current tribe loses. HOWEVER.. I see potential numbers in them. So I can't let that happen. As of right now both Foxx and Stoner seem to be the ones to watch out for. I just can't let them think or know... that I know that about them. Stoner gives me mega "I say the same things to everyone" vibes. He's clearly playing a strong social game so far. I just need to play dumb and ensure that he thinks he can control/trust me. Honestly, as soon as he doesn't see value in me I have no doubt he's gonna cut me. Foxx on the other hand, just seems like he's playing too hard. He's another guy who I strongly believe is going to drop me as soon as I have no value to him. I'm just going to have to have to lay low and be dumb. Owen scares me shitless. He's giving me PTSD from my last season because homeboy is playing a strong contender game. He's definitely a pick to win. He's another person who I'm going to have to try and pretend I'm under their spell. Am I playing too hard too fast? I'm not entirely sure. I'm just going to slow my role a bit and see what happens

MATT

What’s Up? WHAT’S UP?!?!?!? how dare you ask me such a ludicrous question. Alright so first real general confessional of the game here. I wanna eventually try and record some video confessionals, but that’s if i have the time. but for today, we’re good with a text. So starting off the game on the Cahaya Tribe, which consists of entirely returnees. So right off the bat it makes nervous bc i’m really not around much in the community. Yeah i’m in a few VL’s and i played once before, but i really don’t know anyone. So being the odd one out for that reason was a real fear for a little bit. Looking at my tribe, there are a few names that stood out the most to me. Owen stood out bc we both played Kuwait, and even tho we never met each other, we still have that little connection. Chris motherfucking Stoner is here too!! Chris is such a chill dude. we played together once before and i voted him out pre swap. But that game was so long ago, and i really don’t think he cares (i know i dont). So i’m looking forward to reconnecting with him. Jess is also here!! Jess and I had met previously because i hosted her in Celestial Komnata, and we had some rough misunderstandings there. But months have passed and I know that I am well over it bc i frankly don’t care. But i feel like she still probably cares which will not be good for me. Michael was the last person that stood out to me. Not because I know him, or know of him. But because he’s the only Non-North American in the cast, which means if i can stay up late and socialize with him, he might favor me over other When i looked at the other tribe, i think the only person i know is Anabel? We played together once, i hosted her, so we have somewhat of a connection that if we swap together, i hope that works in my favor. So on the first night of the game, i was very busy with Celestial All stars premiere, so i didn’t get to talk as much as i would’ve liked. which resulted in me telling jones on call like 5 times that i’m gonna be first boot. But the first night, i talked with everyone (to some degree) except Issac bc i forgot Issac was here. The torch twist thing i have no idea what it’s going to be and it worries me. My first thought is that it somehow would result in a third tribe bc there were six torches. so someone would light a torch and be placed on that tribe. But it’s too early to figure out what they even mean and i’m sure as the game progresses.

LEIGH

Woooo so what's happened. Well, we lost the challenge and it wasn't even close. I haven't looked at the spreadsheet to see the final scores but I feel like Me, Trent, and Anabell did the most work. I talked to a few people last night and put Evan's name out there cuz I know most people are too scared to say a name first and I feel comfortable enough about my position to be the one to say a name that most people should agree with. A mutual alliance formed between me, Chris, Trent, Anabell, and Lorelei. Within it, an all girls 3 alliance formed which I'm super happy to be part of. I'm sure Trent will be paranoid about that sooner or later so hopefully Chris and I can make him feel confident. Trent is sharing idol guesses with me so I'm hoping that means I'm like the closest person to him right now. I like the number of options I have so far.

I feel like Facebook might be falling out of style so maybe these youngin's don't even have it or aren't familiar with Facebook ORGs. The only other people here who know my history as far as I know are Foxx and Chris, and I hope neither of them bring it up. If I can stay UTR that'd be nice. Also, I think I need to stop capitalizing letters/using punctuation if I wanna fit in with these kids. Did I already confessionalize that? Not sure.

Apparently Lorelei missed the HII thing day one haha oh well. I'm compiling guesses from me, Chris, and Trent. Hopefully I'll get them from the girls too. I'm not showing the girls' guesses to Chris though. I don't think he'll be mad at me for it. We gotta play close to the vest sometimes yo

TRENT

So far I think the game is going alright. My tribe is incredibly quiet for some reason but I guess that isn't too bad. I made a connection with Anabel and Leigh pretty early on. Decided to suggestion and alliance and both we in so I added Chris and Lorelei so we had a majority. This is the alliance I wanted from the beginning. I wanted the older people to stick together and then add in one young one. I think it's a pretty solid idea. Ive been messaging both kenny and dylan as well. I don't want an alliance with them, but I would like for them to like me and want me to stay in. I also think im getting along pretty well with the two infiltrators right now. Julian was spilling all kinds of info about his tribe to me this morning and then me and owen connected really well. Hopefully this will help me in the future if there is a split soon.

