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unfortunate-arrow · 2 years

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𝐒𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 | hphm minor character profile

Warnings: Mentions of death and a fatal car crash

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Sawyer Jacob Fitzgerald

Nicknames: Fitz, Fitzy

Name Meanings: Sawyer → English, “woodcutter” ; Jacob → Hebrew, “supplanter” ; Fitzgerald → Irish, “son of the spear mighty.”

Date of Birth: October 23, 1967

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual

Blood Status: Muggleborn

Nationality: Irish

✧ APPEARANCE & VOICE ✧

Faceclaim: Logan Lerman

Height: 5’10”

Build: Average

Hair: Black hair that’s kept short neat, but it begins to gray prematurely after he is released from the portrait vault

Eye Color: Blue

Defects & Modifications: Sawyer gained six scars from the Cursed Vaults and the second wizarding war.

Style: Jeans ; t-shirts ; jackets ; sneakers ; trousers ; plaid shirts ; sweaters

Voiceclaim: Logan Lerman

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: ISFJ — the defender

“ISFJs are conventional and grounded, and enjoy contributing to established structures of society. They are steady and committed workers with a deep sense of responsibility to others. They focus on fulfilling their duties, particularly when they are taking care of the needs of other people. They want others to know that they are reliable and can be trusted to do what is expected of them. They are conscientious and methodical, and persist until the job is done.” 1

Positive Traits: Intelligent, curious, hardworking, caring, compassionate, dependable, kind-hearted, organized, observant, supportive, reliable

Neutral Traits: Protective, loyal, just, fair, practical, enthusiastic, reserved, confident, stubborn, charming, imaginative

Negative Traits: Tends to repress his emotions, tends to avoid personal confrontations, overly humble, tends to take things personally, tries to do things on his own

Interests & Hobbies: Reading, history, archeology, photography, football/soccer, flying, quidditch, myths and legends

✧ MAGIC ✧

Wand: Sawyer’s wand is made of English oak wood and a phoenix tail feather core and is 11 inches with an unyielding flexibility.

“A wand for good times and bad, this was a friend as loyal as the wizard who deserved it. Wands of English oak demanded partners of strength, courage, and fidelity.” 2

Patronus: Badger

Boggart: His younger brother’s dead body.

Riddikulus: His brother gets up and starts doing an Irish dance.

Amortentia:

Sawyer smells like spearmint, cedar wood, chocolate, and cayenne.

Sawyer smells floral perfume, spicy cologne, fish & chips, and old books.

✧ HOGWARTS ✧

House: Hufflepuff

Best Subjects: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes, History of Magic

Worst Subjects: Herbology, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures

Extracurriculars: Seeker on his house quidditch team for two years

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry ; Gringotts Wizarding Bank

Professions:

Age 22 to 26 - Apprentice cursebreaker

Age 26 to 58 - Cursebreaker

Age 58 to 75 - Head Cursebreaker at Gringotts

✧ RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Parents: Nicholas Charles “Nick” Fitzgerald [deceased, 1940-1978] & Elizabeth Clara Fitzgerald née O’Dowd [deceased, 1940-1978]

Both teachers, Nick and Elizabeth met during an American literature course and they became fast friends. They married in 1965 and welcomed their first child, Sawyer Jacob, in 1967. Five years later, they welcomed their second child, Huckleberry James, in 1972. Nick and Elizabeth adored their two sons, but unfortunately, they were both killed in a drunk driving crash when Sawyer was eleven.

Sawyer misses his mother and father like crazy. He loved them very much and knew that he could always count on them. He always wishes that he could talk to them more, especially during the Cursed Vaults debacle.

Faceclaims: Nick Zano & TBD

Brother: Huckleberry James “Huck” Fitzgerald

Born on November 28, 1972, Huck is five years younger than Sawyer. He started Hogwarts in 1984 and was sorted into Hufflepuff. Like Sawyer, Huck began to look into the Cursed Vaults and Sawyer’s disappearance.

Sawyer adores his little brother. He’s very protective over his little brother and sometimes struggles to accept that Huck is no longer an eleven-year-old. He never wanted to leave the Cursed Vaults for Huck and hated that his little brother was left to clean up Sawyer’s mess.

Faceclaim: Asa Butterfield

Uncle and Aunt: Martin Phillip Fitzgerald and Evelyn Thora “Eve” Fitzgerald née Murray

After his parents’ deaths, Sawyer and Huck were placed in custody of their aunt, Eve, and uncle, Martin. Martin and Eve graciously agreed to take on their nephews and adored the boys, treating them as if they were their own children.

Sawyer appreciates his aunt and uncle. He hates that he scared them when they disappeared. However, Sawyer does struggle to let his aunt and uncle in, especially when he stumbles upon the Cursed Vaults and gets deeply involved.

Faceclaims: Paul Rudd & TBD

Cousin: Vera Jane Fitzgerald

Vera is Sawyer’s younger cousin. She does not have magic but does attend a boarding school. She goes on to become a linguist.

Vera is like a younger sister to Sawyer. He isn’t there much, but he does adore her and treats her like a sister. Sawyer and Vera get along very well.

Faceclaim: Zoey Deutch

Friends: Duncan Ashe ; Olivia Green

Pets: None

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Hometown: Dublin, Ireland

Pre-Hogwarts Childhood:

Sawyer Jacob Fitzgerald was born on October 23, 1967 to Nick and Elizabeth Fitzgerald in Dublin, Ireland. The first five years of his life were stable and full of love.

Then his baby brother, Huckleberry James was born on November 28, 1972. Sawyer was immediately entranced and fascinated by his new brother. He took his new job as big brother and protector very, very seriously. The six years that followed were the same stability and love that Sawyer had known all his life.

That changed in an instant one summery evening. The Fitzgerald family were involved in a deadly car crash, which killed Nick and Elizabeth instantaneously. Their two sons were injured and merely knocked unconscious.

Sawyer woke up in the hospital two days after the accident. He had escaped with only a few nicks, a broken wrist and a concussion, which left him in slightly better shape than his little brother.

The brothers were then placed in the custody of their father’s brother, Martin and his wife, Eve. They were joined with their cousin, Vera.

Hogwarts Years:

The same year as the accident, Sawyer received his Hogwarts letter. He was extremely reluctant to attend, after what had just happened but he eventually acquiesced to attending the school.

Sawyer spent most of his first year in a daze of astonishment and grief, diligently writing to his little brother every other day.

His second year was smoother as much of the grief had been put into its place. Some lingered, but it didn’t consume him. In fact, the grief had made him come out on the other side stronger.

His third year found him discovering the Cursed Vaults and that they were more than just legends. Sawyer then found himself getting more and more absorbed in the mystery of the Cursed Vaults.

That curiosity came to head when he was in his fifth year. After taking his OWLs, Sawyer mysteriously disappeared. There was no trace of him anywhere. It seemed that his catalyst had been the death of Duncan Ashe.

Adulthood:

It would be five years before Sawyer was found, trapped in the portrait vault by his little brother. Once he was released, Sawyer attempted to forbid Huck from continuing with the foolhardy quest. It didn’t work, and a year later, Sawyer reluctantly agreed to let his brother help.

After the Vaults are finally put to rest, Sawyer takes some time to travel and find himself. However, in that time, Voldemort begins his rise to power and Sawyer is sucked back into that world.

During the war, Sawyer runs a small safe house, mainly catering to young muggleborns escaping persecution. He had settled it in an abandoned-looking thatched roof cottage in the Irish countryside.

After the war, Sawyer begins to get his happy ending, eventually marrying and having a kid or two.

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧

Trivia:

Sawyer is named after Tom Sawyer, the Mark Twain character. His younger brother was named after the character of Huck Finn.

Sawyer was a hatstall between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Ultimately, the hat put him into Hufflepuff.

Sawyer is an animagus. He takes the form of an Irish setter.

In many ways, Sawyer is a bit of a foil for my other iteration of Jacob, Cian O’Donnell

Important Links:

Sawyer’s tag

The Sawyer Jacob tag

#sawyer fitzgerald #sawyer jacob fitzgerald #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm character profile #my aesthetic #my character profile #hphm jacob #here’s huck’s big brother!!#hphm minor oc #minor oc

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xz1005fanblog · 3 years

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2021-02-27 Some things I want to say

WARNING LONG POST

Context first, translation of his post above will follow:

Disclaimer: I have no interest in other artists other than Xiao Zhan, and I am merely explaining the situation of the fandom in China that led us to the fiasco in March 2020. I do not care for bjyx, I ship WangXian but I do not ship real people as a basic principle.

