#maybe ill give her a proper render

[adylote]

She has ✨FANGS✨Omg, now I love her more 😩

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

i dont usually post random snippets like this but everyone PLS listen to chii she is adorable 🥺🐟

[skyberia]

[Knocking on ur door] hi I’m interested in nephos. What’s this abt a death curse?

[SLAMS THE DOOR OPEN] hiii omg [GRABS YOU BY THE COLLARS] GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW

so, for starters, their general Tragic Backstory goes something like:

néphos was born cursed, or was cursed really shortly after birth.

their parents abandoned them basically immediately after they were born, presumably because they didn't want to deal with a Literal Cursed Child (or maybe because they had something to do with it…?)

by the time he was found by another person, he was nearly completely overtaken by this curse, his body almost entirely covered in these dark marks shaped like tendrils.

luckily the person who found him was a good samaritan-- a kind old halfling cleric who took them in and decided to try her best to help them, whatever the cost.

she couldn't find a way to dispel the curse through the usual means. hard to when you don't even know what the hell you're dealing with, she's never seen anything like this before

it's obvious that she's running out of time though, and that if something wasn't done soon they'd die. so she did the only thing she could think to do, which was buy them time.

ultimately she managed to take the curse and "isolate" it to his left eye, rendering it blind and darkened, but effectively slowing down its progress and making it so he could at least have a proper chance at living!

however doing this took a Lot out of her, basically seeping her of nearly all of her energy and magic and rendering her really weak and sickly as a result.

she managed to care for and raise them for a few years, but when they were a child still she became too ill to continue doing so and had to be taken for basically permanent care at a local house of healing, leaving them to fend for themselves in the streets.

thankfully what she did was pretty effective, making it so the worst they had to deal with (curse wise. they still had a pretty rough time in other aspects) for the first like two decades of their life was weird looks and a lack of depth perception.

but then one day he looks in the mirror and finds dark marks coming out of their left eye, reminding them that all that was done was just a measure to Slow Down the progress of the curse, and that he's still bound to succumb to it someday soon...

he tries to look for cures, goes to every curse specialist he can find, then to whatever expert cleric or wizard that's around, and none of them can even tell him what the curse even is. nobody's ever seen anything like it, and so obviously nobody has any fucking clue how to get rid of it!

so eventually they just give up. accept the fact that their lifespan is going to be significantly shorter than most other elves, that they're going to suffer a horrible and unknown fate at some point, and decide to just make the most out of whatever time they do have left

and that's it :) that's their whole deal. he then spends the rest of his days in baldur's gate fucking around and narrowly escaping finding out, placing bets on what'll get to him first the authorities or the curse, Except that's not what happens at all and instead they get abducted by mind flayers and get a tadpole inserted in their brain, and when they next manage a glimpse in the mirror Oh! Lol! the curse's suddenly spreading a lot faster than before huh! but they can't spend too long worrying about that because they suddenly have a bunch of new friends with a lot of problems and issues that are more pressing than his own and on top of that the world's falling apart and they're the only ones who can save it and Oh, uh, he just nearly died in combat and somehow that made the marks from the curse worse, and it's kind of starting to react weirdly with his lightning magic? and-- hey, you know now that you mention it, his whole life he just went along with this story his mother figure told him about his origins but the more he thinks about it the more holes he finds in it and it starts making less and less sense, and ha ha haa haaaaaaaa

(insert the whole companion questline i made up for them here. in order to not keep both of us here all day and also immediately contradict all the information i just gave you and overcomplicate everything, the really short version is: the woman he thought saved his life lied. Among other things)

anyway. Some other general things about them:

their full name is néphos huan

they're 54 years old

they don't know this but they're like elf mixed-race. their father was a sun elf, and their mother was a drow. he gets the red eyes (...eye...) and grey hair (and the penchant for ruthlessness, probably) from his mom.

their "job" pre-events essentially consisted of them seeking out people with issues and offering to help sort them out, for a price. Usually a quite high one.

he has a sort of reputation around baldur's gate as someone who can "solve any problem with a snap of their fingers!" because of this, which kind of makes him sound like a djinni. he is not. it just turns out that a lot of problems can be solved by frying whoever's causing them with a concentrated lightning storm lol

they're really reckless. i cannot understate this. At every turn they will see something that has a high chance of killing them (but that has some potential reward) and they will run straight at it. This was already a problem before but the tadpole makes it SO much worse

he's a real "what's in it for me?"/"where's my reward?" type bitch. refuses to do anything without knowledge that there will be some type of compensation for him at the end. This is a fine attitude to have and definitely doesn't have consequences that carry over to his personal relationships making them more difficult than they should otherwise be

i could go on for ages longer abt their general dynamics with the other characters and also their fake companion quest and so on but i will . leave it here for now. Thank you for asking. i love you

[last-flight-of-fancy]

Backstory exploration time for WoL~

WoL: Hallima, he/they Au Ra

Timeline: Heavensward up to Dark Knight Level 50 (Wages of Mercy)

Hallima thought he was some sort of mutation his whole life. There might be some trauma around that.

Hallima was an orphan.

Well, he is an orphan. It's not like this fact has changed- he may have gained some troublesome pseudo-siblings recently, but the fact remains that Hallima spent a great deal of his life until recently hopping from town to town taking odd jobs from whoever would hire him to get by.

He considers himself lucky, in a way. He's hardier than the average eorzean, covered in scales and thick skin, and most illnesses seem to pass him by. It offered him advantages most wandering urchin's simply don't have. That said however, he is not immune to things like exhaustion and hunger, and it was not without the ocassional helping hand that he had made it to adulthood.

He considers himself lucky to have made it to adulthood at all.

People rarely ask him about his past, a fact he is quietly grateful for. The calamity had rendered so many with lost loved ones that it has become considered somewhat gouche to ask after such things unless needed. Perhaps that's why it surprised him so much when Alphinaud- prim, proper, polite, Alphinaud- had done exactly that late one night as they rested in the Fortemps residence.

"Does anyone worry for you?" He asks, laying on his back in his cot and staring at the darkned ceilings. Hallima looks up from the weapon he's doing some maintenance on, lit by only a dim candle on a nearby table.

"Why?" A practiced evasion, though it feels somewhat wrong to use on Alphinaud in particular. To say he's come to care about the kid would be something of an understatement.

"Ah, that was rude, wasn't it? I'm sorry. I just... started thinking about Alisaie and wondering what she's doing... if the Crystal Braves had targeted her too..."

Hallima hums softly to indicate he's listening. A thought spiral, common to these sorts of late hours, and considering everything that has happened... He gets it.

"Then I wondered if she worries for us in turn... And then I realised how silly that was. She sent the carraige for us, of course she worries. Not that she would admit it, mind."

That tracks from what Hallima has seen of the girl. Stubborn and independant, but fiercly loyal besides. He's met the type before.

"Anyroad, the thought crossed my mind and it left my mouth before I could consider it. Forgive me."

"It's fine." The darkness within writhes at the lie, but is mollified with a glance towards Alphinaud's contrition, mixed with his own fear and anxiety hidden just beneath the surface. "... No. No one worries for me."

"I see." Alphinaud sits up then, and the candlelight makes the bags under his eyes all the more distinct, but it does not lessen the earnestness of his gaze. "Well. You may increase that number by at least one."

Hallima doesn't really know how to react in the face of Alphinaud's sincerity, so he gives a generic smile and a thank you before encouraging the boy to try and sleep once more. It's only after Alphinaud's breathing slows into a steady snore that Hallima smothers the candle with a bare hand and lets the mask drop.

-

Hallima grew up thinking he was some form of monster with ideas above its station. Or perhaps a Mi'quote who's fur turned hard and rough instead of soft and downy. Or any number of things that might occur to a child who has never met anyone quite like them. By the time he hit adulthood, Hallima thought that he had come to terms with the reality that he would probably never know.

And then he'd met Yugiri, who kept her face covered at all times, but there was no mistaking the rough texture of her tail or the shape of things beneath her hood which are too stiff and improperly placed to be even the strangest of mi'quote ears.

Hallima had not asked.

She had stared at him, long and hard, and in the end she hadn't asked either.

(or maybe she had, in her own surreptious way. She was an expert ninja and infiltrator after all)

Why hadn't Hallima asked, despite his suspicions? He's still not sure.

He can imagine the scoffing his companions would give if he told them it was fear.

He has no other words for it, though.

-

Hallima looks into Fray's face- their face- and feels at once rage and grief. His face, their face, and one both familiar and not. It tugs at memories long buried, and Hallima doesn't want them.

Reality has never cared much for such things, however.

Fray- or rather, Esteem- falls defeated, and two become one once more.

-

Hallima's earliest memories are of horrible, biting cold and numb fingers that he cannot bend.

-

There's no time for that, not with the war between Ishgard and the Dragons looming ever present.

-

Midgardsormer had called them kin.

-

Meeting Sidurgu was like looking into an inverted mirror, and after their experiance with Esteem there is an undeniable moment where Hallima is sure that their other has somehow made their own form somehow.

This is not the case.

Sidurgu asks their help with Rielle -the girl soft and familiar in ways that Hallima can't quite pinpoint- and they quickly agree. They see the bond between the two easily, one simultaneously fireforged and silk-web delicate, and want to protect it.

(They do not say this. Sidurgu would probably hate the sentiment. but still the sentiment remains).

But then Sidurgu tells them of his people's arrival in Ishgard, fleeing the Empire and seeking refuge, only to be cut down by fearful Ishgardians who assumed them in league with the dragons.

"Everyone." Sidurgu stresses. "Man, woman, child. None escaped the slaughter."

Hallima's earliest memories are of freezing cold, staggering through snow drifts and desperately alone.

They do not ask.

[sankttealeaf]

ok. going to bed now but ive spent... all day messing around on blender and i think im getting the hang of it?? i used maya mostly during uni so after 5ish years away from any 3d software its been a few days of learning curves lmao

gonna post some tests under the cut & talk more about it there. but yea. been havin fun!

ok hi under the cut gang

tried to work out how the skin shader i got (volno's toolbox on nexusmods) and decided to use gort as my guinea pig. worked out well. he seems kind of blue in some areas but that just may be me needing to mess with the settings more

then moved to rue and got somewhere with her!!

her skin is a lil too pink in this and idk what is up with that!! also the neck/body seam is bugging me but again. idk how to fix that. the dark patches under her hair also? idk how to fix them

but for a first pass i think she looks fine??

tried to rig her. did not work. i dont know how im gonna do it but i think its just a case of making my own rig and going from there? idk! trial and error

another rue. pov shes gonna get u

cant figure out how to add her vitiligo without idk... working out how to add it onto the face map. also if i rig her i should probably give her some clothes & add that when it comes to joining the rig to the mesh. otherwise she will be naked and we dont want that (unless...)

i. dont like how gort came out which kind of sucks. he looks too polished. wheres my grimey (affectionate) boy????? put him in the dirt

again. probs a case of playing around with the colours & shader settings to get him looking worse

who is that man?????

he also has the weird neck/body seam issue. waaah

oh also cannot work out how to texture clothing. i have the model for gorts outfit. no idea how to add colour to it. thats a problem for another day i think.

ppl who do pretty 3d renders amaze me... how do you do it... teach me your ways... i must know... but im also too scared to ask...

anyway one day ill be able to pose these two like proper barbie dolls. then i'll be unstoppable!!!!

(also this is me dipping my toes back into 3d to see if maybe this is an avenue to look more into. i really enjoyed 3d at uni but i missed drawing so i jumped back to 2d. but now? its been kind of fun!)

it has been rly fun seeing all the models & assests larian used in game. inchresting to pick apart. like an onion.

ok going to bed now bye

[brooklynislandgirl]

tangleweave​:

Not the Voice of Reason || @brooklynislandgirl

Vision tilts his head at her. If his face were still the mottle of red and green it had once been, he might have offered her a smile, an approximation of wryness. And his voice might have carried a sardonic note. But instead?

“Were I in need of a proxy for reason, that would represent a fundamental failure in my programming, and following the cascade reaction I would be reduced to reciting multiplication tables and lines of code. Meantime, by my observation, sanity is not based upon an array of objective standards, but upon adherence to an assortment of social contracts that are oftentimes unspoken and ill-defined.”