OLIVIA

Jess was hinting that her, foxx, stoner, and I should get together and I said we’d make a nifty cool group. A NIFTY COOL GROUP WHAT THE FUCK IS A NIFTY COOL OLIVIA

ISAAC

This twist can become SO detrimental. And I’m so MAD Owen went over there first because that bitch is unbelievably charismatic. Hopefully it paints a bigger target on him but like it’s whatever. I like my tribe. We seem chill and I seem to vibe the most with Olivia and Jessica Messica. Foxx is cool. Julian is....Julian ig. Matt has yet to talk to me so that’s a wig ig. Michael seems nice but ngl I get kinda bored when I try to talk to him? He seems very gamebot-y which could be frightening but idk he’s not my biggest problem atm. I’m terrified of Owen - he’s unbelievably charismatic and has the ability to twist people around his finger so like I’m gonna keep my eye on him and I’m not gonna let him out of my sight. With that being said I do wanna see him live for at least a little while for meat-shield purposes. Anyways I hope I do well this game but 👀 I have a sinking feeling.

KENNY

So yeah.. it seemed like a pretty laxxed day and Evan was the vote. How true is that? Idk but I have to trust strangers. But just heard he through my name out like 20 minutes ago, with less than 3 hours to go. So I just hope everyone’s being honest 😭

OWEN

what’s up? Everything :’) I couldn’t help as much in the scav hunt as I liked because I was living my life. But thankfully we won anyways bc my tribe kicked ass! I still contributed some and I made sure to keep talking to people. I still love olivia, and matt has been fun to talk to. Don’t rlly know why but foxx seems hard to get to know. And not big into michael rn either. I think I will stick with Julian and chris, hopefully can pull in jess and olivia to do something if we lose. Chris mentioned that both him and jess DO like foxx so we will see.... The main thing is that this twist worked out perfectly for me!!!! I couldn’t call when we were decided and I REALLY wanted to go. Thankfully I was able to take advantage of the majority vote thing and pretend like I wasn’t online hehe and by some miracle I got picked to go. MEANT TO BEEE and let me say I was right, I do love this tribe so much more than my own for some reason. Trent is great, Annabel and I are talking like I wanted, the Chicago girl and the Pokémon mystery dungeon girl. It’s so good over here, but the biggest surprise has been chris o. I really like him and could see myself working well with him if we swap. The only thing is that Julian said he was sketchy sometimes..... hehe so down the road I might have to tell chris o that Julian is after him :~) but I don’t need to snake too hard yet, for right now I’m a crocodile lookin like a log. Vote should be easy on Evan from what I’ve heard but if it changes? I’ll be living for the drama!

LORELEI

It looks like Evan is the consensus. I feel really bad though because it's not his fault. He tried to plead his case with me by saying that he wasn't the only one that was inactive, but that doesn't change the fact that he contributed the least. I know it's the fair thing to do but I feel bad about it. Voting out people is so not fun, I really hope we win the next challenge so I won't have to do this again.

EVAN

I’m pretty sure I’m fucked. I’ve been trying to get people to vote Kenny but idk fuck

KENNY

“I know I’M voting Evan = I might be voting Evan but I know others are voting you”. Or am I being paranoid

JULIAN

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GaH8l2R-Xt0

MATT

i feel like i did pretty good on the scavenger hunt. i managed to scoop up a bunch of items that were left over and some that were high points. so i do feel good about my performance and think i pulled my weight. Speaking of pulling weight...Julian is...there. I think he only submitted one item which was the Vine. I mean i get you have work and are busy, but like...most of us were the same? even issac who was celebrating his birthday did more. after challenge results we got on call in the tribe chat (olivia, chris, michael, myself). and we were talking about the infiltrator twist and the challenge results. We agreed to have myself and Olivia go, but we needed 5 for a majority. Julian shows up and says he “might wanna go tbh”. and then disappears. We’re on call laughing bc we wanna submit this and not randomize it, so someone who isn’t here gets forced to go. BUT JULIAN won’t talk in tribechat even tho we’re all like, “hey we’ll take turns and you can go next time.”. but no. Julian is only talking in olivia’s pm’s and she’s telling us whatever he’s saying. eventually the hour is up, and julian got randomized to go. that fucker strong armed us into randomizing and he still went god damnit. I think that call was good for my game because we were just chatting for like 1.5 hours about the game stuff and people. After michael/chris left the call it was just Olivia and myself on call and we stayed on for another hour and a half(????? ish??? probably less i can’t remember). But that was a nice call and i think helped start to solidify a bond. Olivia is someone i can see myself working with in this game. Same goes for Michael and Chris. I feel like that call group was pretty natural and we got along really well. I’m too nervous to initiate any kind of alliance talk, but i know it’s gonna have to happen eventually. i’m sure alliances already exist on the tribe and i’m obviously not in them. I think for starters, i need to work on conversations a bit more, because they are somewhat weak right now. My goal for the future is to work on olivia, michael, chris and owen. Those are the people i feel most good about. Foxx is cool but idk it seems hard to gel with them. Julian is cracked and i hope he’s our first boot. and the four of us on call forgot issac was on the tribe so that’s not good for him. i think i’m in a decent position for now, but i’m not gonna count my chickens before they hatch (i think that’s the saying idfk)