My opinion as an international fan of Xiao Zhan and as an AO3 user (yes, I am not Chinese nor do I live in China, I just happen to be able to read Chinese) is that C-entertainment industry is TOXIC and celebrities are not free targets for you to cyberbully. They are human just like you and me.

Everyone needs to learn a bit more about compassion.

I am sure all of you read about the cyberbullying Xiao Zhan went through last year. There were multiple factors that started all of this, most of which XZ doesn’t talk about in this letter because of how sensitive the topic is in China. I’ve never explained entirely what happened because I personally thought that this is not something overseas fans should worry too much about. Especially since most of you don’t have a wb or db account, there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. But since Xiao Zhan himself decided to post a letter to respond to this subject, I’ll put in my 2 cents just that so everyone is on the same page.

Basically, after The Untamed aired in China, the show fandom split into 3 groups. XZ fans, WYB fans, and CP fans (or bjyx, whatever you wish to call it, those who love shipping these two real people together - not just the characters in the drama). Of course there are still people who would watch the show without becoming a fan of the actors.

At the beginning, most people thought they were good friends with each other, with all the short BTS clips from The Untamed. However, fans slowly discovered that it wasn’t the case. Some unofficial BTS clips emerged where WYB said XZ was shooting multiple dramas at the same time = 轧戏 (which is very frowned upon and a disrespectful thing to say to an actor), whereas in reality, XZ only asked for a couple of days days off during the shooting for The Untamed because his scenes in Joy of Life had to be redone and he was bound by contract. On the contrary, WYB had to ask for most weekends off because he was participating in Produce 101 at the time. Other clips shows them fighting about somethings WYB said about WWX, which made XZ mad. So this broke a lot of CP fans’ image of their relationship, and they either stopped shipping/became XZ or WYB fans only. This angered WYB’s fans, of course, which made them blame XZ for the entire fiasco.

Other incidents continued to happen after the show which increased the friction between these 3 fan groups. XZ fans and WYB fans would fight about various voting charts, and fight with CP fans because they don’t like seeing the two actors together. In the meantime, CP fans continuously feminize and weaken XZ in order to ship the 2 actors together (it’s rather an unhealthy trend in China, I’ve been in multiple other western fandoms before - not real person shipping - but we rarely glorify weakening/feminizing the bottom of a ship, because of the underlying prejudice against real homosexuals, who are not synonymous to transgenders).

Some incidents added oil to the fire afterwards. It’ll take me too long to explain everything, so I’ll just put here the main ones to explain why there’s so much bad blood between these 3 groups of fans.

On XZ’s birthday, some CP fans found XZ’s parents’ apartment building and yelled BJYX is real. This angered a lot of XZ fans, because of how disrespectful it was towards the old couple and the clear breach of privacy. WYB fans and some CP fans were also angry that XZ didn’t reply immediately to the birthday wish on wb that WYB sent at midnight (??? XZ was busy shooting a drama, can you blame him for not being on wb at midnight? Give the guy a break.)

In November 2019, WYB filed a lawsuit against some of XZ’s fans (instead against of his own haters!) for dissing him (although I’ve never seen any proof, and a few of those fans remain active on wb now, one of whom has even defended WYB's portrayal of LWJ before...). This angered a lot of XZ fans and CP fans who didn’t understand how he could have done this to his “friend”, and further proved that their relationship wasn’t that fantastic to begin with. WYB fans felt justified in hating XZ and all XZ fans as a result, and openly bullied XZ fans on the grounds of the Nanking CQL Concert.

In January, The Untamed was named to Beijing Journal Drama award. CP fans and WYB fans were unhappy that XZ was named to the Best Male Lead category and WYB was named to the Best Male 2nd Lead. They attacked the award committee wb by spam commenting all their wb posts and the entire drama was pulled from the nomination afterward. XZ fans were especially angry that they started all this only for the nomination to be pulled out - because the only possibility was one Male Lead per drama, and anyone would agree that if chosen between WWX and LWJ, the character with the most scenes and importance in the story is WWX.

Yadda yadda yadda, fast forward to February 2020, it started with a fanfiction written by a CP fan that depicted XZ as a prostitute transgender woman and WYB as a highschool kid (UNDERAGE) = AKA very sensitive material in China. It was posted on AO3, but the author posted the link of said fic on wb and a lot of CP fans broadcasted it around, so much that XZ fans became aware of it. Due to how sensitive the material is and how badly it would taint XZ’s image for his future roles, some XZ fans started reporting the wb post that contained the link (NOT AO3) and the author’s wb page. This is common practice in fandom on wb, usually done to get the wb posts taken down. This caused panic in the CP fans crowd because they thought XZ fans were reporting AO3 and that they were gonna lose the website (which is impossible, because AO3′s servers are in Sweden and not subject to Chinese laws anyway).

Because of how sensitive AO3 was in China and how haters tried to pull in antigovernmental into their crowds, the subject quickly became too dangerous for XZ fans to get involved in. Official fan groups in China unanimously decided to ask all fans to stop participating in the online debate and stay within the fan group circle only.

Someone on AO3 made a commentary about this incident that you can find here. She dug up a lot of info on the companies feeding money to the trolls online, but as I am an overseas fan and cannot really verify her info, I will not comment on those statements.

Sometime in the middle of this fiasco, someone started spreading the notion that XZ fans hated fanfiction and were trying to report anything that goes against their image of their idol... And subsequently people who were not CP fans or XZ fans became aware of this problem when they couldn’t access AO3 suddenly because too much curious fans where trying to access it and they crashed the servers. However later on, people could access the website without any problems. I am not personally in China right now so I can’t verify these claims of the website being walled or not for real, but I know from various reliable sources that on March 1st it was only an overload of the server, and people could still access afterwards.

With this however, haters (which include previous CP fans, WYB fans, and other idol’s fans) attacked XZ for not telling his fans to stop reporting, for not saying anything. They attacked XZ’s endorsements and spammed hate speech on the products he was promoting. They would rate 1 star in all his dramas and songs on db, and then buy accounts to further rate 1 stars (yes that thing exists in China, everything can be bought in China, don’t ask me why.) The reason why I believe that all this wasn’t coincidental, is that barely the day after the fiasco started, someone posted on db the exact list of all his sponsorships, detailing exactly who to call to protest, what words to spam in the comment sections of various official brands’ wb accounts. This entire thing was too well planned to be just a normal fandom fight.

Whether it was other actors’ fans who organized this to cut down competition, we will probably never know for sure. The following year was laden with fake rumors, hate speech blasting from multiple directions. They attacked his personality, saying that his polite manners are just for show (when the reality is that he has always been a gentleman even when he wasn’t popular). They attacked XZ for faking donations to Wuhan, forcing him to show his donation certificate to prove himself. One of his friends couldn’t stand the cyberbullying anymore and revealed publicly that his grandfather recently passed away (the date on this drawing is 2020.03.03, he couldn’t post this last year).

His friend defending him from the cyberbullies, saying that he had plenty of reasons to stay silent. That his grandfather passed away recently and his family has been planning his funeral.

(Sources also said that his mother was hospitalized a few days afterwards. And that haters went to his mother’s hospital to harass her and her nurses)

Haters saying that XZ is using his grandfather’s death to excuse himself (??? is he not allowed to grieve like a normal person???)

Haters wishing that XZ becomes depressed from the cyberbullying and kills himself, wishing that he was dead, wishing that his fans were dead too. Photoshopping his picture into a funeral portrait to curse him

Haters admitting they are cyberbullying XZ, but rejoicing in the fact that they are so many so XZ can’t sue all of them. They have also reported his upcoming dramas for various reasons just so they cannot be aired.

The airplane incident I’ve already talked about here.

A picture antis made to diss on XZ fans: AO3 can be still accessed even if it’s walled, Lofter can be still access even if it’s taken down from the app store. Your gege’s picture are still accessible even if he died.

I’ve only posted here the tamest screenshots, there are far worst ones that I won’t be posting because the amount of vitriol give me nausea just looking at them.