The words would probably sound venomous coming from anyone else. But carried upon his voice, there is no emotive thrust, no spike of volume, no syllabic stress. He speaks evenly, calmly, maintaining eye contact with Beth as he does. He stays near the kitchen island, because despite her assurances that he is not visible to anyone through the windows thanks to the wards constructed around her home, logic dictates that it is best not to cause strain upon forces he does not recognize or understand. His pearlescent skin and sapphire eyes gleam in the sunlight streaming in through those windows.

“No, Beth, what I require is neither reason nor sanity, as you would define them. My question regards the emotional front, and I think it only proper to note that there are few people in this world I could even approach to ask anything at all. That being said… I have considered the benefits and disadvantages of attempting to reach out to the Avengers, and I find myself at a crossroads. While I could review every point and detail which has occurred to me with you, the single element I lack is a… visceral reaction. My sense of understanding who and what to trust is compromised, such that I no longer have any certainty – save for you.”

He nods towards her. “I trust you. I trust your heart. And so, I do not wish to know what you think about it. I wish to know what you feel about it.”

Her apartment is eight thousand square feet, give or take, but definitely larger than the average mansion. Two bedrooms, two baths. Music room, library, home gym, laundry, areas that could be turned into guest rooms if she had the heart to do so, her art studio, the actual space she'd carved out to give him privacy that is sort of like a bedroom and a work shop because the room had been empty, waiting to be created. A feeling she identifies with. And yet for all of that, it's almost exclusively the open living room-dining room-kitchen area they tend to haunt. Any thought of helping herself to a third pot of coffee fritters away when he corrects her admittedly flippant commentary. His stark white lines contrast the darker slate, granite and marble. He doesn't camouflage himself in surprisingly rendered faux-flesh and it isn't something she would say is important one way or the other, except for how he feels. His organic self, if she can call it that, does tend to retreat from the public eye, whether that's the neighbours across the way, or even the maintenance crew or her personal house-staff. They don't mind having their hours cut because she still pays them a full wage. Her first instinct is to take three steps forward. To lay her fingertips on his forearm, to give it a squeeze and maybe to let him see what's in her eyes, what's in her face for lack of words coming to mind. Instead, she takes a full step back and she closes off as many as her emotions as she can, which isn't easy to do for Beth. Hazel eyes, normally closer to leaf green, have that brightness consumed, leaving them darker amber as she gazes up to what she's come to think of as Tessaract blue. And what she's often thought of as a boon ~the fact that Vision is a synthetically created being of vibrainium and circuitry and the only thing she ever actually senses from him is the resonance of the entropic magick that lives within him~ is now something of a hindrance. She has no heartbeat to gauge by. No song of blood in his veins. No quiet absence of sound from his breath. There isn't any microexpressions or variances in his voice when he asks not for thoughts but feelings. And how can she tell him truthfully that the coffee in her stomach rises along with bile to burn at the back of her throat at the very idea he proposes? How can she explain that her heart trips in the palpitations of transient arrhythmia? Or explain that now more than ever, she fears SHIELD as her brother warned her to, and loathes SWORD with a vehemence that might move her hand to war. Any other acronym based organisation is just as suspect, and with the gang of superheroes operating under governmental providence? It doesn't matter that Sam is now Captain America, she can no longer trust her hanai-brother. She cannot trust Doctor Banner.  Clint's gone out to California, trying to pull together the shreds of his life such as they are. Thor has set down Mjolnir. She doesn't know Valkyrie. Are there really any Avengers left? A familiar face rises in her mind, and just the thought of it weighs on her heart, making it that much heavier. "Of...of those that remain... there's only four names I can offer you. First and foremost of them would be...Doctor St-Strange. He one of da smartest people I know, an' I can trus' him not t' stab ya in da back, so to speak. T'row you under a bus, whatevah metaphor ja'like. He would also mebbe undahstand da magick inside of you. Spidah-man. He was an Avengah briefly, but he more a solo act by preference. He's also brilliant, scientific minded, an' mebbe mos' trustwor'dy person on da planet. M'hanai sistah Jay. She's blood of my blood, an' she has really good insights into reason, logic, an' she was a lawyer, still maintains her license t' practice. An' mebbe, mebbe f'ya wanna go...somewhere else. Experience da kine you can't trapped here wi' me... Groot, who...you don' remembah, I don't t'ink but he was dere, wi' ...wi... fightin' agains' dat big purple b....alien." Sometimes, Beth has trouble with giving reference to the Vision that was, and the one standing before her now. "You want to know wha' I feel...an' I'm so afraid for you. Before whole Snap, my answers would'a been different, but people are gone or dey aren't da same as dey were before dey came back. It makes me sick t' da stomach t'inking of somet'ing happening to you outside dese walls. What if Dey find you? Dey capture you an'...an I no can imagine. But I don'...I don' own you. I don' have answers t' ya questions. I no can give you any insight or peace of mind dat mebbe someone else could." I maybe understand Wanda better now, because I'm...I'm afraid to lose you. “I could reach out for you, t’rough Sam. No one would t’ink it funny if I call him, all kine consider. Or S..Doctah Strange. Or Jay. As for Spidah-man... if ya in his neighbourhood an’ were in distress, he likely come save you.”

Not the Voice of Reason || @brooklynislandgirl

Vision tilts his head at her. If his face were still the mottle of red and green it had once been, he might have offered her a smile, an approximation of wryness. And his voice might have carried a sardonic note. But instead?

"Were I in need of a proxy for reason, that would represent a fundamental failure in my programming, and following the cascade reaction I would be reduced to reciting multiplication tables and lines of code. Meantime, by my observation, sanity is not based upon an array of objective standards, but upon adherence to an assortment of social contracts that are oftentimes unspoken and ill-defined."

The words would probably sound venomous coming from anyone else. But carried upon his voice, there is no emotive thrust, no spike of volume, no syllabic stress. He speaks evenly, calmly, maintaining eye contact with Beth as he does. He stays near the kitchen island, because despite her assurances that he is not visible to anyone through the windows thanks to the wards constructed around her home, logic dictates that it is best not to cause strain upon forces he does not recognize or understand. His pearlescent skin and sapphire eyes gleam in the sunlight streaming in through those windows.

"No, Beth, what I require is neither reason nor sanity, as you would define them. My question regards the emotional front, and I think it only proper to note that there are few people in this world I could even approach to ask anything at all. That being said… I have considered the benefits and disadvantages of attempting to reach out to the Avengers, and I find myself at a crossroads. While I could review every point and detail which has occurred to me with you, the single element I lack is a… visceral reaction. My sense of understanding who and what to trust is compromised, such that I no longer have any certainty -- save for you."

He nods towards her. "I trust you. I trust your heart. And so, I do not wish to know what you think about it. I wish to know what you feel about it."

[anneapocalypse]

Pages 236-237 of Dragon Age: The World of Thedas Volume 2, with some information about Sera and the Friends of Red Jenny.

These are photographs of the physical book, so I apologize that they aren't perfect, but I have also transcribed the text in its entirety below. Comments in the margins (presumably by Sera) are denoted by brackets.

(And should you be interested in my own analysis of this information, you can check out my Sera meta series.)

---

Notes on the Inquisition Sera & the Friends of Red Jenny

[Well, this should be shit right the way through.]

Red Jenny is a minor legend, a figure of vengeance for those oppressed who are brave enough to wish ill on the authors of their misfortune, but at the same time not possessed of the conviction to upset the social structure in which they find themselves mistreated. In short, something happens, but nothing changes.

[Well, no? Where would you spend anything if you tore it all down? Daft!]

The group is simultaneously led by skilled actors, each claiming to be the titular figure, “Red Jenny.” Sera appears to hold seniority, earned at a very young age. Individual “Red Jennies” operate independently for long periods of time, each to the advantage of their personal territory. Sera’s activities vary from insult to larceny, and, in extreme cases, murder. She will, as the saying goes, rob from the rich and give to the poor, but with significant funds kept for services rendered. Often, robbery is incidental, the action being more about petty revenge. The one rule Sera seems to demand is that they cross no other of their own.

[That’s right, it’s the rule. No chances, no bargains, you’re over and done.]

Sera’s group has attained such a strange notoriety that they need not even act to be credited with an outcome, in what seems the modern equivalent of blaming sickly cattle on imagined witches. So, the difficulty in tracking Red Jenny is established by individual skill, multiplied by concurrent numbers, scattered by random intent, and compounded by the fact that a Red Jenny may not even have been there in the first place.

Thanks to some well-placed sources, we have learned that the Friends of Red Jenny have been of previous interest to assassin guilds as well. Some unusual records surfaced from the Antivan Crows:

[They went after Crows? Pissballs!]

You wanted their measure taken, and here it is.

The knives I found think the Friends of Red Jenny started in Ferelden, maybe a hundred years back. Could be longer—they're hard to track. Don't know if the name is a rank or what, but pretty sure it's older than they are. They were assassins back then, but I doubt they competed with true guilds. They were cheap, small, and made a habit of paying urchins to get information or plant weapons. They recruited that way, but that doesn't seem like a way to get skilled people. The Friends had some teeth, and they weren't shy about getting bloody if their people were threatened, but they were strictly local.

It's recent that the Friends have been more active. Since the Blight, mostly. A new Red Jenny at the head—or seems like—in Val Royeaux. And in Kirkwall. Maybe more. Thing is, they might be doing more, but they stepped back from being assassins. And there are a lot fewer of them. Could be Blight—it killed a bunch of everyone. But my gut says different. They didn't just move; they changed how they work.

I found Red Jenny herself, or one of them, I guess. Tall for an elf. I approached her plain, figured we'd talk guild to guild. Her answer was two fingers. She could move, she's proper skilled, but I don't think she's competition. What she and her friends do has nothing to do with us.

Ashevin

Noted below, presumably by the initiating Antivan Crow:

I get it. They all wear the same mask. The rest is bullshit.

The elf, the voice says Denerim, a mutt. But she's got a trainer who must be somebody. You don't split flies like she does without someone teaching you how to nock an arrow. Who gets that at birth? No one the living are supposed to know.

[Is it so hard for everyone? You miss, then you don't.]

This is admittedly the thinnest of the threads I've followed. The following is an anonymouse contemporary tavern rhyme that circulates in the Free Marches north of the Vimmark Mountains brought to my attention as it references a nickname Sera was overheard to mention.

She of the Red, Oh, She of the Red, She's under a lake with no water, it's said. As friendly as any, and then you are dead. "Forgive me; I've killed you," lies She of the Red.

[Frigging. Piss. Off!]

Sera was likely in the alienage in Denerim as an infant, but we can find no record. Her association with the Friends of Red Jenny may have been her means of avoiding it. Speaking in confidence, some guards admit they are loath to chase anyone into a dark alley, as it is akin to chasing a bear to its den. Not worth the risk, especially if only over a matter of elven truancy.

[Whatever that means, no one cares. Didn't go, stupid tree, didn't stay.]

By her own admission, Sera spent some years in the household of a merchant of moderate holdings named Lady Taraline Emmald. That time seems to predate exposure to the Friends and ended with the woman's death well before the Blight. A particularly virulent wasting illness was known to have passed through Denerim during those years.

[Makes you gray. And cold. You don't wish it on the worst people.]

The streets and the Friends are probably sources for Sera's combat abilities, but Emmald was likely her initial educator and provider. The taking of a ward is not unheard of for those who are childless but of means. Sera has admitted that the situation was mutually beneficial for a time, but clearly has mixed feelings about it now. The death may have caused matters to go unresolved.

[She ruined cookies. Nice or not, that was shit.]

The life of her patroness remains undocumented. It seems people are allowed to be lost in the wake of Blight, but matters of property rarely are. Sera is not named in the following records, but the epithet "Bequeathed" is occasionally used when a party is unable to be legally identified, as in the matter of elves and holdings outside of approved venues such as alienages. It appears that at one point, Sera may have inherited a sizable estate. That speaks to Lady Emmald's commitment to at least the appearance of the relationship. How Sera dispensed with it speaks to her.

[Never asked for it. Paid good sovereigns not to read any of it then, pay you even more not to read it now.]

Document dated before the Blight:

Notice of Grant

Subject: Estate and holdings on behalf of one Lady Taraline Emmald, deceased, to be placed in trust for Bequeathed, as indicated by will and testament.