#whenyourfiresout

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placetobenation · 5 years ago

Link

Cinderella

Release Date: February 15th, 1950 (released March 4th nationwide)

Inspiration: “Cinderella” by Charles Perrault

Budget: $2.9 million

Domestic Gross: $95.5 million

Worldwide Gross: $263.6 million

Rotten Tomatoes Score: 97%

IMDB Score: 7.3/10

Storyline (per IMDB): Cinderella, the beautiful and kind-hearted daughter, sees her world turn upside down when her beloved mother dies, and her pained father remarries another woman, the wicked Lady Tremaine, who has two equally cruel daughters, the jealous Anastasia and Drizella. But, once more, things will go from bad to worse, When Cinderella’s father, too, dies, leaving her all alone in the Lady’s clutches to serve as her maid-of-all-work. Under those circumstances, a shabby and neglected Cinderella doesn’t stand much of a chance of attending the King’s royal ball–let alone, captivate the handsome Prince–unless she turns to her loving Fairy Godmother who has quite a few tricks up her sleeve. Nevertheless, will the wronged damsel ever find peace–and with it–her own Prince Charming?

Pre-Watching Thoughts: So we are now into a brand new decade with the 1950s and to me, this is where the Disney film canon begins its ascent into the stratosphere with a string of classic films. It’s weird because the first few films are pretty memorable and still rank as some of the best, but it feels like between World War II and having to release the package films that Disney had something to prove. Cinderella is a film that was never really a personal favorite of mine though I never hated it, and it has been a long time since I have seen it in its entirety and I am hoping that it turns things around after the disappointment of the package films.

Voice Cast: After bringing in some pretty big names for the time to serve as either narrators or singers for the package films, we go back to normal here as we have traditional actors involved with a few familiar voices sprinkled in as well. For the voice of Cinderella, we have Ilene Woods portray the character in what would be her only film credit though you could argue that there would’ve been no other role she would’ve been more remembered for than this one. We then have radio star Eleanor Audrey as the voice of Lady Tremaine and it would not be the last time she would voice a memorable Disney villain, and she does a fine job in voicing Lady Tremaine and making her very unlikeable. For the voice of the Fairy Godmother, we have legendary TV star Verna Felton and she does a fine job in bringing the character to life while also doing a fine job singing as well. We then have what I believe is a first though it certainly won’t be the last as Western star William Phillips provides the voice of the Prince, but legendary singer Mike Douglas provides his singing voice and this would become more common in the coming years. Next, we have legendary voice actress Lucille Bliss and radio star Rhoda Williams as the voices of Anastasia and Drizella respectively, and they were very solid in those roles particularly Williams who is good at doing bad singing though she is a talented singer. We then have a return in Jimmy MacDonald as he voices both Jaq and Gus and he does a good job in given both mice some personality, and then we have veteran actor Luis van Rooten as he voices both the King and the Duke as he also does a good job making both feel very different. We then have veteran voice actress June Foray providing the sounds for Lucifer which she does a good job at, and then we have the returning Pinto Corvig who does the sounds for Bruno which is fitting since he is the voice of Goofy and Pluto. In total, these actors and actresses do a fine job in voicing their characters well and they provide some memorable moments in this film.

Hero/Prince: After going quite a while without a prince in a Disney film since the Prince in Snow White, we have our next prince here in Prince Charming though it is never actually mentioned in the film what his last name is. We also know very little about this prince as we don’t see him until the ball when he is clearly disinterested in courting the available maidens until he sees Cinderella, and after she leaves at midnight and leaves her slipper behind he vows to find her though we don’t see him again until the end when he and Cinderella marry. Now while this was pretty common for fairy tales that the focus is more on the princess than the prince, you figured he would have a bigger role though in this case it does make sense since the focus was on Cinderella. How he will compare to the other princes and heroes in the Disney film canon will be interesting since he is barely seen in this film.

Princess: I had mentioned in the Snow White review that Snow White was about as typical of a princess as you could get, but that is a theory that might be put to the test here as we have our next big Disney Princess in Cinderella. Unlike Snow White who was already a princess, Cinderella was not born into royalty and was the daughter of a chateau owner only to be forced into being a servant for Lady Tremaine after her father dies. Despite this, she remains true to herself as she is still kind to her stepmother and stepsisters as well as the various animals she befriends, and she is given a chance by her Fairy Godmother to meet the prince though she has to leave at midnight when the spell ends. Eventually, she is discovered by the Duke when the glass slipper she left behind fits her and she is married to the prince, officially becoming a princess. She is about everything you can think when it comes to a princess as she is kind, gentle, and beautiful despite being put down by her stepmother and stepsisters, and in the end she achieves the dream she always wanted by finding her prince and being able to live a better life.