In all this fiasco, antis gave him the tag of “idol who didn’t manage his fans well”. But Xiao Zhan never thought fans needed to be trained, he thought of them like normal people, and their love, something to be treasured and not used. But some people in China still blamed his fans for starting all this mess, and partly him and his studio for not being able to stop it.

Below is the translation for XZ’s letter, posted on the wb post above

Some Things I Want To Say

Today, I have something to say to everyone. I’ve thought of a lot of ways to do this, but in the end, I chose the simplest way to tell everyone about all my feelings and thoughts in the past year. These opinions, maybe they won’t be able to represent anything, nor won’t they be able to change anything, but I still wish to say this today.

On this day last year, the incident happened very quickly, as if a bomb exploded on my face - endless phone calls, never ending message notifications, everyone’s opinions and questions came in like a tsunami. I wanted to say something back then, but I didn’t know what exactly. I was apprehensive of making a statement, afraid that one wrong word, or one wrong sentence would be taken the wrong way and end up adding oil to the fire. This is why at that time, I chose not to say anything.

I never thought that the online fighting would grow bigger and bigger like an avalanche, getting larger crowds involved, and gradually leaving one person’s control. Even though afterwards I made repeated statements to make amends, it could not develop as I wished it to anymore.

This life filled with broken protests and tumultuous noise continued to this day. And I felt I was going through a very dark and never ending tunnel. Unrest, ruminations, turmoil... I have also asked myself what did I do wrong exactly, why did everything after that day became as if it were an uncontrollable vessel.

I spent a lot of time to digest, and then spent a lot of time to understand, understand everyone’s words and actions. Slowly, I started to understand what everyone was criticizing about me personally. The moment that I chose not to say anything, I lost that window of opportunity to reason with everyone. So I was wrong, from the very beginning.

At that time, I wasn’t yet able to clearly understand the entire incident, to understand everyone’s feelings, nor did I know what kind of responsibility I had to carry as a public figure. Thus, I missed that opportunity to communicate with everyone, and wasn’t able to withstand the responsibility of letting these antagonizing feelings grow. Now, I can clearly recognize that throughout this year, this criticism that everyone had against me of “Idol Who Lost Its Voice”, was correct. During this year I reflected upon this repeatedly, as a public figure, I have to not only improve myself within the boundaries of my profession, but also have to carry the social responsibility that comes with my influence. To influence those who like me, who follow me, towards the right worldviews within my capacity. Even though my studio and I have already expressed some opinions through wb and interviews, but scars that this incident that brought such antagonistic emotions between different circles are still difficult to heal.

No matter how late, my own problem has to be corrected. I would like to express my first comment: Xiao Zhan, would like to apologize for “losing voice” towards those who have been affected by this incident. This is my first responsibility towards the public, face the problem and admit my faults.

Also, I would like to use this opportunity to speak with my fans. This is my second responsibility. In one of my interviews last year, I have said, I do not really agree with “managing” my fans (some celebs in China have hired people to manage fan groups in order for them to behave in certain ways for their purposes. Antis tried to spread the false rumor that XZ also had those people and that they directed their fans to start this mess), because everyone is an individual. No matter my studio nor myself, we do not have the authority to “manage” them like some would manage workers in a company. Afterwards, I reflected many times, maybe I cannot use the word “manage” to define my relationship with my fans, but I do have the responsibility to “correctly influence, and actively advocate”. So today, I would like to tell my fans, everyone has the right to like or hate something, and it should be respected and allowed within their own space. Of course this right should be reasonable, should not hurt anyone else, and remain within the boundaries of the correct values and norms. I hope my fans and friends can understand that no matter which profession, no matter what age, one’s own preferences or actions should not cross the line for one’s professional ethics or disrespect basic principles.

(Here he is referring to reports of teachers using his name in class or asking children to say his name to cheer for him. This is a problem that occurred also with other celebrities in China, and for which he has already expressed himself previously.)

No matter online or in real life, everyone should be responsible for their own words. I also hope that we are not represented tags like “xx’s fans”, that we do not set this as the basis of where we stand on a topic nor do we let this determine what’s right or wrong. Everyone have their own hobbies and interest, respect everyone’s choice and freedom of speech. No matter whether they like me or hate me is their own right. Passion, this should be a source of strength to everyone, I do not wish for it to consume or hurt anyone. Perhaps I cannot change this kind of environment, but at least for you and me, today is a new start point.

At last, I would like to talk a bit about myself. Ever since I came into this field, until today, I have always been defined by some tags. But the reason why I originally stepped into this circle was my passion for performance and music. And this is why, I will keep working on becoming a better actor and singer. The sudden criticism of “having lost voice” made me realize that, other than what I have always focused on professionally, I have to also be able to carry the responsibility of a public figure and an idol. I was born in a normal family in Chong Qing, and have lived a normal life, like many other people, for more than twenty years. Today I will also use this opportunity to apologize for the words I have said before as a normal person (I’ve already talked about it here), for the people I have inadvertently hurt. As I work hard on studying to become a better person, I will try to become a better “public figure”, so that these two Xiao Zhan can blend in together, for a better self.

This past year, no matter big or small, I have to be responsible for the incidents that happened because of me. I can demand this for myself, but I have no right to force it on other people, so I can only hope that those who really like me can really listen to me: please be a bit more reasonable for things outside of personal preferences. Live a healthy life, put more time and energy onto one’s real life, and less on the senseless fighting behind fake IDs and unreliable online world. Only to become a better self.

(Here he’s referring to an online fight that an anti called 晨小晨 started. I’ve already explained a bit here. #微博管理员回应晨小晨事件# )

Sorry for any grammar errors, this post was really long to make and I didn’t proofread. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to translate the entire thing for overseas fans since you don’t understand the entire context, and because I wanted my wb records collection tag to be complete, I felt I had to... and I got carried away trying to explain everything. Tried to summarize it as much as I could.

As a fan of Xiao Zhan and also an AO3 user, I would still like to apologize for how this bullshi*t ended up disrupting respectful and peaceful users of AO3. The Untamed tag did not contain hate fics before all of this happened, it is unfortunate that a place where there used to be only love, ended up being tainted by antis and haters.

To the anonymous person who asked me a few months ago if I supported bjyx, this is my answer: You have the right to like whatever you want within your own corner, as long as it doesn’t bother anyone else and isn’t against basic principles. I ship WangXian as characters from a novel, but I have never liked RPS as a principle.

#肖战 #肖战xiaozhan #xiao zhan #xiaozhan #zhan xiao #sean xiao #wb records collection #bjyx #i hate fandom fighting #in the end he chose to say sorry #for the innocent people dragged into this #and for the innocent fans #he chose to carry all the blame #even when none of it was his fault

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austennerdita2533 · 4 years

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A/N: My contribution to the KC New Year’s Day Exchange for the lovely Charlotte. (Modern P&Pish/The Hating Game AU + All Human + Romcom Tie-ins)

(AO3)(FF.net)

xx Ashlee Bree

(Spite) of Their Lives

For the past ten months, the routine has been this: Monday through Friday she avoids his eyes, claps back when he crosses a line at the office because it’s only a matter of time before he does something rash and destructive and she has to help fix it - again. Saturday she ignores his emails and text messages. A bevy of unreads she collects like bills, like love letters. However, not because she wants them or anything but so she has an excuse to ream him for his you can’t avoid the devil forever, sweetheart 😈 assholeness later. Like, come on, get a hobby. Or a girlfriend. Or a freaking life outside work already. Seriously. And Sunday…Sunday she reminds herself of all the reasons why he’s the biggest pain in the ass she’s ever met.

A right charming prick, really.

He’s the kind of man who, with a natural blend of arrogance, genteel good looks, cunning, money and rapier’s wit, knows just how to poke and pinch at every last nerve she harbors beneath her skin until she wants to scream. Until she does. Until she’s cursing the name Klaus Mikaelson before her first cup of coffee in the morning and after her last sip of wine before bed at night.

To call him a colleague is a stretch for Caroline. A big one. Let alone a friend, at least not in the conventional sense.

They clash more often than they collaborate on anything, after all: with him demanding speed and severity when it comes to finding ways to cut their competitors off at the neck; and her countering with options that preserve dignity, that allow for diplomacy as well as smooth transitions of power that begin and end with a cordial handshake. Theirs’ is a total conflict in tactic, in personality. A spark of opposition that means business—you know the type. It’s ugly courtesy mixed with innuendo that slides into begrudging respect twenty-four hours a day, fifty-two weeks of the year.