Value: Sum total of estate is determined to be twenty-eight thousand seven hundred sovereigns, eighty silver, and ninety-six copper (28,700g, 80s, 96c), in combined lands and monies. Less negotiated fees (147g 3s), less taxation of transfer, respecting precedent of holdings between legal title bearers and those remaining undocumented. Divestment of two thousand eight hundred and seventy sovereigns, eight silver, one copper (2,870g, 8s, 1c) required.

Addendum: Funds refused by Bequeathed, as anticipated by author of will and testament. Amount deferred to trust maintained by divestment of interest. Title remains with the estate for purposes of documentation, as respecting of precedent (re: undocumented).

Document dated during the Blight:

Notice of Seizure

Subject: Estate and holdings of one Lady Taraline Emmald, deceased, as held in trust for Bequeathed, to be seized for immediate use.

Authority to seize: Granted in anticipation of treaties presented by relevant authorities (Grey Wardens), to be used in efforts against the Blight. Said treaties not present. Authority enacted by special enforcement of arl and state.

Addendum postseizure: The quoted volue has been deducted from the estate for cited circumstances. The total of: *worth of mercantile goods and trade contracts stored on site (sold to fund efforts), *miscellaneous private goods (sold to fund efforts), *miscellaneous structural elements (sold to fun efforts), the removal of which compromised roofing. Principal manor house rendered unlivable due to elements and animal infestation. Blight forces immune to fine of worth.

Amounts total: Reduced from estimated worth of holdings, ten thousand and sixteen sovereigns, eighteen silver, and four copper (10,016g, 18s, 4c). Hall house and outbuilding remain as taxable structures.

Document dated after the Blight:

Notice of Fine in Worth

Subject: Bequeathed returned to unannounced tenancy of holdings titled to one Lady Taraline Emmald, held in trust for said Bequeathed, incurring fines against said holdings. Fines require reactivating intent of will and testament from trust. Estate now subject to precedent of Blight Reclamation Act IV, wherein inheritance by those undocumented is taxed for public good, requiring prefine divestment of three thousand four hundred sovereigns, four silver, eleven copper (3,400g, 4s, 11c).

Claims against: Seeking financial recompense the total of: *unpaid contract to the Gnawed Noble to supply spirit and comestibles (ongoing), *two (2) neighboring outbuildings destroyed (tipped), *two (2) nightgown garments ruined and personal attending of two (2) residents of adjoining property to restore damage to countenance suffered while attending purpose in said tipped outbuildings, *individual rewards for city officers who assisted in the control of accidental fire consuming hall house of estate, which spread to neighboring public stables. Three thousand forty-eight sovereigns, eleven silver, nine copper (3,048g, 11s, 9c), paid by divestment or reduced from estimated worth. Outbuilding remains as taxable structure.

And another:

Notice of Quitclaim and Transfer

Subject: Quitclaim on land and holdings titled to one Lady Taraline Emmald, deceased, by one Bequeathed. This is to certify that all ownership and claims thereof are nulled in their entirety by the estate, as held in trust by Bequeathed.

Authority to dispose: Bequeathed authorizes the dissolution of holdings due to admitted lack of education regarding such matters, and disinterest in pursuing same. Total of instruction of Bequeathed is exactly: "Maybe orphans or some (excrement)." Terms defined by documenting trustee for additional fee (39g, 3s), by divestment.

Action: Management of all land and holdings is transferred to Undetermined Sister of the Chantry, Denerim, as per precedent regarding Blight orphaned and monies donated through will or testament. Transfer requires divestiture of considerable value, total eight thousand forty-nine sovereigns, one silver, thirteen copper (8,049g, 1s, 13c), precedent noted regarding gifting by undocumenteds. See Blight Reclamation Act IX.

Addendum: Chantry has delayed assignment of Undetermined Sister, as any available have been dispatched to Kinloch Hold for the purpose of "diplomatic ministrations." Delay in assignment has exposed estate to seizure due to lack of occupancy (see Blight Reclamation Act XII). Avoidance of seizure requires satisfying fine of worth to ensure land title remains giftable, payment in lieu requiring divestment of remaining holdings in their entirety. Two thousand one hundred thirty-one sovereigns, thirty-two silver, fifty-eight copper (2,131g, 32s, 58c).

Note: The estate of one Lady Taraline Emmald ceases to be legally definable if balance is archived at zero. Account to be closed with a final deficit against estate of thirty silver (30s), as requested and pocked by Bequeathed.

And for the sake of circumstantial numerical interest, note this contemporary tavern leaflet, as commonly circulated following the Blight:

Rest well at the Gnawed Noble. Raise a glass, raise your feet. Thirty silver for all your comfort for the week. Arriving to find your claim? Passing through to find your fortune? Staff on hand to assist in pairing with a suitable caravan, be your destination the opportune rebuilding of Redcliffe, or farthest Orlesian jewel and capital Val Royeaux.

[Happy now? Better be.]

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

Hello, dears! Sorry I’ve been a bit inactive the last couple of days, but I’ve been working on finishing this 😏The third installment of my House Dimitrescu series on Ao3! I hope it’ll help quench some of your thirst 😘

Xx.

You weren’t sure if anyone had ever actually died from utter gay panic before - but you were almost positive that you felt your soul try to leave your body as soon the soft fabric of Alcina’s nightgown hit the ground. Every mountainous curve accentuated beautifully by the multitude of candles that filled the Countess’ bedroom. 

“Is this the body that you’re so desperate to worship, my pet?” Alcina asked, allowing her hands to trace down the landscape of her abdomen. 

“Ah.. Y-yes, my lady.” 

“Mmh.. you do smell quite divine when you blush, my pet.” She replied, leaning over you. “All that blood… rising to the surface.”

(Ahem...) 

“Erm..” 

Your voice cracked with fluster, bringing a low and sultry chuckle from Alcina’s throat. Every glorious inch of her exposed to you as she made her way over to the door leading to the bath.

 “Since you’ve promised me a proper body worship.. I think I shall bathe first.” She said, giving you a smirk. “You may join me… if you wish.” 

“Y-yes, my lady. Of course.”

You could already feel the fierce flush spilling over you as you watched Alcina’s large frame slip through the bathroom doorway, ducking slightly as she did. Her silhouette sharp against the backdrop of the washroom. Every inch of her becoming more luminous with each candle that she lit. The delicious smell of spiced musk wafting through the warm air as she turned on the water.

“Come, pet.” 

(Ah, pretty sure I just did that… quite a few times)

You couldn’t help but blush at the thought, immediately rising from the bed. Your body sore in ways that you never even knew possible. A deliciously dull ache, reminding you of just how much you had taken - of just how much Alcina had given you. 

“Yes, my lady. My apologies.”

She waved her hand dismissively, the muscles of her forearms flexing as she did. Steam rising from the bath - dancing over her - elegantly encasing her curves as she leaned over the tub. Her fingers slowly tracing over the surface of the water as she locked her eyes onto yours   

(Yep, and I’m suddenly feeling very parched.)

“Smells almost as delicious as you do, my pet.” 

“Erm… thank you, my lady.”

“So flustered already.. and you haven’t even begun to touch me yet.”  

(Yet.)

"Well.. you do have quite the effect, my lady." 

Alcina chuckled. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, my pet." 

You had no doubts that she was, the sheer presence of her hard to ignore. Whether it be chasing scared villagers, desperate to not have their blood drained by Alcina or her daughters - or the pure, unfiltered thirst that she could evoke in even the purest of nuns -  you knew for certain that Alcina had always known of the effect she had on others. 

“I would expect nothing less, my lady.” You replied with a smirk, watching her eyes grow slightly darker. 

“There are not many people who would dare speak to me in such a way, you know.” She said calmly.

You averted your eyes. “I’m sorry, my lady.” 

“Heh… I did not say I didn’t like it, pet.”

“O-oh.. I..”

You swallowed hard, very aware of the deep flush that was rapidly spreading across your naked body. Alcina only chuckled, slowly lowering herself down into the tub. The tepid water swallowing her curves in the most delicious of ways. You tried to look away - cast your eyes aside - knowing how severely some had been punished for just a simple glance in her direction - but the way her mouth parted slightly, letting out the most exquisite of moans, would allow you to do no such thing. 

(Fuck… aah… brain… glitch) 

“Pet?”

You cleared your throat. “Yes, my lady?”

“It would be much easier for you to bathe me if you were actually in the bath.”

(In the… aaaaaah)

“Y-yes, my lady. Of course.. it.. would absolutely be easier… yes.”  

She smirked. “And I’m sure it would help those… sore muscles of yours.”

(Fuck.)

“Erm...”

Alcina, being the thirst-inducing Goddess that she was, was the only person in existence who could chuckle in such a way that would instantly make you wet. It was like sugared honey - smooth and sultry with just a tiny bit of rasp to it. You moved to the other side of the massive tub, settling in behind her. The heat from the water immediately dulling the ache, a reminder of just how sore you would be in the morning. 

“Better?”

“Much, my lady. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.. considering.”

You didn’t even have to look at her to know of the heated smirk that was painted perfectly across Alcina’s lips. She handed you a washcloth (or a towel, in your case) - soaked in the most exotic of oils - sighing with relief as soon as you began to massage it over the length of her back. Crystalline beads of sweat dripping deliciously down the small of her back, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she had only filled the tub halfway to make it easier for you to bathe her - or to be able to fluster you to no end. Your bet was on the latter. 

“My lady?”

“Mmhm?”

“May I ask you something?”

“I supposed that would be alright, my pet. Just as long as you keep those hands of yours moving.” 

“Of course, my lady.”

“Good pet.”

(Fuuuuck.)

You blushed furiously, clearing your throat again before continuing. “Well, it’s just that.. Well, I.. was talking to the girls the other day, and they had mentioned that… “ 

You paused, taking a deep breath.

“Go on…”

“Well, that.. I’m the first human that has been kept at Castle Dimitrescu that wasn’t solely here as food or service? Is that.. true?”

“Well, my pet… I'd say that, technically, you are here to… service me, are you not?” She replied with a chuckle, looking back over her shoulder.

“Ah, yes… of course.”

Alcina, immediately picking up on the disheartened tone to your voice, quickly continued. “But yes… my pet. You are the first that I have kept for more... personal reasons.” 

“O-oh… ah… may I ask.. why?”

A large ripple of water on an otherwise still surface as Alcina shifted her body uncomfortably, thinking your words over. You knew it was a long shot - getting the Countess to share her feelings for you - to delve into things that weren’t inherently connected to the pleasures of the flesh (whether it be food, or otherwise.) - but you had to know. Alcina cleared her throat, letting the water drip deliciously down her arm as she ran her fingers through her hair. 

“Bold of you to ask such a question, my pet.. “ She paused, allowing a deep flush to spill across your body before continuing. “But… considering how you’ve earned yourself an official spot as  a member of this house, I suppose you have the right to know.” 

“Thank you, my lady. That’s very kind of you.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, well… think nothing of it, pet.”

“Of course, my lady.”

You sat in quiet for a few moments, allowing the Countess to gather her thoughts - not wanting to ruin any chance at finally seeing her open up. 

“When you first arrived… I admit, you were meant to be just a food source. Maybe a servant… but.. even that first night when we had you down in the dungeons, I felt a pull towards you. I even had Daniela check in on you in the middle of the night to make sure you were alright.”

“You… you did?”

“You intrigued me, my pet. Which is something that you’ve continued to do with each day that you’ve spent in this castle.” She took a breath, looking over her shoulder at you.” And, well… you were quite ill that night. We weren’t sure if you would even make it.” 

Thinking back, most of your early days in the castle were a blur to you. You could remember leaving your home - though, you were not entirely sure of the reason -,and then getting yourself caught in a terrible storm before reaching the castle. You remembered being tired - clothes soaked straight through to your body - and being utterly cold. The next thing after that was feeling warmer than you had in days - and Alcina’s concerned face looming over you.

“You were gorgeous even then…” 

Alcina’s voice trailed off, a far away look in her eyes as she turned her face back to the front. Rendered completely speechless, you sat in silence for a while - thinking over her words.. (She thought I was... gorgeous.. even then??) You swallowed hard, no longer sure if the relentless heat that was spilling across your body was from the bath itself or her disarming words. 

“You’re very quiet, my pet.” She said, breaking the silence. “Did my answers not satisfy your curiosities?” . 

“No, my lady. I mean.. Yes, they did. I’m just…. trying to process everything you’ve said is all.”