Villains: After having a couple of minor villains over the last few films, we finally have a villain that may not be on the same level as the evil Queen from Snow White, but she does come close and that is the evil stepmother of Cinderella known as Lady Tremaine though again we never hear her name mentioned during the whole film. She is introduced as a kindly woman when she married Cinderella’s father though her true nature is revealed after his death as she forces Cinderella to be a maid to her and her daughters who she spoils to their hearts’ content. She is also shown to be manipulative and cunning when she tries to keep Cinderella hidden when the Duke comes with the slipper, but in the end she is foiled though her ultimate fate is not known when Cinderella marries the prince. We also have to make mention of her daughters Anastasia and Drizella who constantly ridicule and demean Cinderella while fantasizing about their own desires, but it is unsure what happens to them as well when Cinderella marries the prince. One final mention is to the cat Lucifer who continuously tries to kill Cinderella’s mice and tries to keep them from helping Cinderella escape her room, but he is thwarted by Bruno who scares him out of the window and Lucifer falls from the tower to his implied death though we never see if he dies. While these villains are not quite as diabolical and evil as the Queen from Snow White, they are still pretty memorable as villains and it will be interesting to see how they and in particular Lady Tremaine rank amongst the other villains.

Other Characters: Even though the film is mainly centered around Cinderella and her trials, I think a lot of people would say that the real stars of the film are the mice that she befriends and they help her when they can. Heading up the group of mice is Jaq who in a way serves as the leader and the voice of reason, and they are soon joined by a new mouse that Cinderella names Octavius or “Gus” for short, and they almost serve as an Abbott and Costello with Jaq being the straight mouse and Gus being the goof. We also have the birds that help Cinderella get ready and we also have Bruno the dog who becomes one of Cinderella’s coachman, and then he helps Cinderella escape her room by scaring Lucifer out of the tower. We have the King of the kingdom who longs for his son to marry and have children so he can be a grandfather, and the Duke who has to put up with the King’s wanting of grandchildren and carrying out his plans to have the prince meet a woman at the ball, and then he is forced by the King to visit every maiden and find out who the glass slipper belongs to. Finally, we have the Fairy Godmother who appears and provides Cinderella with a new dress while turning the mice into horses, Bruno and the horse into coachmen, and a pumpkin into a coach to help her get to the ball though she tells her the spell only lasts until midnight. These are some pretty fun and memorable characters to help fill out the film and help keep a good balance of humor amongst the romance and the drama of the main storyline.

Songs: So after having the package films basically have songs that were there to fill out each segment, we go back to normal as the songs in the film serve as a backdrop to the film and what is going on. We have a couple of memorable songs featured here as we start with the title track “Cinderella” though it does feel tacked on just to have a title song, but then we get to business as we have “Sing Sweet Nightingale” sung first poorly by Drizella and then beautifully by Cinderella to showcase how completely opposite the two are. We then have the mice sing “The Cinderella Work Song” as they make her dress and they definitely sound cute singing it, and then we have “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” which is sung by the Fairy Godmother though there is a lot more spoken dialogue as opposed to singing though she is fine in that. We then have the duet “So This is Love” sung by Cinderella and the prince as they sing about their love, and finally we have the centerpiece of the film which is “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” which Cinderella sings beautifully at the beginning and then we hear others sing portions of it throughout the film. As we get further into the canon, a lot of these films’ songs will be made or broken by their centerpiece song and how solid the other songs around it are, and this film is one of the stronger films in terms of its songs.

Plot: Obviously like most fairy tales, the plot of the film is fairly standard as Cinderella is a kind girl who is forced to being a slave for her stepmother and her two stepsisters, and she dreams of a better life while the stepmother spoils her own daughters. They learn that the King is holding a ball so his son can find a bride and Cinderella is excluded after her stepsisters rip her dress up, but Cinderella gets a silver lining in her fairy godmother who gives her everything she’s dreamed of though warns everything returns to normal at midnight. Cinderella meets and immediately falls in love with the Prince, but is forced to leave at midnight leaving only behind a glass slipper which the Prince uses to find her despite the stepmother’s plans and Cinderella gets her “happily ever after”. Like I mentioned, the plot is fairly simple when it comes to fairy tales like this, but when done correctly it can be very effective and I feel that it was done well with this film especially if it is being considered Disney’s greatest film since Snow White. Plus while the basic theme of this is similar in a way to Snow White, it is more than different enough to stand out amongst the crowd and it does have plenty to make everyone happy.