They’re opposites in every sense of the word, but it works.

Together they make for a surprisingly prosperous combination in the corporate world, and it’s one that just so happens to help them rake in diverse clients on top of big bucks revenue.

So where Klaus snarls at almost everyone, Caroline beams. Likewise, where she's poised and reliable in the midst of a crisis, he rages. Sometimes throws things. Expensive things. Once or twice at people’s heads, though that “rumor” lives in the Do Not Discuss Or Else vault with all of those shady concerns about certain members of his family.

Since she’s neither short on smiles nor sociability either, it follows that he tends to be gruff in comparison. Or as most other employees like to whisper, as grouchy as a wealthy Brit has any right to be.

Needless to say then, the muscular tick along his jaw is a measure of his mood. It’s a physical marker to watch for so one knows when it’s okay to broach a sensitive topic with him or when it’s smarter to bow out, zip it, lay low, waiting for a better time to tackle the issue at hand without any measure of solvency. Caroline’s become an expert at dissecting it. That little quirk. She knows precisely what to look for. Figured it out in matter of weeks. Not to boast or anything.

(Hint: the key is in the rapidity with which the tick comes, its root cause. Next comes deducing how long it’s likely to last. Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Calculate the potential damages. Then follow up accordingly.)

So now she knows to attack in the evenings, negotiate in the afternoons, and relent in the mornings. She’s learned what strategies to unleash on him and when.

Call it an Unwind the Big Bad Prick science, if you will. A crash course on all Mikaelson whims and asshole-isms.

The truth is Caroline’s not afraid to provoke him. To rattle him. She never has been, never will be.

She’ll call bullshit directly. to. his. smug. face. when he deserves a good tongue lashing or needs a simple lesson in civility, which just so happens to be much more often than one would think.

Summa cum laude honors, and unmatched organizational skills aside, she knows that’s one of the reasons why the Mikaelson siblings had Klaus hire her in the first place. She’s the hip check he needs. The temperate balance to his foul, distrusting moods and impulsivity.

There’s an entire arsenal of cutting glares at her disposal for him now. A challenge that sits on the tilt of her nose when they arrive somewhere simultaneously, both intent on being the first in the room. It doesn’t matter where it is, with whom they’re meeting, or why. The point is to compete…to be the one who’s holding the ace in her palm.

She aims to outsmart, outthink, and out win him in as many schemes as possible. In as many days, too, if she can swing it.

It’s how Caroline has come to carry arguments in the strum of her fingers. Wear them in the slight curl of her upper lip when they disagree. Her hair flip’s perfected, a real asset. A true silencer when she needs it to be. Like when he tries to pull rank or won’t listen to logic at all. (Which, again, happens more frequently than it should. May even prompt an eye roll or two. Sometimes three - you know, if the chip on his shoulder starts to burnish gold and he downshifts into being ruthless and impossible again.)

Not to mention the fact that her verbal comebacks slap harder than Klaus’s do since she smiles as she delivers them, the effect as disarming for him as it is satisfying for her—and oh, boy, can she sure deliver a line! Then watch as it lands like a whap across his cheek.

None of that has anything on the swivel of her heels, though. Or the sashay of her retreat which she enacts only once she’s successfully shaved him down a peg or two, knocking his ego back down to planet earth where it belongs. At least for the rest of the day.

It’s safe to expect that it’ll be back in tact by tomorrow - it always is - but she still lives for the dimpled purse of his mouth, anyway. That rough swallow of his Adam’s apple. The sag in his seat which precedes the defensive crossing of his arms that lets her know she’s one-upped him, and he’s impressed. Intrigued. Put out in a way that makes him borderline congratulatory…almost flirtatious, really.

(Except they can’t stand each other so she brushes the latter thought into the back of her brain where it can asphyxiate and die. Like - as soon as possible.)

A backward wave of her hand is the only thing Caroline leaves behind as her red-soled heels click down the hallway afterwards. Headed back toward her own office. Sometimes she steers toward the elevators afterwards because it’s late, because she now has something to gloat about on her ride home.

She prefers to abandon him when he’s at her mercy like that: stunned, speechless, reeling, his head still turning over her last competitive taunt.

It makes him look boyish even though he’s pushing thirty. Pleasantly caught. Not to mention a smidge more attractive than she wants him to be with those rumpled blond curls and abandoned tie, his sleeves cuffed up to the elbows.

Klaus seems to derive some kind of twisted satisfaction from the leveling of odds between them regardless. And why the hell not? So does she.

It’s adrenalizing, plain and simple. A grin always seems to snake its way onto their faces at the same moment. Win or lose. Every time.

Wrapped up in their little game of professional chess, though, Caroline is too full of plans and spite to worry over what that zing she feels between them means.

Klaus is fond of endearments. And he uses them.

A lot.

They tend to be ridiculous at best, his pet names, downright inappropriate at worst. And he knows it. Designs it so, his grin stretching wider at the edges while he gauges her reaction to his latest assignations.

They slide off his tongue freely, suggestively, relentlessly, until they’re an avalanche of “love,” “queenie,” “venomous cupcake,” “Care-ella de Ville” monikers that fly in her direction more often than not as they go toe-to-toe over some work issue or find themselves cloistered together in the Brainstorm Wing, alone, far too long to be considered tolerable.

He talks and teases. She mostly ignores it because she’s focused, determined - a freaking whiz at professionalism - though he does win a scoff every now and again over their electronics.

That’s simply the way it is between them. How it’s always been.

Occasionally Caroline will threaten to set his pants on fire or will offer to drown him in his most expensive bottle of bourbon for extra measure. Anything to shut him up. Anything to curb his persistent interruptions whenever they’re up to their elbows in files, arguing, warding off a loss before an important meeting or a deadline. But it never works. It never sticks.

Seriously, nothing phases him.

The man is either impervious to rebuff of any sort or his encouragement hinges on the one stupid traitorous blush (one!) that seems to accompany any glare Caroline fires in his direction. (A weakness she’s more than desperate to delete from her physiology.) His audacity is incredible to witness in person. Absolutely incredible.

Suspicion rankles in her gut because it’s as if Klaus has no other targets even when there are other associates present, which doesn’t make sense. It’s just her. Just this. Just endless time and opportunity to pun her to death.

Talk about sucks!

Can’t someone else be his designated prey instead? Why her? Why now? How’d she get to be so unlucky as to have to put up with him all the time?

Rifling through documents one evening in late November, forced to work in tandem per their boss and CEO, Elijah’s, request, the two of them nibble on Chinese takeout and work. Bicker. Pour over contracts. Plot strategy in the B-wing late into the morning hours.

“I know you’re loath to admit it, sunshine,” Klaus says with a yawn after they concoct a one-two punch right as the clock strikes three; it’s a killer solution on all fronts, “but you and I are good together. We make a formidable team.”

“Oh, stop with that.”

“Stop with what?”

“You know it annoys me,” she frowns. “Come on.”

“Annoys you? It was an observation, Caroline. I was under the impression those weren’t illegal.”

Tossing her iPad and color-coded notes aside, she runs a lazy hand through her hair before leveling him with a look, “I wasn’t talking about the team comment and you know it.”

“Weren’t you?”

“No.”

“Pity,” Klaus says with a sigh and a stretch, raking her over while amusement dances in his rimmed eyes. “I’d hoped we were on the same page for once.”

“Well, we’re not.”

“Clearly.”

“An apology would be welcome at this juncture, you know. I’m open to hearing one,” she suggests.

“An apology?” Caroline waits. Taps her monogrammed company pen on the table’s ledge. He smirks before unhooking another button at his collar and angles closer. “For what?”

With a huff, “We’ve talked about this and you can’t just—how dare you keep—I—”

“Yes?” Klaus doesn’t say it but another endearment hangs from his smirking lips. It waits to shoot her way any second. “Go on then. State your grievance with me.”

“There’s no point.”

“Why’s that?”

“You already know what it is,” she says.

“Do I now?”

Growing perturbed, she ignores the flutter in her belly under this intense scrutiny, his expression a mixture of steady, sarcastic, and softly admiring. “This whole conversation is ridiculous!”

“Fair point. Though, personally, I disagree.”