She hummed softly, rinsing her hair before slowly lifting the length of herself out of the bath. Droplets of water deliciously dripping down each of her exquisite curves. You had never seen her look more beautiful. The firelight from the candles flickering warmly in the reflection of the water that danced upon her fair skin. She was a literal masterpiece - art in motion - as she made her way out of the tub. . 

“Take all the time you need, my pet. I’ll be waiting.”

“Heh… And here I thought my lady didn’t like to be kept waiting.” You replied with a smirk, daring to tease her.. 

“I don’t.” She replied, a sharp glare cutting straight across the room - reminding you of who she was - that quickly turned to a smirk. “But, considering how… sore you must be, I will make an exception.”

“Yes, of course, my lady. Thank you..” 

She gave you a small nod, water trickling down the landscape of her as she dried herself off in a teasingly slow manner - her eyes never leaving yours. (Yep. Literal. Gay. Death.) You swallowed hard, earning a chuckle from her as you averted your eyes, blushing. 

“You’re quite beautiful like this, my pet. Utterly flushed and dripping for me.”

(::whimper::)

She chuckled again, the tip of her tongue skating over her bottom lip before she swiftly exited the bathroom. It took literally everything in you not to immediately jump from the tub. You knew you were eager for her - to taste her, to feel her skin against your lips -  and who could blame you? You allowed yourself a few moments, soothing your muscles for a minute before beginning to drain the water. The sweet musk of her swirling around you like the steam that now rose from your eager body. You made quick work of toweling yourself off, your feet carrying you off into the other room without as much as a thought. 

“Hello, pet.”

Your mouth went completely dry, breath hitched - her illustrious body sprawled across the length of the bed. Miles upon miles of flesh just begging to be touched - explored - worshipped in a way that only the body of a goddess deserved to be. 

“H-hello, my lady.. you are… fuck…” 

Alcina chuckled, shaking her head - a knowing look upon her face. “I’m quite aware of the effect I have on you, my pet.. but I appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless.” 

“I’m sorry my lady.. you’re just… stunning, to say the least.”

Her eyes grew a little darker, more hungry. “Thank you, my pet. Now… I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good. Change that.”

(Fuck… I…)

The instant pool of heat that began to stir in your core - your juices immediately flowing - all just from the tone of her voice. Cool satin sheets welcoming to your overly flushed skin as you climbed onto her bed. A fierce anticipation sweeping over you as you settled down next to her. It was far from the first time you had been allowed to touch the immaculate body of Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, but it was the first time she had given you the okay to do so in such a manner. 

“Before we begin, pet… you are to address me only as Mistress for the rest of the evening, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. While I may have agreed to such an intimate request, I am still in control. Do you understand?”

‘Yes, Mistress. Of course.”

She responded with a nod, laying her head back against the pillow. “Excellent. Now.. as you were, pet.”

You moved slowly, straddling her hips. Alcina’s eyes practically luminous - golden spheres drinking you in as you settled yourself down on top of her.

“What an exquisite view I have from here.”

“I’m pretty sure mine is better, Mistress.” 

“Such flattery, my pet.”

“Utter truth, my Mistress.” 

You watched as the slightest hint of pink began to paint it’s way across the sultry lines of Alcina’s face - unable to keep yourself from blushing in turn. Her body, slightly cool to the touch, impossible to ignore against your heated skin. Her skin - scarred, perfect - the most beautiful handwritten map that you had ever seen - and you were desperate to explore it. The faintest of moans escaping from her slightly parted lips as the warmth of your mouth found the soft skin of her neck. A mesh of soft kisses and heated bites dancing their way across the steadily growing flush of her body. The low, husky sounds that reverberated through her chest each time that your teeth scraped across her skin, was a melody within themselves. Another bite to her collar bone, your tongue licking over it as you slowly began to make your way down. Her thick fingers in your hair, guiding that eager mouth of yours exactly where she wanted it to go.  

“You have quite the talented tongue, my -ah!.” 

You muffled a deep moan to her response - the length of her nipple finding your mouth, filling it - arousing you to no end. A pool of juices steadily collecting beneath you as you cupped her breast with both hands, indulging your tongue with as much of her as you could.

“Mmh… lower, my pet.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You nipped at her sensitive skin before pulling away, earning a sharp inhale from the Countess. A smug smirk against her skin as you continued your way down the miles of flesh that made up  the landscape of her illustrious body - each mountainous curve more delicious than the last. Your soft lips caressing over the faint lines and imperfections that so beautifully decorated her body. Repositioning yourself, you settled down into the heated spot between her legs - her sweet musk rolling over you as your tongue skated over the sensitive skin of her hips and thighs. Her nails scraping up the sides of your neck before firmly tangling her fingers back into your hair. Her hips moving in a way that told you just how badly she wanted you - needed you in a way that she had never needed another. 

“You may go lower, my pet.” Her voice was thick with want, body flushed from nothing more than the touch of your lips - the sting of your teeth - the warmth of your tongue that danced so eloquently across her body.

(L-lower.. ?)

“I… Mistress?” You asked, pulling back hesitantly as your mind mulled over her words. Being intimate on that level was not something Alcina had ever indulged you in. Though she had had her tongue inside of you more times than you could count - she had never, not even once, suggested that you return the favor. 

“You heard me, pet.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

You settled yourself down even lower between her thighs, mouth watering at just the thought of tasting her. Her juices shimmering in the candlelight as they dripped down the front of her core. Every cell in your body set a blaze as you readied yourself, breathing in deeply.

“Oh, and.. be a good pet and touch yourself.” 

(Mmph.. fuck.. I)

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

“I can smell how wet you are, my pet. Practically dripping for me all over again?” She chuckled, smirking before laying her back down onto the pillow. 

‘Yes, Mistress.. I.. I am” 

“Good.. and, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Make sure I can hear you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth going completely dry. “Fuck.. yes, Mistress.” 

She hummed softly, spreading her legs for you a little further as you positioned your hands just right, the familiar feeling of your own fingers gently parting your lips. And oh, how right she was.. you were absolutely dripping for her - exceedingly so. The scent of her skin was almost overwhelming as you placed your mouth over her clit, immediately moaning at the taste of her. Your own juices flowing steadily as you slowly slid three fingers into yourself, making sure to be careful of your sore muscles. The sheer size of her hand holding you in place as the width of your tongue licked over her, causing an immediate arch to her back. Her perfect hips rising up to meet you, her soft folds enveloping you as you did your best to explore over every inch of her throbbing core. It was times like this you were thankful for having such a long tongue - to have the ability to unravel such a gorgeous creature. You nuzzled your face in closer, drinking her in, letting every inch of her overwhelm you. Your own hips moving in unison as you began to fuck yourself steadily. Your long fingers deep inside of you - her body writhing with each delicious moan that you allow to escape into her.

“You are quite exquisite, my pet. And that tongue of yours… mmmh.” Her moans ripped through her throat like a rumble of thunder, licking over her bottom lip before she continued “I can only imagine what other skills you've been hiding from me.” 

You had never heard her voice filled with so much desire before - so much need - and it was only fueling the primal urge that was slowly taking over your body. You sucked over her clit, using your whole mouth - practically devouring it. Her warm juices dripping down the front of your throat as you did your best not to waste a single drop of her. Your long fingers matching the pace of her hips as you continued to bring you both closer to the edge.

“I want you to fuck yourself harder, pet.”

(skjdfidlfdjfodjogj)

The command - the tone - the use of vulgarity that so rarely found it’s way out of Alcina’s eloquent mouth, sent a lightning bolt of heat through your body so intense that you felt your hips immediately jerk in response. 

“Mmph, fuck Mistress.” You moaned into her, earning a chuckle. 

“Precisely.”

You muffled a second curse against her, swiftly picking up the pace of your tongue and fingers. Her hips moving so beautifully in unison that you would have sworn she was a dancer in her past life. She was artistry in motion - a goddess of all things pleasing to the eye. The length of her hand firmly holding your head in place - pulling you closer, desperate to feel you inside of her- and you were more than willing to give it to her. You repositioned yourself slightly, forming your four fingers and thumb just right. An exquisite moan escaping from her lips as you teased them over her entrance. 

“Mmh.. such a generous pet. Just be sure to keep fucking your- ah!” 

You slid the width of your hand deep inside of her, sufficiently cutting her words short. A cascade of moans ripping through her body like an untamed beast - sucking over her clit as you left your hands to continue to wreck the both of you. Juices dripping - fingers curling - tongue relentless against her clit as an all encompassing force of pleasure began to overtake the both of you. 

“Are you close, my pet? Will you come with me?”

She asked, her voice softer than usual and you moaned a yes into her. Strong, purposeful thrusts as Alcina’s large frame began to arch beautifully from the bed. Your hips jerking as they matched the pace of your obedient mouth. A unison of voices screaming out as the fireworks behind your eyes moved into a full white out. Unyielding waves of pleasure crashing over you like a ravenous sea - bodies shuddering, breaths hitched - your talented extremities only letting up when Alcina finally fell breathless against the bed, juices soaking the satin sheets beneath her. Resting your head against her inner thigh, the smell of her upon your lips as you closed your eyes, you steadied your breath. Her skin, flushed - heated beneath you. 

“Well.. you have proven yourself a good pet, indeed.” Her voice low and sultry as her hand fondly caressed over the side of your head.  

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“‘My lady’ is perfectly fine, pet.”

“Of course, my lady.”

You placed a small kiss to her inner thigh, completely unaware of the sudden blush that it brought to her face, Her fingers gently stroking over your neck as she hummed in content. 

“Now.. rest up. You promised the girls some quality time tomorrow, and I wouldn’t disappoint them if I were you.”

You smiled, a warm sense of belonging spilling over you. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.”

[jayoctodot]

The Silent Patient vs The Maidens

I will start by saying that I understand the appeal of these novels as page-turners. They are easy to read and if you want a twisty reveal at the end, you will probably be entertained and satisfied. That being said, I am SO CONFUSED by the near-universal adoration of The Silent Patient and the reasonably positive reception of The Maidens. The weaknesses of the two are strikingly similar, as well, which doesn’t give me much hope of seeing improvement from this guy, though I am intrigued to see whether he keeps repeating the same (apparently successful!!) patterns. These books were at least super fun to hate.

(For context, I read The Maidens for a bookclub I'm in, because several of the members had read and loved The Silent Patient, and one of them gave me a copy of the latter to read on my own time. I loathed The Maidens and then read The SP for comparative purposes. And because I'm a masochist, apparently.)

SPOILER WARNING! Do not read on unless you've finished both books (or unless you care not for spoilers). Sorry if it gets a bit shouty.

Here are the similar weaknesses I noticed in both:

PSEUDO-PSYCHOLOGY

-> Weirdly similar “group therapy” scenes early on where a cartoonishly unstable patient arrives late, disrupts the meeting by throwing something into the middle of the circle, and is asked to join the group after the therapist(s) speechify on the importance of boundaries (HA! None of these therapists would know an appropriate boundary if it kicked them in the ass) and debate whether to “allow” the patient to join. Both scenes are so transparent in their design to establish the credibility/legitimacy of the narrators as therapists, but instead both Theo and Mariana come off as super patronizing. The protagonists are less and less believable as therapists at the stories progress (though at least Theo’s incompetence is explained away by the “twist” at the end; Mariana, on the other hand, is confronted in the opening pages of the novel by a patient who has self-harmed PRETTY extensively, and rather than ensure he get proper medical attention, she essentially throws him a first aid kit and tosses him out the door so she can pour herself a glass of wine and call her niece... and it devolves from there).

-> Ongoing insistence throughout the narrative that one’s childhood trauma entirely explains the warped/dysfunctional way a character behaves or views the world, which is why the books go out of their way to give EVERY potentially violent character a traumatic childhood; when Theo insists that no one ever became an abuser who hadn’t been abused themselves, I wanted to throw the book across the room. (That is a MYTH, SIR. GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR ARMCHAIR PSYCHOLOGY.)

-> Female murderers whose pathology boils down to “history of depression” and “traumatized by a male loved one/family member.” Because, as we all know, depression + abuse = murderer!

-> The “therapy” depicted in both books is laughable and so so unrealistic, mostly because neither narrators function as therapists so much as incompetent detectives, obsessively pursuing a case they have no place pursuing (or skill to pursue - both just happen across every clue mostly by way of clunky conversation with all the people who can provide precisely the snippet of info to send them along to the next person, and the next… until all is revealed in a tired, cliched “twist”). Their constant Psych 101 asides were so tiresome and weirdly dated (also, the constant harping on countertransference got so ridiculous that at one point during "therapy" Theo literally attributes his headache and a particular emotion he feels to Alicia, as though the contents of her head are being broadcast directly into his mind... and I'm PRETTY SURE that's not how it works???)