Random Watching Thoughts: Even a film like this has to have its own title song?; The return of the storybook in the beginning which I believe we haven’t seen since Pinocchio; So the kingdom is tiny yet the castle is massive; Even in just seeing them watching Cinderella and her father in the window, you could tell that Lady Tremaine and her daughters were bad news; If the fortunes were squandered; how are they able to still afford the chateau?; So even having to do all the chores, Cinderella was somehow able to make little clothes for the birds and the mice; It is a shame that Ilene Woods didn’t star in other films after this because she has a beautiful voice, and reading up on her she apparently wanted to be a schoolteacher and her mother instead led her down this path; Funny that the female mice shoo the male mice out of the room while Cinderella is bathing and changing; So Jaq tells Cinderella about a new mouse in the house and she immediately assumes it’s a girl; How tall is that tower that she has to go down that many stairs just to get to the rat trap?; How did Cinderella get “Gus” from the name Octavius?; I find it very weird that the mice are sentient and can talk to the point that they understand Cinderella and she understands them, but then you have Lucifer and Bruno along with the other animals who behave like real animals; The day will come when cats and dogs are able to get along, but that day is not now especially with Lucifer toying with Bruno and tricking Cinderella into forcing him outside; That’s an interesting way to choose who has to get Lucifer to chase them, I guess it’s like the mice equivalent of whoever pulls the shortest straw; That’s a lot of chickens that they’ve been able to keep; Cinderella really spoiled Gus with all that corn; How was Lucifer able to just ignore the fact that Jaq pulled a whisker right out of his face?; I am surprised that Cinderella hasn’t ripped those bells out of the wall after hearing them ring for so long; God bless Cinderella for still trying to be nice to Lady Tremaine and her stepsisters despite how poorly they treat her; She goes in each room with a tray and tea while leaving each room with a set of laundry; Even knowing she’s going to be yelled at, Cinderella makes sure to save Gus from Lucifer; I always wondered what it is about fairy tales that a stepparent is considered mean and evil, in particular stepmothers since you rarely see a stepfather in this role; Lady Tremaine is dealing out some major things to do just because Gus ended up in Anastasia’s cup by mistake; Lucifer was all in on Lady Tremaine’s punishments until he heard the word “bath”; That’s not too smart of the king to throw his crown out the window; What does this prince do that he doesn’t live in the castle of his own kingdom?; You know that Drizella sounds so bad that she drives Lucifer out of the room because he can’t take it; Cinderella was deep in her song that she never noticed Lucifer walking around the floor with all those trackings; What’s weird is that Anastasia and Drizella aren’t even that ugly, it’s just that they are so vain and conceited that it makes it even more noticeable; Lady Tremaine gives her word that Cinderella can go if she finishes her chores and can have a suitable dress, so of course she and her daughters overload Cinderella so she can’t achieve her goal; Jaq and Gus were so keen to help with the dress only for the female mice to send them away and fetch some accessories; Jaq just walked right past Lucifer like he was nothing; Lucifer is a lot smarter than we think as he drags the beads with him so Gus can’t get them; That hat must be a magic hat if it can somehow fit all those beads, and meanwhile Jaq is able to slide the beads down Gus’ tail even though they don’t have holes; That would’ve been bad if Jaq and Gus used the scissors to cut that one mouse’s tail off; Those mice and birds must have great retention powers if they can make a dress that fancy without Cinderella’s help; Again, the chateau is supposedly in financial ruin yet Lady Tremaine can still afford a horse and carriage for herself and her daughters; Only Gus would say “Happy Birthday” when they revealed the dress; The scariest thing about Lady Tremaine is her savvy as she knew immediately that Cinderella had stuff stolen by the mice, and Anastasia and Drizella were quick to rip her dress apart and take the stuff back despite having complained about it earlier almost like Cinderella and the mice were set up; It’s only when Cinderella is finally on the verge of giving up that the Fairy Godmother appears to help her; It is a bit funny that of all the things to use to create a carriage, you would pick a pumpkin; In a little bit of a production snafu, the Fairy Godmother is singing while turning the pumpkin into a carriage yet her lips don’t move at all; She has a horse right at her disposal and yet turns the mice into horses while turning the horse into the driver; Cinderella still shows some sympathy for Lucifer even after what he did to her and the mice; I don’t think I would call Cinderella’s dress simple, but it is certainly daring; The prince looks like he would rather be anywhere else but the ball; What a coincidence that the Duke is accurately explaining everything as the prince goes to greet Cinderella; Isn’t it kind of inappropriate for the King to leave the ball so early while his son is courting a potential wife?; I get that he wants his son to get married, but I think threatening the Duke with death is pretty harsh; Again putting over how savvy Lady Tremaine is, I wonder if she knew then that Cinderella was the girl dancing with the prince; The idea of love at first sight has always been a strange one at least to me because there are some that believe in it and some that don’t; She was really enthralled with what was going on that she neglected to keep watch on the time; You would’ve thought they were chasing a criminal with all those guards chasing Cinderella; Of all the things to still be there after the spell ends, it would be the glass slippers; Boy, the King must really want to have grandchildren if he is dreaming about playing with them; The King went from calm to ultra-rage in a matter of seconds when the Duke told him Cinderella escaped; I love how they break out Goofy’s yell whenever someone falls from a high point; The mice have certainly come up with a lot of places to get through the whole house; The moment that Lady Tremaine realizes that Cinderella is the girl the prince is looking for is when the tension reaches it’s boiling point; The Duke in the carriage looks like me coming home from an overnight shift at the casino; Normally in a movie like this, you wouldn’t hear the proclamation in full as the villain would want to get right to business; So Jaq and Gus were able to get that key all the way up the tower before both Anastasia and Drizella tried on the slipper; If the door to the tower was closed, how was Lucifer able to get in there unless he was there the whole time without anyone knowing?; What would’ve happen if the slipper shattered there, and what if the Duke would’ve left before Cinderella got out of her room?; I know that cats can land on their feet when dropped, but was there any way Lucifer would’ve survived that fall from the top of the tower?; The way the Duke looked at Cinderella, you wonder if he knew that she was the one all along; The one time Lady Tremaine was outsmarted as she thought the only slipper was destroyed not thinking that Cinderella would have the other one; I do like how they have the storybook at the end to bookend the beginning of the film.