“You…” she says, fighting back a blush and a laugh then shaking her head, “you are the actual worst.”

“Funny. That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.”

“Perhaps not, sunshine,” he dimples, slumping back casually before interlocking his fingers behind his head, and sighs, “but I’ll take it as such anyway. Just this once.”

Caroline scowls. Flattens her lips. Mumbles something about “endearment harassment.” Resists another blush as well as the urge to strangle him before the paperwork for this deal is done.

Instead she decides to re-send him the Merriam Webster definitions of impertinent and dickhead from her phone again—you know, for clarity’s sake. Then she asks demurely, all eyelashes, her hands folded flat, if Satan has happened to set the date for his coronation into hell yet.

“Why?” Leaning over the armrest with his chair wheels squeaking against the floor, Klaus is all cheek and attentiveness and spicy cologne. “Care to be my escort for the big event?” he says without missing a beat.

With a snort, “In your dreams, Mikaelson. But so help me, if you don’t knock it off and focus so we can finish preparing for this meeting tomorrow, then I promise I’ll find a way for the devil to come and collect you early himself. Got it?”

“Sure thing,” he nods. “Can’t have you wanting to push me off the roof later now, can I?”

“Who’s to say I’m not already tempted?” Caroline mumbles.

He swivels to face her, all levity, with one eyebrow raised. Meanwhile she focuses on organizing their files into separate stacks. “Are you?” he says.

Shrugging, “I wouldn’t push it any further if I were you. Better to be silent but productive than flippant and airborne, don’t you think?”

A chuckle. A soft press of his palm over her wrist.

“Well played, love. I don’t know if hearing that leaves me feeling more wounded or paranoid, but…well played.”

Warm, certain, Klaus’s touch lingers far too long after he draws away.

—Archived Twitter messages from FIERCE AND WE KNOW IT SQUAD group chat on December 5th, 10:42 P.M.

thiskatRAWRS : i said find his celebrity doppelgänger for us, caroline. wtf !!

crowned caroline: i did

thiskatRAWRS: no, you defected. like a coward

crowned caroline: did not!

thiskatRAWRS: did too

thiskatRAWRS: besides, i think we both know there’s a better selection to be had here

enzobites: oh - this outta be good, lusty (or is it katTHRUSTY now?)

thiskatRAWRS: *middle finger emoji*

crowned caroline: ugh. don’t provoke her, okay?

enzobites: bugger me for wondering at Elijah’s reaction to his ladylove’s ranking + assessment

enzobites: of

enzobites: his

enzobites: younger

enzobites: brother’s

enzobites: sex

enzobites: appeal

thiskatRAWRS: i still have eyes, don’t i? just gotta keep my hands to myself. not that it’s anyone’s business but mine and Elijah’s if i do or do not 😼

enzobites: …and you wonder why you were reassigned from HR, love

thiskatRAWRS: *double middle finger emoji*

bonnie-b-is-me: Kat told me Klaus has an up-to-no-good Jude Law look about him. is that semi-accurate, Care?

bonnie-b-is-me: (me = works elsewhere = totes out of loop) :(

crowned caroline: nope

crowned caroline: i stand by my original choice

bonnie-b-is-me: which was?

crowned caroline: *inserts internet meme*

bonnie-b-is-me: 😯

enzobites: wut…why Grumpy Cat?

thiskatRAWRS: i told you ^^^ doesn’t count, pick a human

crowned caroline: but the resemblance is astounding! it’s uncanny, really

crowned caroline: look here, i’ll prove it further: *inserts another three memes, one with a side-by-side photo comparison*

enzobites: wicked Santa hat there, Klausy

bonnie-b-is-me: lmao

crowned caroline: Klaus is literally Grumpy Cat in human form bc 1) he’s surly 2) he’s miserable and repressed af 3) he’s one explosive hiss away from taking another corporate life at all times

bonnie-b-is-me: so let him be known, 4eva more, as Grumpy Corporate Klaus

enzobites: i dig it

enzobites: GCK ftw then, yea? ;)

crowned caroline: 👍🏼

thiskatRAWRS: sorry, but all i’m getting from care’s explanation is “overlooked sex kitten” vibes. so if that’s how you view Klaus then idk how to break this to you, girl, but…

enzobites: BOW CHICKA WOW WOW

thiskatRAWRS: exactly !! one of them is gonna pounce on the other before long—ruffled feathers and all of that meowww

bonnie-b-is-me: bets, anyone?

enzobites: count me in, gorgeous ;)

thiskatRAWRS: ditto

crowned caroline: OMG SHUT UP ALL OF YOU

bonnie-b-is-me: did either of you hear something?

thiskatRAWRS: sounds like denial chirping to me

enzobites: or uh…hate could be their preferred foreplay

crowned caroline: THIS ISN’T FUNNY

bonnie-b-is-me: wouldn’t be the first time

thiskatRAWRS: and def not the last !!

bonnie-b-is-me: *inserts YouTube link to “Dangerous Woman” by Ariana Grande*

crowned caroline: WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM??? I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS, WTF

thiskatRAWRS: *inserts “You Can’t Handle the Truth” gif*

enzobites: from the way Klaus verbally paws at Blondie here in the office, to the longing look in his eyes when she speaks (or flirts) with any good-looking bloke who isn’t him, i wager it’s only a matter of time before—

crowned caroline has left the chat

A natural curiosity is there, of course. Call it a fatal flaw. A susceptibility. Whatever.

She’s only human.

No use in haranguing her about it forever, you know?

It’s a passing thought or two when the workload is mounting, when Caroline’s eyes blur numbers into scratchy colors of highlighter and her days are spun into spools of navy blue suits and unsigned contracts and poorly worded emails and coffee cart lattes plus beignets which she needs to keep her standing upright for another few hours or else she’ll peter out mid-sentence, toppling into the nearest chair; only to then find what she craves deposited, like a gift from the gods, onto her desk the exact instant she feels herself deflating into putty. No evidence at all that someone had been there. Not an item out of place. No note attached anywhere.

There’s also that prickle against the base of her neck sometimes. A tingle of awareness that tells her Klaus is either close by or he’s peering at her through the glass walls again, idly. Watching her with some soft and introspective intensity Caroline doesn’t understand let alone question thoroughly.

It’s a collection of moments.

Looks.

Coincidences.

Things that happen by accident because their schedules align - because, for example, they’re seated side-by-side on their way to the New Orleans airport one afternoon to catch a flight back home after closing Gerard Enterprises when the car swerves. The driver’s caught in a blast of turbulent traffic, and without thinking, she crosses the invisible boundary between them to curl against his side, her fingers fisting in his unworn seatbelt. Her head tucks against his clavicle, her eyelashes flicking over the buttons on his shirt. Their breaths heavy but in time.

“Are you alright, love? Are you hurt?” Klaus asks, his mouth burring like an ember against her crown of golden hair.

“I’m okay,” she breathes. In then out. In then out. “Just a little toppled and caught unawares is all,” she adds as his pulse slows beneath her ear, his hand hot on her bicep. “You?”

“Heart in my stomach, woman in my arms, so otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

“Yes - quite.”

Then there are the private conversations Caroline overhears. Like the one where he informs a slimy potential de Martel client the two of them are “a package deal” and that she is “not one to be trifled with, disrespected, or undervalued.” Or another where he confesses to his sister, Rebekah, that they’d “be bloody lost without her here.”

It’s how, any time they cross the street together, Klaus’s hand presses against the small of her back as if he wishes to offer another layer of protection. Almost like it belongs there.

It’s when, after a bout of flu descends like a hammer, leaving her phlegmy, feverish for days, and unable to work, a knock sounds at her door to reveal him standing on the other side. Looking sheepish, a shopping bag full of get well tea and medicinal items hangs from one of his arms while chicken noodle soup is Tupperwared in the other. To top it all off a fresh bouquet of sunflowers perches in the crook of his elbow, which he places in a vase with water before he leaves so she can rest. So she can recover her strength and faculties.

And even though everyone at the office whispers that Klaus only cares about himself, and about what comforts he can afford, Caroline knows he pays the secretaries’ bonuses directly out of his own pocket. He also offers use of his car service when the hour is late or the weather gets too dicey to walk to the subway, so he can’t possibly be that awful, can he? Can he?

These passing thoughts accrue over days, hours, weeks, to leave an imprint large enough to make her wonder. To have her questioning their so-called triviality.