CHARACTERS

-> Psychotherapist narrators with abusive fathers and pretensions of being Sherlock Holmes, which results in both characters crossing ALL KINDS of ethical lines as they invade the personal lives of everyone even tangentially connected to their cases (and, in Theo's case, violate all kinds of patient confidentiality. Yeah, yeah, by the end, that's the least of his offenses, but before you get there, it's baffling that NO ONE is calling him out on this).

-> All female characters are either elderly with hilariously bad advice, monstrous hulking brutes, or beautiful bitches (except for ~MARIANA~, who is Bella Swan-esque in her unawareness of her own attractiveness, despite multiple men trying to get with her almost immediately after meeting her. I'm so tired of beautiful female characters being oblivious to their own hotness. Are we meant to believe all mirrors and male attention have escaped their notice? If it’s to make them “relatable,” this tactic really fails with me).

-> All characters of color are shallow, cartoonish side characters, and most of them are depicted as unsympathetic minor antagonists (the Sikh Chief Inspector in The Maidens continuously drinks tea from an ever-present thermos, and his only other notable characteristic is his instant dislike of Mariana, whom he VERY RIGHTLY warns to stay out of the investigation that she is VERY MUCH compromising… the Caribbean manager of the Grove is universally disliked by her staff for enforcing stricter safety regulations at the bafflingly poorly run mental institution, because HOW DARE SHE. There's a very clear vibe that we're supposed to dislike these characters and share the protagonists' indignation, but honestly Sangha/Stephanie were completely in the right for trying to shut down their wildly inappropriate investigations).

-> "Working class" characters (or basically anyone excluded from the comfortably upper-crust, educated main cadre of characters) are few and far between in both stories, but when they show up, he depicts them as such caricatures. We got Elsie the pathologically lying housekeeper in the Maidens, who is enticed to share her bullshit with cake, and then a TOOTHLESS LEPRECHAUN DEALING DRUGS UNDER A BRIDGE in the SP. I kid you not, a man described as having the body of a child, the face of Father Time, and no front teeth, emerges from beneath a bridge and offers to sell Theo some "grass." I was dyinggg.

-> There are no characters to root for. Anywhere. Partly because they’re all so thinly drawn — and because we’re clearly supposed to view almost ALL of them as potential suspects, so they’re ALL weird, creepy, or incompetent in some way.

-> The flimsiest of flimsy motives, both for the narrators and the murderers. Theo fully would have gotten away with his involvement in the murder if he hadn't gone out of his way to work at the Grove and "treat" Alicia and his justification for doing so is pretty weak; his rapid descent into stalking and murder fantasy and his random ass decision to "expose" Alicia's husband as a cheater with a spur-of-the-moment home invasion and staged attempted homicide is ONLY justified if the reader hand waves it away as WELP, HE'S CRAZY, I GUESS (after all, he DID have an abusive father and a history of mental illness, and in Michaelides novels, that's ALL YOU NEED to become a violent psycho). I guess we're lucky Mariana didn't also start dropping bodies (because the logic of his fictional universe says she should definitely be a murderer by now... maybe that'll be his Maidens sequel?). But she especially had NO reason to randomly turn detective - and she kept trying to justify it by saying she needed to re-enter the world or that Sebastian would want her to (??), even though she had no background in criminal psychology... or even a particular fondness for mysteries (really, I would've accepted ANYTHING to explain her dogged obsession with the case. WHY were Sebastian and Zoe so certain she would insert herself into the investigation just because one of Zoe's friends was the first victim? WHY?). As for Zoe and Alicia, their motives are mere suggestions: they were both abused and manipulated, and voila! Slippery slope to murder.

WRITING STYLE

-> Incessant allusions to Greek tragedy and myth, apparently to provide a sophisticated gloss over the bare-bones writing style, which opts more for telling than showing and frequently indulges in hilariously bizarre analogies. Credit where credit is due — the references to Greek myth are less clunky in the SP, and I liked learning about the Alcestis play/myth, which I hadn’t heard of before - but OMG the entire characterization of Fosca, who we are meant to believe is a professor of Greek tragedy at one of the most respected universities on the planet, is just absurd. His "lecture" on the liminal in Greek tragedy is essentially the Wikipedia page on the Eleusinian Mysteries capped off with some Hallmark-card carpe diem crap. The lecture hall responds with raucous applause, clearly never having heard such vague genius bullshit before.

-> Super clunky and amateurish narrative device of interludes written by another character; Sebastian’s letter reads like a mashup of Dexter monologues and Clarice’s memory of the screaming sheep, but by FAR the worse offender is Alicia’s diary, where we’re supposed to believe she painstakingly recorded ENTIRE CONVERSATIONS, BEAT-BY-BEAT DIALOGUE, even when she’s just been DRUGGED TO THE GILLS with morphine and has mere moments of consciousness left… and even before that, she literally takes the time to write “He's trying the windows and doors! ...Someone’s inside! Someone’s inside the house! ETC ETC” when she thinks her stalker has broken in downstairs. WHO DOES THAT?)

-> Speaking of dialogue, the dialogue is so bad. Based on his bio, Michaelides got a degree in screenwriting, which makes his terrible dialogue even more baffling.

-> HILARIOUSLY rendered voyeur scenes where the narrators spy on couples having sex. Such unintentionally awkward descriptions. First we had Kathy’s climax sounds through the trees and then the bowler hat carefully placed on a tombstone before the gatekeeper plows a student. Again, I died.

PLOT/"TWIST"

-> The CONSTANT red herrings make for such an exhausting read. Michaelides drops anvils with almost every character that are so obviously meant to designate them as suspects in our minds. There is absolutely no subtlety in his misdirections.

-> The “crossover” scene between the SP and The Maidens makes no sense - when in the timeline does Mariana’s story overlap with Theo’s? They confer just before Theo starts working at the Grove, obviously (though Mariana appears to be the one who alerts Theo to the job opening there? Whereas in the SP, Theo has been obsessively tracking Alicia since the murder and had already planned to apply to work there?), but then are we supposed to believe that while Theo has been psychotically pursuing his warped quest to “help” Alicia, he’s also been diligently treating Zoe, so invested in her case that he repeatedly reaches out to Mariana to get her to visit Zoe and even writes Mariana a lengthy letter to convince her to do so??? And then a couple days after The Maidens ends, Theo is arrested???

-> But the thing I really did hate the most is how Michaelides treats his female murderers (who are both also victims themselves) as mere means to deploy a “twist”; there’s no moment spared to encourage our sympathy for Zoe, who was groomed and manipulated by the only trusted father figure in her life, and even after spending a decent amount of time getting to know Alicia via her ridiculous diary, where it’s so apparent that she’s been demeaned, objectified, manipulated, gaslit, and/or used by EVERY man in her life, she’s sent packing to spend the rest of her days in a coma… HOW much more satisfying would it have been for her to succeed in exposing Theo and reclaiming her voice? But no, she basically rolls over when he comes to finish her off (SPEAKING OF — ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THERE ARE NO SECURITY CAMERAS IN THIS INSTITUTE FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE????), writes one last diary entry, and drifts off forever. And then a couple pages of nothing later, the story is over. GOODNIGHT, ALICIA!

Both books kept me rolling throughout (by which I mean eye-rolling but also rotfl). Maybe I will check out his next effort — I’m morbidly curious what he’ll turn out. It does leave me wondering whether I should give up on thriller novels entirely, though. Are many of the weaknesses of these novels just characteristic of the genre? Maybe I'm just holding these books to unfair standards? I'm mostly only familiar with thriller films — many of which I think are amazing — but maybe you can get away with more in a film than you can in a novel.

...I really only intended to write a handful of bullet points, but more and more kept coming to mind as I wrote, to the point where subheadings became necessary. Whoopsie.

[thiswasinevitableid]

7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand. 

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest. 

He just wanted to help. 

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident. 

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety. 

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills. 

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots. 

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless. 

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings. 

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries. 

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat. 

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Bitter metal on his tongue. 

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth. 

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed. 

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself. 

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing. 

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.” 

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes. 

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with. 

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness. 

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip. 

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep. 

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage. 

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness. 

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away. 

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away. 

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans. 

-------------------------------------------

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly. 

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors. 

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things. 

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed. 

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

--------------------------------------------

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl. 

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around. 

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection. 

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new. 

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever. 

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.” 

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment. 

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest. 

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” 

[mc-critical]

Glad to see you’re back to taking asks!❤️ I hope all is well for you!

A bit of a simpler one this time around, I felt like Gülfem closer to the end of season 4 started to come off a bit..ingenuine to me? If that’s the right word? I mean she spent previous seasons partaking in plots against Hürrem and what seemed like hating her or at the very least expressing open disapproval of her actions and what she stood for to..consoling Hürrem’s restless conscience after Hürrem was diagnosed with a terminal illness? I just remember her saying things like she should be proud of the life she lived, that she wasn’t a bad person, that she shouldn’t think of her illness as a punishment etc etc. I suppose we could give Gülfem the benefit of the doubt and say that she saw no point in openly opposing Hürrem anymore (like Fatma or Mahidevran felt towards the end) but why not just leave the palace as they did? Perhaps they kept her around for the sake of the story but I feel like they didn’t do much with her arc past that point, they just did a time jump then revealed to us in a flashback she died? I think I’m just more confused than anything. Why not keep Gülfem’s feelings towards Hürrem at least somewhat consistent like Mahi/Fatma?

I'm fine, thank you! ❤❤ I closed my ask box mostly due to school work, the end of the year exams can be intense heh

I definetly get your sentiments since that sure seems to be an inconsistency to Gülfem's character at first glance. It may indeed turn out as a contrast to the remainder of what we have seen.

It isn't such a big problem for me, however, because we have to take two things into consideration:

Gülfem's stance of Hürrem plays a part in reflecting the tone of the final episodes of S04. The whole last chunk of the show before Hürrem's death did its best in recognizing her alleged legacy in ways it hadn't before. It suddenly began acknowledging her power, showing SS prove considerably more affection than ever before (that makes the most narrative sense out of everything, but still), folk praising her for the first time ever and most notably, various characters in the show, with positive, ambiguous and negative relationship with her alike, either praising her or consoling her. Gülfem is one of the more neutral characters in the castle and the most nurturing one, the one most able to empathize and console. It is only fitting to give her such a role to fit the message the writers want to deliver. Acknowledging Hürrem's legacy just now and like this is truly as much of a copout as it is fanservice, but at least it's not completely out of nowhere (especially the acknowledgment of her fondations) and they do give us some consistency with what Gülfem does along with everyone else in this whole ordeal.

S04 extends on Gülfem's role as a conscience character-wise, besides utilizing it in favor of the narrative voice. In these last episodes in particular, she seems to be the conscience of everyone in the castle, given her nature and that she's the last person left there who could do that. That includes Süleiman, as well as it includes Hürrem.

These things aren't presented in the best way, writing-wise, and could be sometimes more subtle than necessary. Gülfem herself could be a little underdeveloped as a character and has comparatively lesser screentime than the rest of the main and secondary cast. Her conscience is her clear role in the narrative, but her relationships, with the exception of Hatice (and the other sisters of SS to an extent), aren't as well defined. Look at her relationship with Mahidevran, for example: we got hints of their supposed past rivalry, we got hints of resentment, but these hints only turned into an inconsistent mess. There were much more scenes where they were in good terms with each other and anything else was so few and far in between, it only appeared to be a contrast. We got no true perspective of their past in Manisa and Gülfem's more personal opinion on Mahidevran, leaving it only as a static, but pretty good relationship. (which is why I'm grateful that S03 removed this set-up of their relationship, rendering it still not that well fleshed out, but more consistent.)