Overall Thoughts: Overall, this ended up being a very good film and was a much better film than I ever remembered it being. Again, that’s not to say that I’ve never like the film which I did though it just was never a personal favorite of mine, but I had forgotten just how good it actually was. This was the perfect bounce back film for Disney coming in the aftermath of World War II and the package films, and I think this was exactly the film that Disney needed to show everyone that they were back in prime form and that they were in fact here to stay. The 1950s are going to be a very interesting time for Disney as not only were they looking towards their future films, but Disney had a lot of grand ideas that he would look to see come to fruition during this decade. As for this film, it is a great film and while it is too early to tell if it is the greatest of all time, it certainly ranks up there and still deserves its status as a Disney classic.

Final Grade: 8/10

#IFTTT #Place to Be Nation

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whispering-sumire755 · 7 years ago

Text

Loving Without Time To Love At All | (Explicit)

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy

Summary: After he's gone back and time and stopped Voldemort from ever beginning, Harry is left one day before his actions cause him to cease to exist. -.-.- [Or: The one where Harry Potter hugs everyone.]

Word Count: 2,910

A/N: Fuck, I don't know. I did a thing? I love any and all of you who read this, hugs to the gorgeous unicorns who like, glomps and kisses to the amaze-balls brave ass motherfuckers who reblog. You're all beautiful and I don't deserve any of you. -.-.- [PS: If you have a Prompt for me leave me an Ask ;)]

Lily Potter has never seen war, neither has she seen her beautiful, lovely son with long hair, and she had seen him just yesterday when he'd visited for dinner. Now he stands before her, in her house, and he looks so very different than the son she knows, the one she'd raised. His hair curls and settles unruly around his shoulders, just past his waist. He has eyes like molten metal for all that they are usually bright and open like the sky. He looks haunted. Why does her baby boy look this way? Distant, cold, broken, rough jagged edges discarded for something as strong as can be mustered when you pull yourself together by force of will even when there's barely anything left.

And why is he looking at her like he's never seen her before in his life? Like she's something he could kneel before and worship? Like she's something long since lost? What's happened since she last saw him? So many questions, normally she'd ask them all, expect an answer and a smile, but she can't. She's too terrified of the answer.

"Your hair is longer," she says instead, because she knows she at least should say something, for all that she's at a loss for words. He takes a shaky little breath, and then he's on her, holding her in his arms like she's the most precious fragile thing he's ever touched, and she really has no idea what to do about that. So she hugs him back, she pretends not to hear the broken whimper or feel the little shiver, and she hugs him as fiercely as she can as she tries to think pleasant thoughts.

She had never thought she'd be willing to raze the Earth, to kill thousands of innocent people if it meant destroying the right one. But right now she feels particularly murderous, and she thinks she'll need to reevaluate exactly who she is later, because she's sure that if she knew who made Harry like this within the span of a day she'd tear their throat out with her teeth, never mind the taste.

James doesn't really know what to make of his son showing up at his office in the middle of a workday, and is about to tell him to 'Bugger off, I'll see you at dinner, I have work to do,' until he sees his face and is stopped cold. He's an Auror, he's seen eyes like that, normally on much older agents, normally on the faces of people who drink the days away and scream the whole night through and never ever forget a single terrible thing they've seen but smile and say they've survived all the same, even if no one else has. Even if no one else would want to. Seeing eyes like that on his son is more than heartbreaking.

And it should be impossible.

So he does the only thing he can do. He goes right up to him and asks what's wrong, what happened? Harry just gives him a ghost of a smile and says: "I saved the world, dad."

And he looks like he really did. In fact, he looks like he did far more than that. And then James has an armful of Harry Potter, no real answers despite the one given, and no idea what to do. He wonders exactly how much it would cost someone to save the world, and then he wonders why it had to be his son who did it, and then nothing else matters because Harry is shaking and making wet little whimpers into his shoulder.

He hugs him back, because of course he does.

If he's in the middle of his workplace in full view of all of his peers with wet eyes and lips reed-thin from terror and anger, no one mentions it, and no one reminds him of it later, after Harry's left.

Sirius Black has not seen his godson in a fortnight, not because he didn't want to per se, but because they both led rather busy lives, and Harry wasn't one to show up at his shoddy, dusty little apartment. Always saying he needed a better place if he wanted the company, though the words were never said with heat. So, imagine his surprise when Harry apparates in with very long hair and better posture and a dim smile that speaks of a strange loyalty Sirius doesn't remember ever having earned.