Caroline hates to think it but - freaking hell - what if her friends are right? Is the in like vs. in spite line between her and Klaus really that thin, or is she only now realizing to admit so will change everything in ways she cannot begin to fathom?

Swipe left to descend into Emoville✔️

Swipe right for Distraction City✔️

(Both options suck equally for her, as it turns out.) (So she guilts Enzo into paying for drinks for the next three Saturdays and processes in true Forbes fashion: with lists a’plenty.)

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #it's been 84 years #since i last wrote for them #let's hope it's not 84 more #before i do again #ashlee bree's writing endeavors #ashlee bree's edits

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feelingbluepolitics · 5 years

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Part Three of a glance through Midwestern politics, the epicenter of many Blue voters' contortions over "electibility" given our very large field of candidates, and our grim need to eject trump.

Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, North Dakota, Ohio, South Dakota, and Wisconsin

Picking up here with:

Ohio. Buh-bye, Ohio. The Buckeye state is a black eyed state, beaten into a stranglehold red miasma.

Forced motherhood has been much in the news during May, but Ohio was already there by November of 2018.

The 2018 Midterm Blue Wave crashed and died in Ohio. Only Sherrod Brown hung in there as the only state-wide elected Democrat in the state.

Ohio harbors Gym Jordan, who is too disgusting and hateful to talk about.

The following article groups Texas in with "swing states like Ohio."

https://theweek.com/speedreads/826395/texas-now-2020-swing-state

At this point, any article discussing swing states has more credibility leaving Ohio off the swing state list.

The surprise blue spotlight in Ohio is Sherrod Brown deciding not to join the presidential hopefuls because he has more than enough to do right there at home and in the Senate.

"Even though he won’t be on the ballot, Brown could still be a major figure in the 2020 race. Ohio’s politics are tricky, and there are few in the Democratic Party who have so successfully navigated its intricacies. Only once since 1974 has Brown lost a race in Ohio. The failure of the blue firewall in Ohio in 2016 was a warning sign more broadly."

When it was a perennial swing state, Ohio was the infallible "bellwether" state, but now that it's rammed full into Republiconism, it's predictive powers are castrated.

Can we go now?...No?...Because somewhere along the way in Part One or Part Two, I said that Democrats shouldn't cede any state? (Except for Fracking North Dakota.)

Nan Whaley does not believe Ohio is lost to Democrats, and she's Dayton's progressive mayor.

"Those who see 2018 as a blood bath for Ohio Democrats are forgetting that Senator Sherrod Brown won by 6.4 percentage points. This was a larger margin of victory than he had in 2012 — when he shared the top of the ticket with President Barack Obama, who also carried the state.

..."In statehouse races, Democrats nearly matched Republicans in total votes statewide, but they saw limited gains because of Republican gerrymandering. Our current legislative maps border on the absurd — despite winning just over 50 percent of the vote, Republicans will control more than three-fifths of the state legislative seats. Thankfully, voters in May enacted redistricting reforms that will make our next maps much fairer, allowing Democrats to compete on a more level playing field beginning in 2022.

..."While Republicans will control the governor’s mansion for another four years, Democrats continue to dominate in Ohio’s largest cities and counties. In places where Republicans can’t gerrymander the lines — including the 12 largest cities — local Democrats have been pursuing bold, progressive policies that strengthen communities."

So the final call for Ohio is actually, get in there and work very hard.

South Dakota. Reliably Republicon since 1968. (It's like they're twins, or something; see North.)

But. South Dakota voters are mad. They are mad because SD ranks as the "4th most corrupt state."

They are mad because "[i]n 2016 South Dakotans made history as the first state in America to pass a statewide Anti-Corruption Act. This landmark Act closed lobbying loopholes, enhanced political transparency, and created an independent ethics commission. A clear majority approved the measure." Their Republicon state legislature actually declared an "emergency" to give itself the power to kill it, because they decided the voters didn't understand what they were trying to do.

If it keeps going, voters will shoot to make it a constitutional amendment, and therefore Republicon "lawmaker" proof. An additional option is to elect Democrats to listen to them, with the bonus of teaching a lesson.

Democrats need to be running on anti-corruption at every level anyway.

Billie Sutton ran an unusually competitive race to get a Democrat (technically) into the governor's mansion. Although he ultimately lost to Kristi Noem, Sutton scared both SD and D.C. Republicons, which is remarkable in itself.

https://www.cnn.com/2018/10/19/politics/sutton-noem-south-dakota/index.html

Recently, Noem supported an outrageous anti-protest, pro- Keystone XL pipeline bill, and now isn't allowed to step onto tribal lands.

https://thehill.com/homenews/state-watch/441921-american-indian-tribe-bans-gop-governor-from-reservation-over-her

Even though trump won over Hillary here almost by double, voters are really mad at corrupt, power-grabbing Republicons in South Dakota, and that could open some state elections.

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instituteblog547 · 3 years

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glowfox734 · 3 years

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malfattore · 6 years

Text

Data Entry: Malfatto [ The Doctor ]

— BIRTH —

Malfatto was born on November 22nd 1476, in a small home in Rome, Italy, to parents: Mabilia Luoni (mother) and Fabrizio Venturi (father).

Fabrizio was a doctor, just as his father before him, passing this training down their family tree // Mabilia loved her son with all her heart, but unfortunately, she passed away soon after his birth. The name she had picked and kept a secret till after his birth never passed her lips.

Struck with grief, Fabrizio turned to alcohol, brothels, and inns — completely neglecting his son out of resentment and a grief driven depression.

— EARLY LIFE —

In the early years of Malfatto’s life, he was severely neglected and mentally abused by his father, though rarely physically.

At the age of 6, Malfatto began to take up his mother’s chores and activities; learning to cook, clean, sew, as well as training to be a doctor alongside his father, simultaneously.

At the age of 8, the young doctor became his father’s assistant, working tirelessly beside his elder and facing the horrors of the profession head on; As his father refused to separate him from their work, forcing the young boy to face death, amputations, agony, and so on.

By the time he was at the age of 12, Malfatto had become mostly detached from his patient’s pain, along with his own true feelings and any remaining care for his existing family; only focusing on his work and what needed to be done.

This strained the family’s relationship, to where the young doctor hardly even spoke to anyone unless necessary, and began to steal money from his drunk father to buy what they needed to survive. His father grew even more abusive towards his son, treating him almost like a servant, and therapist, while he continued with his harmful habits, agitating the young Malfatto to the point of hatred and resentment towards his father.

At the age of 14, On a very late night in June, his father, once again, didn’t come home, sparking the young man to go in search of him... But, It didn’t take long to discover his father’s mangled corpse, butchered on the streets, and the perpetrator still at the scene of the crime.

Fleeing the scene in fear, Malfatto ran home, unknowingly followed by the man that murdered his father, and leading him directly to the source of their valuable possessions; Where he was ambushed, himself.

With nowhere to run, and fighting for his life, Malfatto struggled and miraculously managed to free himself from the attacker’s grip, striking the perpetrator in the head with a large wine bottle and sending him crashing to the floor. Without a second to waste, he took a blade from his father’s operating table and plunged it deep into the man’s throat.

Since that night, something changed in him, leading to a chain reaction in his future.

— BEGINNING —

Following his father’s murder and the short, careless investigation performed by local law enforcement, Malfatto started working as a doctor at the age of 15 years old.

He made many mistakes, overwhelming stress and constant crushing failure pushing the young man to be better, to study harder, and perfect his skills. Though, along the way, Malfatto grew even more and more detached, bitter and uncaring — as well as developing severe depression and minor paranoia.

At the age of 17, Malfatto suddenly picked up and left his old home, leaving everything behind, except for a few personal items and one momento.

He then moved to the lower-middle of Rome and became a street doctor to pay off his new home, though he still served in the poor district. There he was faced with the worst of humanity, and where he committed his second murder.

A horrible man, spitting insults and curses, derogatory names of his wife and children — and so, Malfatto had enough, gifting the man a “healing serum”, that ended his life before he managed to get home. He was never caught for the crime.

Then, a third kill, a abusive parent. More direct action this time.

And a fourth. An aggressive “lover”. A brutal kill.

A fifth, a drunkard—

And on and on...

Never caught by guards and with the wit of a medical professional to talk his was out of any suspicious situation; He survived past all his victims.