In a similar fashion, we never got a proper exploration of how exactly she felt about Hürrem, too. What I think I can say with confidence though is that certainly didn't hate her - Gülfem is a very patient and just woman, which I can only admire her for. She is a voice of reason, trying her best to be unbiased in her outlooks and stand for what is right. She has happened to knock Hürrem down a peg, but not because she disliked her, but because she thought she was crossing the line or offending the people she cares about. The closest we got to a look into a tiny resentment of Gülfem's of Hürrem was when Hürrem used her to make Mahidevran lose her rulership of the harem. It's normal that Gülfem would harbor such feelings, knowing that she didn't do anything to Hürrem before that and only supported her about Mahidevran wanting Valide's chambers. Being used in an intrigue like that clearly hurt her and her willing to stand even more against Hürrem was hinted at a little, but once again, that was a very short conflict. It would be a decent transition if the writers wanted that for Gülfem, but they didn't. It would run against Gülfem's forgiving nature at this point to hate Hürrem. Gülfem just is notorious in putting the past behind her. {hence on a thematic note, her backstory and origins not only didn't get revealed to us except for a few scenes, similarly to Mahidevran (Mahidevran got flashbacks, at least), but she, in contrast to both Mahidevran and Hürrem, has already adapted to her present, knowing that she cannot bring back what she has lost. And her adaption has already happened, it's not made out to be a character arc within the series.} Her feelings for Hürrem aren't kept consistent, because there isn't much to be kept consistent. Mahidevran and Fatma both have pivotal dynamics with Hürrem that play a major role in the narrative as they both play a more major part of the story. Gülfem and Hürrem's relationship as a whole seemed to have both its good and bad moments (as Hürrem herself recalled in E133) and the good moments were usually when both consoled someone and Gülfem consoling Hürrem now doesn't seem this strange anymore.

Gülfem also seems to put her own feelings behind her in favor of those of the others, probably in result of her huge loss. She always comforts the others, is there for them and shows her moral support. She seems to identify herself in their own struggles. That, I feel, gives her the ability to sympathize even with those she presumably doesn't like, because she's very open and honest overall. I don't think it's ingenuine, because Gülfem never showed signs of hypocrisy. Not to mention that every hypocrisy there is in the franchise, we know of: either through previously fully established dynamics, direction or character motive. (or at least that's a pattern I have noticed) I don't think they would put Gülfem, out of everyone, in such position. This consolation of Hürrem may have been moulded a bit, but it's certainly not ingenuine and runs in line with who she is. Besides, she did say she forgives Hürrem for every possible offense in E133. I think that clears the whole thing up.

I wouldn't say that Gülfem had no arc at all in S04, as well. [I wouldn't see them leaving her just for the story, either, because aside from E59-63, Gülfem usually didn't move the story in any significant way. They probably left her because she was the moral compass of the palace and she was one of the first characters after all, for her to stay as much as she can.] She doesn't have too much in the way of development or arc in the rest of the show, probably because she didn't have much to develop on her own and the writers didn't want to really flesh her out. The only thing she could develop is her relationships and most of them also didn't leave room for development (not even Hürrem, because she didn't do that much against her, except for the S02 finale, correct me if I'm wrong?), except for one: her relationship with Süleiman. Gülfem wants to preserve justice and Süleiman began to act completely counter of that. It's not a built-up arc, but it's only by S04 where SS's shadiest actions began to reach their peak, so only then would it begin to happen. Because she valued Süleiman before then.

She valued him to the point she dismissed his faults in the strife between his women and asked him the comfort question of whether he is happy with them when he called her to talk in E15. Their joint scenes had their continuation only by S04 where she similarly acted as his conscience after Hürrem's death. For she was the one close enough to him for him to confide in. Many people confided in Gülfem through the series, but Süleiman is one of the people that did it the most and it was as if this consoling went beyond the sheer usual support for her.

And what happens afterwards? The table begins to turn after Bayezid's execution. That angle is looked upon only after the time skip and during the flashback in E139, but it shows by its own merit alone a change, an evolution of Gülfem's opinion of SS and a reverse approach of her role as a conscience: Gülfem is so patient and understanding, but she has finally snapped. She has finally met her limit. In her words to SS in the scene we see how his actions have put themselves in a conflict far beyond what she can bear. She can no longer excuse him, she can no longer justify him.

That scene showed us her realization that he has the biggest part of the blame in the misfortunes in the palace. ("Even leaf cannot fall without your approval!") And she wanted to end him for that. I know it looks like this happened almost overnight, maybe looked a little too edgy and may feel like a contrived attempt to make an exit for her character, but it works well enough with me. Because after all, she has truly went through a lot and that suffering didn't even begin from Topkapı. It's only natural she would try to kill the root of the suffering for good. And here, for once, she stands up for herself, too, along with calling out all the unfortunate and devastating events.

[dudeandduchess]

As promised, bby, Part 2 of Afflictions of the Heart. Though I am a bit iffy about some parts of this, so I might re-write it later on when I get more inspiration. 🤔

Hope you bbys like it tho! 💜✨

***

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Afflictions of the Heart (SFW Scenario, Part 2):

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Demon S/O, Moral Dilemma, Mentions of Death of an Unborn Child, Mentions of Blood, Mild Violence, So Much Drama

Read part 1 here.

No matter how hard Kyōjurō tried to move on with his life, everything always seemed to pull him back to (Y/n). It could be as simple as seeing someone with the same shade of hair as her, and he would be so out of sorts for a while.

Almost every little thing reminded him of her but, even though he tried to stop it, his own conscious wouldn’t cease its efforts in connecting everything to her.

From the way that the stars shone, down to how a hairpin looked on someone— everything always came back to her. Which stood to reason why he never stopped searching for her.

He always held out hope that she had been turned into a demon, and always kept an eye out for any signs of her wherever he went; because she couldn’t have gotten far, what with only two months having passed by since their supposed wedding.

The thought of the ill-fated date sent a pang of hurt coursing through the Flame Hashira’s chest. It was so intense that he had to make a conscious effort to keep on walking, as stopping in the middle of a busy street would only cause an inconvenience for other people.

Still, he couldn’t resist not lifting a hand up to his chest— placing it right over where his heart was. He had to remind himself that, no matter how much pain he felt, he had to keep going.

So that less people will have to lose their loved ones like he had.

The strong must protect the weak; just as he should have protected (Y/n) and their unborn child with all his might. Should have, but didn’t.

He had been too cocky, too confident, with the wisteria charms that he’d initially put up around her home— that he’d forgotten to switch them out with fresh ones the week before their wedding.

So he only had himself to blame for that— but those feelings of guilt only came at him when he was alone; when there were no reasonable voices around him to keep himself from delving in too deep in his own guilt. They preyed at his subconscious, and they plagued his every thought before the medicine— that Shinobu had made for him— kicked in.

Even he had to admit that he was no longer the same person that he had been before. He still tried to be optimistic, and also made an effort to keep the flame in his heart alive... but everything felt like a lost cause without (Y/n) in his life.

He had lost the only woman he’d ever loved, and he only had himself to blame for it.

So the moment he saw her deep within a mountainous forest, miles away from where she lived, his heart had all but stopped— and his eyes had instantly zeroed in on her figure.

She looked to be the same woman as before, save for the eerie glow in her iridescent, golden eyes— as well as the long mane of fiery red and orange hair. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, her hair looked to be a play of his own natural hair color.

It flattered him, yet saddened him at the same time— because even as a transformed demon, he still had something about him that was tied to her subconscious.

(Y/n) straightened up from her hunched form to reveal, much to Kyōjurō’s horror, a bloody mouth as well as the body of a dead woman at her feet. His breath had hitched at that, and it took everything in him not to give in to the sobs that threatened to bubble free from his lips.

Because to see her like that... and to know that his own carelessness had been the cause of it; it ate at his conscience deeply.

The rational half of his mind screamed at him to draw his sword— to make things quick and painless for her— but his heart said something completely different. His own personal feelings rendered him immobile; completely unable to draw his weapon on her, even though she had bared her claws at her sides— ready to attack at any given moment.

“(Y/n),” The Flame Hashira called softly, his voice cracking. He wanted to ask her how she’d gotten there, and why she was attacking an innocent woman, but no words came. He didn’t even know where to start.

He could only stare into her iridescent irises, all while trying to keep his tears at bay.

Silence punctuated his call of her name, with nothing but the sound of the air rustling the leaves in the trees emphasizing the eerie standstill that seemed to envelop the world around them.

Still, Kyōjurō tried once more— because maybe if he got to her subconscious, he could talk to her... about what, he wasn’t sure of; since killing a human as a demon was an unforgivable sin. He knew that she had to die, since the gods only knew just how many innocent lives she’d managed to take during the time she was a demon.

The notion of ending (Y/n)’s life by his own hands made him sick to his stomach but, in the end— and with shaky hands— he still found himself drawing his sword on her.

“(Y/n), I’m so sorry,” Kyōjurō whispered, his tone so quiet and thick with unshed tears that it had the aforementioned woman’s eyebrows furrowing together.

Almost all of the instincts inside her body told her to attack while he wasn’t in a proper attacking stance, yet a small part of her— something so small yet so incessant in the back of her mind— told her to let her guard down.

To let him in, and to listen to what he had to say.

“How do you know my name?” The young woman asked softly, all while clenching her fists and fighting everything in her that wanted to harm the blond man.

The Flame Hashira opened his mouth to speak, only to pause when he didn’t know what to say. But when he did find the words, he said, “You were my wife, even though we never officially got married. Please, remember, my love.”

But when only silence answered his words, he tried once more.

“I... we used to go to the shrine near your home and exchange vows in front of the gods.” Kyōjurō’s voice hitched at the last word, as memories of him and (Y/n) pretending to practice for their wedding played in his mind.

And one by one, his tears began to roll down his cheeks in hot rivulets. He couldn’t stop them, not that he even tried to; because his chest felt so tight and painful with all the emotions that he’d been trying to suppress for so long.

He was done pretending to be strong, when all he wanted was to break down and cry; to grieve over the loss of his almost-wife and their unborn child.

Slowly, he dropped the hand that held his sword to his side, before making his way towards the petrified (Y/n).

As if on instinct, the young woman took a step away from the Hashira, and then drew an arm up to her stomach; as if to protect it from him.

The sight of her cowering from him made his heart break even more and, despite himself, made him sheathe his nichirin blade.

“Please don’t hurt me. I was just trying to feed my baby.” Her words felt like a sucker punch to his chest, and it had him roughly biting down on his bottom lip to keep himself from outright sobbing. “Please, she’s the only thing I have left of my human life.”

Regretfully, the Hashira shook his head as more and more tears rolled down his face. There was his formerly enigmatic and bright (Y/n), clutching her stomach and believing that she was still carrying their child— out of her remaining maternal instincts, or as a way of coping, he didn’t know.

All that he was sure of was that it hurt him to see her look so desperate and afraid— of him, no less.

Still, he forced his feet to keep advancing— until he was no more than two feet away from her. Then, with his right hand, he lifted it up and gently touched her face with his fingertips.

Her fangs began to elongate at the action, and a low growl rumbled in her chest, yet he made no move to stop. She could attack him and he would willingly welcome it; because it was his fault that things had turned out the way they did.

To her merit, (Y/n) kept a tight leash on her own defensive urges. She knew that she could easily off the man in front of her, but she held herself back— all because of that small voice inside the back of her head; one that kept telling her to trust him.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n), for letting this happen to you... for letting our happy ending be taken away,” Kyōjurō uttered softly through his tears, while his hand moved to cup his lover’s face— before wiping the first of her tears away with the pad of his thumb.

She couldn’t put a name to his face, yet every part of her sensed the familiarity in their actions. Her hands had even moved on their own accord, and had reached up to encircle his wrist with the left one— while the right one moved to trace the soft skin of his left cheek with the tips of her right hand’s fingers.

All of it felt like she had done the actions so many times, that she couldn’t help but cry even more.

It, honestly, felt like coming home after such a long time. He felt like home to her.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n). I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Kyō.” (Y/n)’s own response shocked even herself, as she hadn’t expected his name to go rolling off her tongue so smoothly. And, judging by the way that the blond’s eyes widened, he was surprised as well.

She still couldn’t remember her family— nor any other parts of her human life— but all that rang clear in her mind were her memories with the man in front of her. Hell, if it wasn’t for the paper that she had found tucked into the sash of her yukata, she never would have known that her name was Rengoku (Y/n).

Before she could help it, she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck— hugging him tightly while biting down on her tongue to keep herself from attacking him. Everything inside her screamed at her to hurt him— to devour him— but she ignored those devilish urges in favor of burying her face against his chest.