"Padfoot," Harry says in greeting, though he has never called him that before, and the word sounds heavy, like it means more than the breath it took to say it. Harry looks like he's been through hell, and Sirius has no qualms telling him so. Harry just throws his head back and laughs. It's a laugh Sirius has never heard before, and he wonders why it reminds him of rain. Bright green eyes sparkle when they meet his, and then he's being hugged with a strength he had no idea his godson had even possessed.

It feels warm and scared and sad and just as heavy as the appellation he'd used earlier. Sirius wonders at the sudden urge he has to go into battle for this boy, and hugs him back with the same rib-bruising enthusiasm, although it takes both their breaths away.

It's much more peaceful than it has any right to be.

Harry Potter was an intelligent peer, and someone they cheered for during Quidditch matches simply because he played for their team, but he wasn't necessarily a friend, and tonight is date night. Suffice it to say both Hermione and Ron are very confused, and a little more than irritated when he knocks on their door. They invite him in anyway, or at least Hermione does, and when Ron gives her a look of incredulous exasperation, she gives him a shrug like she's not entirely sure why she did it either.

He looks them both up and down, like he's checking for injuries, for scars. He searches their eyes like he's looking for pain, or familiarity. The oddest thing is, maybe that's exactly what he was looking for. He's a strong presence, stronger than he ever was in school, and he shares space with them like he's known them for years, like it's his right to worry for them. Somehow the whole thing shocks them both into silence. He gives a curt nod after, like he's happy with the results of his silent interrogation of their souls, and it really does feel like he's seen their souls at this point, and then does something else entirely unexpected, he asks about the twins.

Ron gapes for a moment or two, and then reluctantly tells him they're fine even when he'd expected himself to say 'None of your business twat, fuck off'. Hermione smirks, because now she isn't the only one catering to a man neither of them know, neither of them should care enough to talk to. Especially on bloody date night.

Harry just grins, and there's something like mischief in his eyes, like he knows exactly the kind of people the twins are, like he knows just how much trouble they're getting into right this minute and is absolutely delighted that they're in good enough health to get into it.

Then, he does something even more preposterous. He hugs them both. He hugs them like he's been hugging them forever and there's nothing at all wrong with it. Like it's not even the least bit disturbing.

Ron squawks, but his body, almost against his will, leans into it. He wants to punch Harry, and he wants to cry, and he feels a bit like he's coming home when he breathes in wildflowers and winter and dust. He doesn't understand any of it. Doesn't understand how his unerring possessive streak is awkwardly absent when Harry lets him go and turns to do the same to Hermione. Doesn't understand why his cheeks are wet and he desperately wants to tell Harry to stay, because he knows, he just knows Harry is going to go, the bloody idiot.

When Harry leaves and Hermione's face crumples into tears, and her fists curl in frustration, he holds her and he doesn't ask why. Neither of them knows why. It just hurts a little too much, and their hearts are a little too full and a little too empty at the same time, because that was a stranger.

That was their friend.

And now he's gone.

Draco had an [un]friendly rivalry with Potter during their stint at Hogwarts, and despite a few hormone induced wet-dreams, was perfectly fine never seeing him again. Honestly, he really thought he never would. Still, there he is, in all his glory, leaning his hip against Draco's desk in an oddly relaxed, cat-like manner. None of the lights are turned on, but the window behind him is leaking moonlight around his head like a halo, and his eyes are gleaming in a meaningfully heated way.

Gone are the glasses, the arrogance, the innocence, and the shortest, most unattractive hair he'd ever seen. His hair is gorgeous, now, long and tangled and smooth and, he thinks, soft. Harry used to be tall and brash and loud with everything, but, now, he looks contemplative, humble, he makes himself smaller like he thinks something will attack him if he's bigger than he ought to be in spirit or in space. It's so very different that Draco is left wondering what made him that way. What, or who, rather, changed that strong unbreakable boy and turned him into a man who is... Broken? Broken but alive, survived, strong. This strength is different than whatever strength he had before.

Draco imagines this is the strength of someone who has killed to get out on the other side with breath still in his lungs. That bright shiny novelty of someone who has never killed or used cunning or had to steel himself for the worst despite everything is gone, replaced with honor, and prayer, and hope that probably tastes more bitter than the blackest coffee. Draco does not know Harry Potter, and is not someone who normally gleans so much from just one glance, but as soon as he looks Harry in the eyes, he understands him more than he's ever understood anyone in his entire life.

Maybe it was all just in his imagination. He kind of wishes it was, though he already knows it wasn't. Because Harry Potter looks like a soldier who left his soul on the battlefield and he's looking at Draco like maybe Draco can lead him back to it, and that is frightening, because that shouldn't be Harry. Never was Harry.

Harry moves away from his desk to take a step closer, says nothing, face unreadable.

"What are you doing here Potter?" Draco asks, standing his ground, although there shouldn't be anything intimidating about the way Harry silently stalks another step closer.

And then another.

Draco swallows with a click. Feels heat curl in his gut. Wonders if this is some sort of spell. Wonders if turning the lights on will break it.

Another step, and Draco's mouth goes dry. He decides the lights can stay off.