— PAST —

After the murders of a little under a dozen civilians, Malfatto’s crime spree took a turn that was much more categorizable to the public eye...

It didn’t take long for the corruption (and diseases) of the largest and most popular brothel had begun to manifest, leading to the deaths of many of his regular patients, toxicity in the community, and a loss of productivity. Soon, he began refusing service to notable members of the brothel, as many other doctors throughout the city did, but it quickly became apparent of other methods.

With impulsive decisions towards killing off problems, Malfatto began picking off notable members of the guild, leaving their corpses as a warning to the others, and sparing very few, while he pursued his main target — Madonna Solari, Madam of the brothel.

Despite his careful plans, the Cento Occhi got to her before he did... though not without taking notice of him.

Suddenly, the Borgia had set their eyes on him, sending a familiar face to recruit him — Fiora Cavazza, a notable member he had set out to kill — donning her old working garb as a way to lure him out. It worked, to his annoyance.

Following her home, he was quickly caught off guard by her quick reactions, along with her newfound training, wielding a weapon he’d never seen before. The shock had betrayed him, leaving himself open to an harsh attack, and badly wounding him — forcing him to flee the area to recover.

At the age of 25, Malfatto accepted Cesare’s recruitment and became a Templar, serving alongside the Templar rite; Though, only as a provider of unique toxins and to assist in any injuries suffered by the Order’s most important agents. Paid by the Borgia, He was a tool to be used by their order — pledged to take care of any agents with successful haste and to craft the toxins the Templar rite needed to eliminate their enemies.

Besides that, he was free to do as he pleased; So, he continued killing, getting reckless in his wake...

He began to stalk around the brothel itself, until finally, his recklessness caught the attention of the Master Assassin, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, himself.

Marking his recorded death to be in the Summer of 1502, at the age of 26.

— PRESENT —

That wasn’t the case, though. With pure luck, Malfatto managed to survive the newly-founded Assassins, by only a fraction of an inch to spare his vital arteries. On his own, he scrambled home to tend to his wounds, falling unconscious in his home some time after.

After being in recovery for 6 months, Malfatto was finally reliably back on his feet. This time, working independently from his own home, and refraining from gaining too much attention from any guilds — only exposing himself when absolutely necessary or to someone he has trust or interest in.

His murders began to significantly dwindle in numbers, though never stopped completely.

With Claudia Auditore in charge of the Rosa in Fiore, Malfatto kept his distance — though, retaining a hatred for the guild.

— FUTURE —

The murderer still lives, taking lives sparingly in the dead of night, driven by his own judgement and bitterness, but remains a shadow of the monster he once was.

What truly kills the monster, or saves him, is up to fate.

#✠ sul monstro — muse ;;

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churchyardgrim · 6 years

Text

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the beginning is abrupt and contextless but shh it works I promise, there’s Academia Suffering and Sickeningly Adorable Domesticity and just! read it!!

“Heading home already?”

Harker turns, smiling tiredly at the speaker. “Yeah, it’ll take me half an hour to get my telescope back into alignment, and I want to be home before Erika crashes.”

The wolf takes everyone differently. Sometimes it’s the old seventh-son-of-a-seventh-son trick, coming on unexpected and mutinous. Sometimes it’s invited intentionally, through ritual or purposeful contamination. Sometimes it’s just passed on from parent to child, like blue eyes or ADHD.

In the case of Harris Cormey, it’s hereditary, and messy. Some wolves can change in an instant, all fluid magic and a flippant middle finger to the laws of mass conservation, but Harris’s family change slowly, over the course of the month. At full moon they’re long-limbed and hairy, and find speech very hard with how far out their faces stretch. At new moon they could almost pass for human. Right now, on the waxing space between crescent and quater, Harris’s ears prod out pointedly from under more hair than he feels is strictly necessary and his round face has the look of someone with braces, his lips pushed out around slowly growing fangs. It’s not so bad that he lisps yet, but his eyes are a deep golden brown, just a shade feral.

And right now, those eyes have the apologetic look of someone bearing bad news. “Might want to hurry then, Prof Reynolds wants to see you.”

Harker swears. “She’s still here? It’s after ten!”

Harris gives a sympathetic shrug. “She’s still here, you’re still here, we’re a nocturnal bunch Harks, you know that.”

“What does she even want this time, do you know?” Harker asks as she starts walking back up the hall, dragging Harris after her with the question. He bears it goodnaturedly, hands in his pockets.

“She didn’t say, but I can take a guess.”

“Urf, don’t, your guesses shame me.”

“What I guess—”

“Don’t.”

“—is that you’ve missed another assignment.”

“Augh!”

She wails, half-jokingly, but the exaggeration falls flat. Harris pats her shoulder consolingly. “There, there. It’s not your fault, if only they gave out a schedule of when they wanted those pesky things, life would be so much easier wouldn’t it?”

Harker grumbles, shoulders hunching defensively. “And fuck you too.”

She can’t stall any longer; they’d reached the offending door and Harris is cutting off her escape. She looks back at him imploringly, and is met with unforgiving blandness and a raised eyebrow. She huffs.

She knocks.

“Come in.”

Harris remains at her back, foiling her last-minute plan to bolt and pretend she was never here. She grimaces quickly, then schools her expression back into pleasant neutrality and stepped into Professor Reynolds’ office.

The room is fairly standard for the science department: square, glass on the outside wall, shelves set into the walls on either side, a desk dropped in the middle and a severe-looking woman behind that, her silver hair pulled into a bun that belies the lab coat she’s wearing. Like librarian meets chemist.

Reynolds nods. “Harker.”

Harker feigns innocent ignorance. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

Reynolds spreads her hands on top of the desk. “You have an attendance problem, Harker.”

Harker suppresses a wince. “Ah, right, that.”

Reynolds barrels on. “You have missed two critical assignments so far. I have been lenient. I will continue to be lenient, but if you fail to complete the makeup assignments or miss any future due dates I will be forced to suspend you.”

“But that’s not—” fair, she was going to say, but swallowed it. Fairness isn’t relevant. What she says instead is, “Professor. I’ll admit I’ve been lax with the coursework, but my research has potential. There are flaws in our understanding of the metaphysical landscape outside of Earth’s atmosphere, if I could just—”

Reynolds interrupts her. “Your pet project does not supersede course requirements, Miss Blackwell.” Oof, last name. “If it’s something viable you can submit it for thesis evaluation, but until then I will need you to focus your efforts on the tasks at hand.” Her expression doesn’t soften an inch, but she exhales very slightly in something that could charitably be called a sigh. “I admire your enthusiasm, I really do. But you need to be putting it towards something more… plausible. Reliable. Not so…”

“Far-fetched,” Harker mutters, and Reynolds nods.

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand.”

Harker slinks from Reynolds’ office, saddled with a depressing folder of makeup assignments, her forced politeness sour in her mouth. She waits until she’s far enough away, across the narrow walkway bridge that spans the road passing between the two parts of the science building, then kicks a trashcan as hard as she can. The metallic crash and clatter echoes satisfyingly in the empty building and Harker snorts forcefully.

She hadn’t told Reynolds about the obscure papers she’d found supporting her theory — Remhi in 1993, and then Jeffords in 2008, both proposing theories too similar to Harker’s to ignore — and she certainly hadn’t told her about the dreams. The repeated sense of limitlessness, of far-reaching whiplashing lines of force, like a grid across the sky. That almost but not quite vanished upon waking.

Nope, Reynolds would have dropped any remaining patience like a stone if Harker’d told her that.

She’s just so sure! The certainty lives like a stone in her chest, solid and unmovable and directing her every action with its gravity.

The way their current understanding of what is commonly called “outer space” works is that magical influence ends where the Earth’s magnetic field does. The theory goes that magic is generated — or at least received — by the Earth itself, behaving in similar ways to the electromagnetic shell that most of the world is aware of. Magic just… stops working once you’re past the moon. If extraplanar bodies — stars, other planets, meteors — have their own magical fields, they’re not detectable from Earth.

But Harker — and Remhi and Jeffords — have reason to believe that’s not entirely true.

There is evidence, subjective and flimsy but evidence, that there is a functioning fabric of magic permeating the outer reaches, and that the only reason it has remained undetected for so long is because everyone else is just looking in the wrong way.