Because, with the memories of him, came the realization that the child inside her— the one that her remaining maternal instincts tried to protect— had long been gone.

Loud, pained sobs escaped her lips at that— which had Kyōjurō wrapping his own arms tightly around her, all while patting her hair down as gently as he could.

“T-the baby!” (Y/n) wailed against her lover’s chest. “Our baby. I couldn’t protect it, Kyō. I couldn’t-”

She couldn’t even continue, what with how her crying had escalated to loud, wracking sobs that made her whole body tremble. And no matter how she tried to get words out of her mouth, they were all pushed back down by more sobs and hysterical wails from the young woman herself.

Each and every one of her cries was a stab at the Flame Hashira’s heart, yet he could do nothing but hug her closer and provide her the comfort that she desperately needed.

It was the least he could do; because empty words and even emptier promises were not his way of providing comfort. He couldn’t even bring himself to tell her that things will be alright, because he knew just how badly her own realizations were beginning to weigh down on her conscience.

“All of the people I’ve... oh gods,” (Y/n) muttered through much quieter sniffles, after the gods knew how much time had passed. But still, all Kyōjurō could do was hold her tighter and cry with her— because, for the second time in his life, he was at a loss for what to do.

His heart and mind waged war with each other, as he thought of how to solve their predicament. Part of him wanted to keep her safe somewhere where no other slayers can touch her, while the more rational part of him told him to do the right thing.

And the right thing was to kill her.

The mere thought of raising his blade to her— not in self defense, but to slay her— made his stomach churn. He couldn’t bring himself to even want to do it; because, for all it was worth, she was still the woman he loved.

However, she took the decision right out of his hands when she pulled away from him and cupped his face in her hands. Their gazes stayed on each other’s, which had Kyōjurō’s heart pounding erratically inside his chest.

Since the mix of defeat and determination on his lover’s expression only meant that she had made up her mind— and no amount of pleading from him would change it.

“I want to make things right, Kyō.”

He didn’t need to ask her what she’d meant by that, because she knew— as well as anyone else— that the price of taking a life, was also a life; even if she had been doing it out of some twisted perception that it was for her unborn child.

It still hurt her to think that she had succumbed that low; but she didn’t dwell on it too much— because she wanted to spend the last few moments of her life with the one man who’d given meaning to it all.

And so, both of them made the trek up to the highest point of the mountain— never letting go of each other’s hand— to greet the sunrise in all its glory.

Kyōjurō stood there on the peak, with (Y/n) clinging tightly to him; as if she was giving him a lifetime’s worth of hugs, while she buried her face against her lover’s chest.

Slowly, the first few rays of the sun illuminated the horizon; steadily painting the inky sky with bright yellows and oranges that matched the colors in her hair.

“Thank you, Kyō, for making this life of mine worth living.”

The Hashira nodded, as he swallowed past the thick lump in his throat and pressed a kiss to the top of her head— if only to hide the fact that he was crying once more.

“I’ll look for you in our next life... and then we’ll have our happy ending there; us and our baby.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, (Y/n).”

[myhauntedsalem]

Hexes and Hauntings of Pennsylvania

Pennsylvania has a long tradition of religious tolerance that brought diverse settlers to the young colony, so it’s no surprise that the state has become known for the various modes of religious expression of its people. But these very traditions brought with them their own unique ideas about magic and the supernatural, and the state’s central position in national affairs and wars has drawn plenty of ghosts to the region.

The Pennsylvania Dutch emigrated from Germany and nearby areas in Europe in the late 17thcentury. These people stuck together, but they came from a number of religions and some chose to live simple lifestyles rather than blend into Pennsylvania culture. As a result, modern Pennsylvania Dutch communities are rural, but it isn’t uncommon to see Pennsylvania Dutch influences even in large cities like Philadelphia.

However, because the early communities were relatively closed off, their own cultures developed. And with these cultures came magic. Pow-wow is a system of folk magic unique to the Pennsylvania Dutch, but with heavy European and Christian influences. The charms and spells offered by Pow-wow offer protections from illnesses, witches, and other dark forces. A book about it was written in 1820 by John George Hohman, called Pow-Wows, or The Long Lost Friend, contains descriptions of many spells, that give an idea of the Pennsylvania Dutch way of life at the time. For example, if your horse refuses to eat, here’s a Pow-wow spell that will fix the problem: wrench open your horse’s mouth and knock on its palate three times. If you want to apply Pow-wow to your life, get your Bible in hand and read through Pow-Wows, which contains incantations to remedy diarrhea, headaches, colic, sore mouth, parasites, and more, and also has charms that will guarantee the success of your lawsuit and prevent criminals from getting near you. You can find the full text of the book online.

Many Pennsylvania Dutch barns are decorated with large circular symbols that usually have some kind of five-pointed design inside of them. These are hex signs, which were once thought to be Pow-wow talismans that would bring fortune to the farm, but are really just designs that grew out of a Pennsylvania Dutch art tradition. The symbols that are used to bring fortune to the household were called barn stars, large metal five-pointed stars. Hanging a barn star on your house is similar to nailing a horseshoe above your door in other cultures. You can buy hex signs and barn stars from Pennsylvania Dutch craft shops if you want to bring a little extra luck into your life.

The modern age may have decreased belief in magic power, but it seems to have had no effect on the belief in life after death. Pennsylvania is littered with pre-Revolution buildings that still contain their original inhabitants. Many born long after then still remain with us.

Philadelphia is home to many of these lingering spirits. Eastern State Penitentiary, a prison dating back to 1827 and now located well within the city, is a famous paranormal landmark, with every ghost hunting team you can think of probably having taken a sweep of its cellblocks. Al Capone had a brief stay in the penitentiary, and even he claimed to be haunted by a victim of the St. Valentine’s Day massacre. Visitors interested in the paranormal should visit what is reportedly the most active cellblock, Cellblock 12—but personally, on my visits, I can’t go into Cellblock 14. Going through the entryway fills me with an inexplicable sadness and a sense that I’m intruding.

Eastern State Penitentiary is a famous, publicly-accessible paranormal site, but another famous location that can only be entered with special permission is Pennhurst Hospital. Pennhurst was formerly an asylum for people, mostly children, whose mental illnesses or disabilities rendered them incapable of caring for themselves (or their families were too embarrassed to keep them around). Conditions for patients were notoriously bad, and Pennhurst employees, understaffed and intolerant, frequently abused their charges. These atrocities were eventually exposed and Pennhurst was shut down, but many believe the hospital is still haunted by the ghosts of patients and caretakers who suffered there mentally and physically. Workers hired to help maintain the site often report seeing shadow people, hearing crying, and feeling presences when they should be alone.

Pennsylvania is also home to another site of misery and despair, though this next location claimed more lives in three days than Pennhurst did during the decades of its operation. Cited as one of the most haunted cities in America, Gettysburg is a small town surrounded by beautiful, rolling fields. These fields, hills, and forests were once where one of the most important engagements of the Civil War was fought, and it may still be living that history, as numerous sources claim to see both Confederate and Union soldiers marching there. Ghosts of soldiers have been spotted at every major location of the battle, and many ghosts are spotted inside buildings within the city proper. Even the sole civilian casualty of the battle, Jennie Wade, is reportedly haunting her home. But spirits aren’t the only relics from the battle you can find in Gettysburg: to this day, visitors can stumble upon bullets laying quietly in the grass. But perhaps the most haunting aspect of Gettysburg is how peaceful and serene is. Though statues and monuments commemorating the battle now dot the landscape, it has remained mostly unchanged; imagining the area as it must have sounded in the chaos of war is horrifying in its own way.

These are famous haunted locations, but there are plenty of lesser-known hauntings in Pennsylvania. York, for example, was once home to an asylum that burned down before firefighters could arrive. Seven gates were built so local authorities could rescue (or capture) patients that had escaped. According to a legend, anyone who walks through all seven of the gates goes straight to Hell. Another haunted town is Centralia, under which burns a massive coal fire that forced the city to be abandoned by all except a stubborn few. The fire is still burning decades later, and the smoke attracts tourists and ghosts. Even Hershey Park has its share of paranormal encounters to its name.

Pennsylvania may be known today for its sports, sports fans, food, cities, and being strangely conservative in a very liberal region, but maybe it’s the state’s observance of tradition and rich history of tolerance and brotherhood that keep old magic alive and souls animated.

[anomitafics]

When The Heart Beats || [5]

WHEN THE HEART BEATS || Levi Ackerman x Reader CHAPTER V

Slicing through Titan after Titan, a young female not older than 20 glided through the battle fields following in tow after her Squad Leader's built back.

"(L/N)! Two abnormals ahead! Get ready!" her Captain shouted, making the woman withdraw her blades as she replaced them with new sharper ones.

"Yes Sir!"

"(Y/N) if you're getting tired--" the blonde beside her started but was interrupted by the [c] haired woman drawing her swords forward.

"I'm not Erwin!" she said as she winked at the poor worried male beside her.

(Y/N) had developed a rare respiratory illness when they were younger. The young lady would always end up having long painful attacks in the middle of fighting making Erwin concerned about her well-being at all times.

He wouldn't want to loose his only childhood friend; the only one who never thought of him as a weirdo, the only one who had always listened to his every opinion and rant about his late father's theories.

More so, he had seen how tortured the look on her [c] face was as she gasped for breathe with such difficulty.

It was the blonde's nightmare, it was something he couldn't bare watching. He could watch his comrades get eaten by Titans again and again but would later get used to this however the sight of his good friend's cruel torment was something he would never be used to.

Keeping his blue hues gaze ahead, his peripheral vision had never left (Y/N)'s determined form as she zoomed through the forest with the whole squad.

Slashing another Titan, Erwin's eyes widened in fear as his peripheral saw how his [c] haired friend stopped midair grasping her chest.

When had she gotten so far?

Erwin zoomed and almost used half of his gas in order to catch her falling figure yet the action proved to be a futile attempt. Watching her small figure fell hard to the ground rendering her unconscious.

"(Y/N)!" he yelled as he let himself fall as his cables supported his body down, failing to notice an incoming Titan.

Their squad leader noticing this, yelled, giving an order to the nearest before him:

"Muller! Prevent Smith from reaching the ground!"

The assigned soldier then grabbed the blonde from the collar making Erwin shout in protest.

"NO! CAPTAIN! (L/N)'S STILL ALIVE!"

"That was a 20 meter fall! No one can survive that!"

"She's having her attack--"

"Smith just give it up! Allot of soldiers' lives had also been sacrificed--!"

"No Captain she's still alive!"

Erwin was shouting in rage now as he figured a way to escape his comrade's grasp.

His eyes then looked at where her figure was making him struggle harder seeing a Titan now approaching her motionless body. His comrade was practically hugging him now in an attempt to stop the blonde from risking his life for the fallen woman.

Suddenly a figure of a woman dashed in action retrieving (Y/N)'s unconscious body.

'Hange!'

"You promised me you'd protect her!" now flying her way to the woman in her arms' Squad, Hange shouted at the Blonde.

It was a rare sight to witness Hange so serious, but now was one of those instances.

Glaring at Erwin she flew away, (Y/N) in her arms, her eyes searching the wagon for the injured. Erwin staring with helplessness at the brunette's back.

A day after that, (Y/N) had woken up to a paper of resignation lying flat on her nightstand and two of her good friends begging her to sign it.

Yet once again, it was another futile attempt.

"Did they seriously receive no private exclusive trainings before this?!!" Hange excitedly shouted as she shook (Y/N)'s body along.

But was surprised at how frail and weak it seemed as her body moved with no constraint making Hange stop her actions. Looking worriedly at the female beside her.

"I'm sorry. Long night yesterday!" the [c] haired woman explained witha toothy grin.

"Your breathing... Your breathing is off!" Hange whisper shouted mindful of not letting Flagon who was standing beside them with some of his squad hear.

"I'm fine... It's just, that thing that you made that helped me breathe didn't work this morning, I wasn't able to nebulize myself." (Y/N) looked at her sheepishly.

"It's called Nebulizer. And why didn't you tell me or Erwin?" Hange asked narrowing her eyes. "I woke up late, I had no time to! I needed to be here for them right now, I want them to feel supported." the [c] haired female moved her gaze to Levi's form as he spiraled through air leaving not only a cut on the foam but also a crack on the makeshift Titan.

"Great Job!" (Y/N) cheered which Levi just dismissed flying further into the training grounds.