Two seconds later and his heart is in his throat while Harry is inches away from him, their breath mingling, making what little air there is between them warm and damp.

The kiss isn't entirely unexpected, but time stops for it anyway. It isn't chaste. It isn't calm, or small, or wanton. It's meaningful, it's desperate, and wet, and violent, and teeth and copper and tongues tangling while Harry presses flush against him and wraps his arms around his neck and moans in a deep, throaty way. Draco can't help that his hands end up in Harry's hair, or the pleased noise that escapes him when he finds, hey, it really is soft.

He'll never remember how they managed to get to the bed, or how, when their clothes disappeared. He's glad for it, however it happened.

"Draco," Harry pants, whines, directs his fingers to a very delicate place, and spreads his legs wide. Draco doesn't suppress the shiver that comes at the realization of what he's asking for, or the rush that comes with the realization that, yes, they really are doing this. Harry mutters something under his breath as he writhes under him, and Draco is suprised to find his fingers suddenly lubricated.

He didn't even use a wand.

That should not be as hot as it apparently is.

"Is this what you want?" Draco asks with a smirk, sliding one finger in, carefully, slowly. He teases it in and out, making Harry groan, wiggle helplessly, try to fuck himself onto the intrusion, gasp a plea when Draco removes it. "You want me inside of you?"

"Always," Harry sighs, brushing strands of pale blonde hair back with nimble fingers. He's looking up at Draco like... like Draco is everything he's ever wanted, like he's joy, and hope, and happiness, and family. Like he's more. Draco freezes, his breath hitching, because Harry's smiling at him now, and that smile is so helpless, hopeless, sad, and in love that Draco really thinks he might cry.

"Harry," he breathlessly, tremulously, says, in a wet voice that tells him the tears are already falling. He can't stop them. He can't stop this. He can't stop any of it. Harry shushes him, pulls him in for a kiss that only lovers should share, slow and languid and full of futures that have yet to be lived, the unspoken promise that they will be, together. Draco finds himself kissing back, giving, taking. He finds himself allowing this, and wanting it.

They kiss while his fingers open Harry up, and they moan, and they writhe, and they grind together until they're both desperate, clinging to each other.

"Please, please, Draco, please," Harry begs in-between intimate kisses and whimpers and ragged breaths in the dark. Draco hesitates for one more second, thrusts into Harry's prostate one more time, and then he's exchanging his fingers for his dick, and Harry is smiling at him like this is the most beautiful, wonderful thing he's ever experienced in his life. Draco really has to agree.

It's slow, saccharine sweet, and filled with kisses and throaty sounds and more than a few tears. There is more emotion here than Draco could ever properly express out loud, because there just aren't words for this. It feels like making love, like breaking apart with no intention of putting yourself back together again. Harry's legs are wrapped around his waist and his hands are running up and down his ribs, leaving tantalizing little scratches on his back. Draco's arms are bracketing his head, and they're both moving against each other, lips sliding, not exactly kissing anymore, just sharing space, like they can't fathom any part of their bodies not touching.

When Harry comes, clenching, shivering, trembling and sweat-slick, Draco can't help but following right after, leaping off of the precipice without abandon. The pleasure ripples through him and leaves white-hot sparks crowding out his vision. When they're done, sated and sticky, he moves to get off of Harry, to get something to get them both clean, but Harry, however boneless his orgasm made him, manages to tighten his grip.

"Stay," he says in a small shiver voice, "stay with me, please, stay, stay," he's chanting, begging, and Draco thinks that if he leaves him like this right now, Harry might just shatter. Fragile as glass. Suddenly getting clean doesn't matter at all.

"Okay," he says, kissing away salt from Harry's cheeks and wanting fiercely to protect this man from every harmful thing in the world. "Jesus, Harry, okay," he says again, and lets himself go loose in the embrace of his lover, who just accepts all of his weight like it's nothing. He falls asleep to the feeling of a smile pressed against his temple, and heat around his body, and a tinny, coppery, little "Thank you," that makes his chest ache in ways he can't even comprehend.

When he wakes up, he's clean, his sheets are clean, and the only thing left that tells him it wasn't a dream is the taste of salt and cherries and snow still on his tongue. But he knows, knows with a surety that makes him want to weep or to kill, that he will never see that Harry Potter again, for all that it took one insane, romantic, lust-addled night to fall completely in love with him.

He groans into his pillow, and swallows back the new tears that form, not for himself, but for a man he's beginning to think no longer exists.

He has no idea how right he is.

Still, never would he allow himself to be called anything but a man of action.

Harry, a Harry who has never seen a cupboard under the stairs or a scar on his forehead or a battlefield full of corpses, is more than a little bemused at the sight of a dolled up Draco Malfoy with a bouquet of flowers in hand. The flowers are apparently for him, along with an invite to a date that's even more surprising than that one time one of his students accidentally turned his desk into a thousand bees. Very angry bees.

Harry doesn't really know why he finds himself saying yes.

But he does.

#drarry #harry x draco #draco malfoy #harry potter #time travel #fanfic #fix-it fic #au

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