Problem is, she doesn’t know what the right way is yet. Some communities put great stock in dreams and gut feelings, but the Bridgeport University of Arts and Unseen Sciences isn’t one of them. Reynolds and the other department heads need more than hunches to authorize a grant, even a piddly little grad student sized one, and so far she hasn’t been able to deliver.

And now she has a nice shiny failure-shaped blade hanging over her head just waiting to come swinging down. Argh.

She kicks the toppled can a second time, for good measure.

Then she shoves her hands deep into her pockets, stalking for the stairs to the ground level. She just has to… get Erika to be her reminder, yeah. Erika doesn’t even go for groceries without scheduling it, if Harker can’t keep track of her assignments Erika sure can. Whether she can bully Harker into actually following through remains to be seen.

Harker kicks the pushbar on the door to the unforgiving outside, hunches her shoulders against the chill wind coming at her, and makes for the parking lot.

—————

The university is an old collection of buildings, first built in the early 1820s, half of them destroyed by fire and built again in the 1880s, and enduring an ongoing series of repairs and renovations ever since. Most recently a new science building had been added, for which the university’s researchers are forever grateful, including the observatory Harker’s spent the last five hours in.

It didn’t start out as a magical school — and indeed as recently as 2006 there managed to be a student who went through the entire undergraduate program oblivious to the nature of their education — but it became one not long after the Deanship was passed to a rather powerful witch, who desired a place to collect and disseminate his wealth of knowledge.

Now the student body is made up largely of magic users, with a smaller but still substantial population of nonhumans. Werewolves get free reign of the adjacent state park whenever they need it, and most metal fixtures and tools are aluminum or stainless steel instead of iron, in deference to the handful of fae students that come over from their Avalon. Other species are accommodated for on a case-by-case basis, and there are enough to keep the Internal Relations Office too busy to complain.

The campus as Harker leaves is glittering with strings of white lights strung between buildings and lampposts and around bare trees. It’s only November, but winter set in early, before the pumpkins left out on porches had even started to rot, and she guesses someone on the student council thought the place could use some extra brightness in amid the dark and cold. She can’t say she doesn’t appreciate it.

Streetlights shine sodium orange into her car as she passes under them. Resentfully, she’s scooched the driver’s seat up as far as it will go to reach the pedals comfortably, and her cropped short hair resists the weight of her sweater hood with stubborn stiff curls. The sides and back of her head are shaved nearly to the skin, making the fluff on top stand out pleasingly.

As she drives Harker works on her breathing, trying to bleed the tension out. Her hands work the steering wheel like she’s strangling a chicken, frustration stubborn. At a red light she sighs forcefully, pressing her skull back into the headrest. She doesn't want to be this pissed off right now, she wants to be able to relax with her partners when she gets home.

There’s something to be said for working evenings, there’s almost no traffic and she’s home within twenty minutes.

“My loves!” she calls, opening the apartment door to a blast of warm, fragrant air. Ifian looks up from her sewing rig, her dark hair done up in a messy bun. “Habibi! Erika’s in the shower, come, see what I’ve been working on.”

Ifian Jolaha is large, bright, beautiful as a sunset. She dresses in more colors than most people consider in their lifetimes, and enjoys the benefits of belonging to a tailoring family going back generations. As she’s fond of saying, she’s never bought off the rack in her life, which is fortunate given that mass clothing manufacturers still haven’t caught up to the concept that people over a size six are still capable of being fashionable as all hell.

Harker drops her bag on the couch on her way over and leans on Ifian’s broad shoulders to get a look. Ifian’s family is Iranian, and they specialize in traditional Muslim patterns and styles. The spread Ifian’s got out is a jewel blue jacket in a middle stage of construction, each piece embroidered with gold thread in precise, pleasingly geometric shapes.

Harker looks up at the sound of the hallway door opening, a cloud of steam preceding her other favorite person in the world out into the narrow hallway. Erika smiles widely, half the apartment’s ration of towels wrapped around her. “Let me put some pants on and I’ll be right out,” she calls, and disappears into her room.

Harker blows a kiss, suppressing a comment that she’d hardly mind if Erika stayed pants-less. Erika is pushing six feet, and favors three-inch heels; between her and Ifian, Harker looks positively undersized. Her hair is bleached a shining platinum, and it contrasts beautifully with her dark brown skin.

A minute later she returns wearing plaid pjs, smelling strongly of body wash, and pecks Harker on the cheek.

Harker grins and returns the gesture. “Save me any dinner?”

“Sweetie, we ate like three hours ago. It’s almost midnight.”

Harker stumbles dramatically, holding onto a chair for support. “I’m wounded!”

Ifian pats her face. “There’s more waffles in the freezer, you’ll be fine.”

Harker straightens up, all pleasant. “Oh, well, that’s alright then.”

She fetches, toasts, and drenches with syrup the terrible toaster waffles that are her go-to after work meal. Erika bustles alongside her in the kitchenette, fixing herself sleepytime tea and making Harker smile wearily. “Babe, I need a favor.”

Erika looks up from refilling the electric kettle. “Hm?”

Inhale. “Can you, maybe, put my phys lab assignments on your schedule and remind me when they’re due?”

Erika blinks her large tawny-brown eyes. “Sure, why… wait, isn’t phys lab the one you were having trouble with?”

Harker winces. “Not… trouble, okay. Just, the prof is an asshole and gets worked up over the smallest things! So I missed a couple assignments, big deal!”

There’s a sudden looming sensation and Ifian’s steady voice says from behind her, “You did what now.”

“Ahaaa great, dogpile time.” Inhale again, turn so her back’s against the counter and she can see both of them. “It’s not that bad, really! I just… need to cram in more work time so I can get done the makeup work she wants without losing too much time on my project. It’s cool! Manageable!”

Ifian fixes her with a gaze like iron. “Harker. Last month you were nearly hallucinating from sleep deprivation. We didn’t see you for three days.”

Another wince, guilty. “Still not completely sure that was the sleep deprivation… but okay fine I get your point, just. What else am I supposed to do?”

A heavy hand lands on her shoulder. “Same thing I’ve been telling you, cut back on the telescope time. Not all the way!” she forestalls, seeing Harker’s hackles rise, “Just enough that it’s not killing you, alright?” Her gaze softens, going warm and tender enough to make Harker squirm in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. “I don’t like seeing you so worn down, neither of us do.”

Oof. Not fair, going for the gut like that. Harker groans and leans forward, resting against Ifian’s soft bulk. Her girlfriend wraps her up in a warm hug, her other girlfriend smiling as she finishes constructing her tea. Erika leans to peck Harker on the top of her head. “Yes, I will remind you of your academic obligations, and yes, seconded, stop being destructive.” Then she kisses Ifian as well and sits down at their rickety table to sip her tea.

Ifian finally lets Harker go, rubbing between her shoulderblades in the way that hits the knot that always forms there. “Come on habibi, sleep soon.”

Sleep means food, which Harker inhales, and Ifian prescribes her warm milk which is horribly cliche but also works like a dream. Harker muses out loud what parts of her project she can prioritize to make room for the makeup assignments, not even pausing when Ifian puts the warm mug in her hands.

“The orbital monitoring I can probably hold off on for now,” she rambles as she finally stands up to start heading to bed, mug still half full, “there’s some interesting data coming through but I don’t have a means to interpret any of it, it’s just nonsense, so that’s a few hours at lea—”

She stops, abruptly, her mug falling from her fingers to crack in two on the floor, honeyed milk soaking into the rug. Neither Ifian or Erika have time to react, though, because the shattered halves of the mug hover up, over the sodden carpet, and ascend to eye level.

“No,” Ifian starts to say, but the ceramic halves crack again, crunching into shards, then fragments, then pieces no bigger than a thumbnail that orbit purposefully around a centerpoint.

A centerpoint that appears to be behind Harker’s collarbone.

Harker sucks in a breath as the fluorescent lights set into the ceiling hum louder, glow brighter, and the air is filled with the sound of breaking pottery; the entire drying rack of dishes shatters at once, the shards joining the remains of the mug in their circling of her. She wants to swat at the satellites hemming her in but she can’t move, she can only tremble as dread paralyzes her—

The corners of her vision flicker with black, indistinct shapes, and as her feet leave the floor it occurs to her that it might not be dread doing the paralyzing.

#my writing #pls dear god read it my crops are dying

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