"I swear he'll have himself killed for that pathetic way of holding his blades." She heard Flagon murmur making her face the male and giving him a glare.

"Well then let's go, I'll fix it, you have to use it or else you'll get severe attacks at the end of the day!" Hange pulled but (Y/N) just stayed in place.

"Hange please... I need to be here."

"Is this so importa--"

"Yes Hange, so please... I promise I won't do anything to worsen my condition." she asked staring at the brunette straight in the eyes, making her sigh and once again stand beside her as they watch Levi's figure from afar.

"You said you had no time but you were able to braid your hair." Hange snickered making (Y/N) scratch her head smiling.

"I needed to look normal 'else Erwin will notice something's off, so you better help me out!" she laughed making Hange smirk at her friend's silliness.

"Betcha' will! In one condition! Help me get close with your squaaad!" Hange pleaded in a childlike manner, brown eyes almost twinkling.

"I can't even get close to Ackerman myself, but maybe with Isabel and Farlan." she said making Hange slump her face lowly.

"He does act like he's the boss doesn't he?"

"You bet!"

Landing with a swift maneuver, Levi walked closer to the group of veterans with his all so bored expression.

"I'm done right?" he asked eyeing his Squad Leader making it clear that he was only asking her and would not want to hear anyone answering than her.

Smiling she placed two thumb ups "Great Job! You were able to finish everything in an hour, it's supposed to be a day long exercise but I guess not anymore. You're free for the day."

"Tch" was his only reply as he stated walking away passing the small group in a brusque manner.

"(Y/N)! You shouldn't do that! He's still a rookie he needs mor--" Flagon started to lecture but was dismissed by a friendly wave.

"He's done enough than any rookie could ever have, he deserves it." which made the ash haired Captain grumble in frustration.

Levi who was not too far away heard this and it made his hatred for the Survey Corps-- except her-- grow more. He was actually starting to trust the young Captain.

"And Commander!" she called out.

Scratch that 'except her'.

Levi stopped in his tracks as his Squad Leader called out, making him mentally hate himself for acknowledging the title.

"Make sure to tell Farlan that he'll be having his individual training today instead of tomorrow." it was because Levi finished earlier than expected.

Not even giving a nod, the onyx haired male started walking again, soft clicks coming from his boots as they reach the cobbled ground. Taking this as his way of complying to her request she turned to face Flagon and Hange who were talking amongst each other.

"So this was what Erwin meant." Flagon murmured making Hange squeal in delight, her face turning redder because of excitement.

"With them! With them we can capture more Titans to experiment on! More abnormals!" Hange exclaimed as she kept on murmuring uncontrollably.

Flagon who was staring at Hange with such unease then cleared his throat as if to return his composure. Looking at the young woman beside him he started:

"I'm relieved they didn't have to be placed in my squad, I wouldn't be able to handle them, especially Ackerman, but you do seem to manage them well."

"Oh, In my opinion though, what they need are people who understands the hell they've been through, those who wouldn't look down on them, and as their Captain I'm only doing my job to take good care of my Squad." (Y/N) stated as Flagon hung his head both in deep thought and guilt.

No wonder many of the new recruits begged to be placed under her.

"Captain!" showing himself in front of the veterans, Farlan had made sure that he had done the most proper salute he had ever done, much to Flagon's surprise.

Smiling kindly the young captain then explained how the training will be executed, relieved that she didn't have to practically explain anything to the bright recruit infront of her she heaved a small sigh. She wouldn't be able to make it without collapsing if she were to.

"I'll start now!" Farlan declared as he took use of his Maneuvering Gear as if it was as easy as breathing.

(Y/N) stared as the figure flew away, as usual, Erwin was once again winning his small gamble. These newcomers are even better than other captains if she were to say. Though she took note of how they use too much gas.

As her jet black eyes watched in awe as Farlan took over Titan dummy after Titan dummy, her sight suddenly wavered.

Blinking in order to block the small form of weakness, she focused on regulating her breathes more.

'I wasn't even doing anything than to stand... '

Eyeing Hange, (Y/N) was relieved to have her too engrossed on Farlan and Levi's ability on 'capturing abnormals'.

Stepping a step backwards in order to not be seen on the brunette's peripheral, this was when she started to heave larger inhales and exhales.

She can do this, she doesn't have to let Hange know. She can take care of herself.

Yet her thoughts were proved wrong as she unexpectedly stumbled backwards and her breathe suddenly halts in a hitch. Everything was a blur and the last thing (Y/N) remembered was Hange's face as she asked the brunette of one final request before blacking out:

"Don't let them know..."

"Shit... You're already struggling and you're still thinking about them." Hange murmured as she placed (Y/N)'s head on her lap checking her pulse.

Flagon who had no idea of what was happening, attempted to help the brunette only to have his hand swapped away.

"Call Erwin, now." a dead serious Hange commanded making Flagon shout a series of orders to his squad who were now standing idly by the corner.

Farlan who was looking for his last Titan cutout had noticed the commotion and instantly turned his attention to the slowly forming crowd.

The blonde, however wasn't able to comprehend the situation, he couldn't even see the focus of every one within the crowd of soldiers.

Not when he suddenly saw a familiar figure running into the seen. It was Erwin!

Farlan watched as the blonde captain jammed himself through the crowd. It made him even more curious now seeing Erwin himself trying to get involved in the commotion.

Now entirely forgetting about his prior activity, Farlan flew once again to the surface of the makeshift forest, trying to get a better view.

Yet was left stunned as he watched as Erwin embraced a woman's unconscious body within his arms carrying her out of the scene, a woman no other than..

"Captain...?"

END OF CHAPTER V ANOMITAFICS

When The Heart Beats Masterlist   <----------CHAPTERS HERE!

[storieswrought-a]

falling in love was never part of the plan.

when ivan first contacted him, lured him into becoming a sleeper in hawai'i, ethan didn't think all that much about it and accepted. sleepers rarely got activated unless it was something really big, and what's the biggest thing that could happen on o'ahu? a terrorist attack on pearl harbour? what were the chances of that? wtna still accepted, moved to the aloha state, found himself a nice flat to live in and a steady job in his profession at king's medical center. it wasn't until he met juliet, when she became one of his patients, that he received a call from ivan who had informed him that his duty as sleeper has been activated. he was to bring juliet to him so she could be used as leverage against magnum.

the first few dates were purposefully held in public. ethan was as charming as ever, tried to woo her on every step, impress her, lure her into trusting him easily and she did. ethan gained her trust all too easily, which meant that he could start suggesting dates that were on somewhat remote locations, far away from public eye and far away from magnum, and juliet agreed. it was too perfect, too good to be true, and he would do it, if he didn't fall in love.

falling in love was never part of the plan, but it happened. it happened so fast that he didn’t know where to start. ethan found himself to be absolutely smitten with juliet, so much that it hurt even thinking about hurting her, kidnapping her just so ivan could get to magnum so much easier. at first her refused, which resulted in two large guys showing up at his door, giving him a proper thrashing. ethan tried to hide it as best as he could, even lied to juliet that he had caught some illness just so she wouldn’t see him in that state. the second time he refused, things got more serious. not only did ivan threaten to kill juliet, he also threatened to kill his family, his parents and little sister on the mainland, and just to make his point come across as serious, ethan was sent images of snipers being positioned at his parents’ house and at his sister’s apartment. it had him change his mind, unwillingly so. maybe there would be a way to make things right, to get juliet out of there before any harm would befall her, or thomas for that matter. still, there was little he could do right then and there.

the date he set up for them, or better said, the location of it, was thoroughly planned. ethan made sure that the lookout over o’ahu would be empty, not a single soul around, and he organized catering up there as well, a wonderful dinner with wine, candlelight, just everything spot on and perfect, which made it all the more difficult to do what he had to.

they opted for looking over the entire city after dinner, which provided ethan with a perfect opening. he had a bat hidden under the table, having gone there prior to picking juliet up, so he quietly reached for it before walking over to her. placing a gentle kiss on her cheek from behind, the grip on the bat tightening just a little bit. 

❝ i’m so sorry. ❞ was all that left his lips in a whisper before he swung the bat, rendering her unconscious.

@jxhiggins     /     ethan shah

[favvnsongs]

Kinda sorta went through the cry little sister tagged and. I’m very. Intrigued. Like ohhhh? I didn’t know this was a thing that I needed??

oof god listen okay I dont know how much of this is gonna be coherent but I just.... really really love this stupid au it's so fun and aesthetically pleading and I mean you know me, i live all day every day in the dumpster it's my permanent mailing address.

no but ooof yes adora and co making the really hard decision to leave catra behindddd after she saves glimmer. surely prime will torture and kill her before they're able to get there. surely they wont be able to rescue her and get out alive. surely trying to save her would render her sacrifice to save glimmer a waste. they leave her behind. it hurts. it hurts and adora hates herself but she gets it. she gets the rationale of it all. she hopes that catra will understand how fucking sorry she is.

but prime doesnt torture her. or kill her. catra has potential. catra has promise? catra has so much pain and anger and hurt and suffering and sadness in her? he can see it even without having to look in her head??

catra is an asset.

also fuck canon I dont bother with canon lmfao. catra isn't chipped against her will. and there's a few different types of chips anyways. no but. no oof just. the light, the pure proper true version of the light is the absence of pain and doubt and suffering? grief and resentment and bitterness and spite and guilt and self loathing? worthlessness? those feelings that she's been carrying around for years? her whole life? theyve been in her chest since she was small? every little cruelty from shadow weaver or thoughtless comment from adora? every time she's been left behind? every failure? this heavy dark awful rot within her? and she's shoved it so far down and pretended that it was blinding bright petty anger instead? but that's only ever done more harm than good. she's only ever done more harm than good her whole life. she's destroyed everything she's ever touched and everyone who's ever possibly maybe liked her or loved her or tolerated her, she's pushed them away and made them hate her? no home no place no purpose?

she's fine with dying. she's okay with it. far from home and it's all her own fault and she's got no one to blame but herself. a cold dark cell and she's so sad and tired down to her bones and she's okay with dying. adora hates her but maybe she hates her just a fraction less now that she's got her super forever bestie glimmer back.

gosh but. when a clone comes to get her? she isnt tortured. and she isnt chipped. and she isnt killed?

she meets with prime and they take a walk? along the corridors of the upper decks of the velvet glove? more windows looking out onto the vast expanse of the cosmos than not? trillions upon trillions of stars? strolling along in silence at first? he seems so at ease? and of course he is, always at ease. always relaxed. always in charge. she tries to mirror that calm but the twitch swish of her tail gives her away despite herself.

"what do you want."

"you seem so lost, catra" he says? which. she gives him this look. this. the fuckre you talking about, kinda look.

"in your heart, child," he clarifies, "lost and in so much pain."

she doesnt like how sympathetic he sounds, bullshit ass fucking liar. she knows not to scoff though. not to roll her eyes or make some punk ass little shit comment. something in her is telling her it'd be ill advised.

"yeah, well."

"you were under the impression I was going to kill you. you'd accepted it. perhaps, catra, you were glad for it."

fuck.

she wont look at him. she wants to deflect it. deny it. lie. but she's so tired. she's been so tired for so long.

adora isnt coming to get her. she'd told adora not to come and get her. she's made adora's life a nightmare for years now. she told them to stay away.

she just maybe thought. maybe wanted. maybe hoped..

stupidly foolishly selfishly

that she'd be worthy of being rescued anyway. worthy of the attempt.

she's so tired.

"there is nothing left for you down there catra, is there. you've destroyed everything you've ever touched, isn't that what you told glimmer? you drove everyone away."

she just wants to belong somewhere. she just wants to have a place. she just -

he touches her? reaches out and caresses the side of her head? a tender sympathetic touch, calls her a poor lost wayward soul.

she drops like a stone to her knees? eyes wide and tearing up. sucking in ragged breaths. the most overwhelmed noises. she doesn't hurt. realizing she's never known what it's felt like to not hurt. to not be tired. to not have such dark pressing suffocating despair like an infected wound in her chest.

as quickly as it went, it returns. she doubles over wailing. clutching her hands to her chest, sobbing, begging, take it away again, please.

but he tells her that the light is meant for those who truly, really truly whole heartedly want to walk the path. who want to be loyal. devoted. reverent.

cupping her cheek and thumbing away her tears? he'll guide her from the darkness and into the light. all she has to do is be willing to follow.