Hello!! I haven't had the energy to make one of my usual writings, so please take this! Feedback is greatly appreciated <3 (,,,even if I'm way behind on asks, so sorry,,,)
CW: Platonic/parental yanderes, emotional manipulation, drugging, kidnapping, non-graphic physical violence, infantilization, grief, brief mentions of self-harm/self-destruction, abuse of power
Let me know if there are any more content warnings I should add!
Lavender is your therapist.
SYMBOLISM: Calmness, devotion, purity
He seems very kind and soft-spoken. Never does he make you feel judged or unsafe. In fact, just being around him makes you feel calm. If you tell him this, he'll be absolutely over the moon.
Over the start of your sessions, he feels a bit protective over you, more than with any of his other clients, but it isn't that big of a deal. It unravels slowly.
He starts noticing how he feels anything but calm during your sessions, unlike how he normally feels.
Someone wronged you in some way? He's livid. You might notice him gripping his journal tight, or even a shift in his expression.
You confess your insecurities? The rest of the session is filled with him giving you compliments and saying how proud he is of you.
You talk of your parents, in a positive or negative way? It doesn't matter. They aren't your parents, he is.
He doesn't say that part aloud, though. He's not exactly self-aware, but he can read other people well. He knows you don't view him that way. While he understands why you don't, it still hurts him... it hurts him so much.
You notice he asks about things you don't remember ever telling him about.
"How's your dog doing? Is the poor thing still sick?"
"You should really limit your social media intake... the amount you typically spend on it isn't good for your mental health."
"That fight with your friend... how are you holding up? Have they apologized yet?"
Lavender extends your sessions, little by little. He never cuts a conversation short when your time is almost up. Half of the time, it's you who notices you've stayed longer than you usually do.
He makes you feel as if everyone is the issue but you, whether that's true or not. His goal isn't really to build up your self-worth and confidence unless it's particularly low; it's more to isolate you and make you paranoid about others' intentions.
"It's just... they seem very manipulative. Do they normally act like that towards you?"
"I'm not saying you should cut ties with them, but I do think you should take a break. They seem to stress you out an awful lot."
"Are you really happy? You know you deserve better, right?"
For a while, it continues like this. The cycle only breaks when you either mention you'd like to quit sessions soon, or if you feel as if you're a danger to yourself.
He panics. He can't have you leave. Not now, not ever. He can't bear the thought of you being hurt, by yourself or by someone else.
And so, he fixes you some tea on your next session. He tells you he's worried about your stress levels and that it should help you relax.
When you feel yourself beginning to pass out, he doesn't even pretend to act concerned about the situation. He just calmly sips on his own glass of tea and watches you slump against the couch.
When you wake up, you're in a basement. It's a nice basement, it isn't dirty or too cold or too hot. But the walls are lined with cushions and soft blankets, the door is locked from the outside, and all the furniture is bolted to the floor. The only window is far too high for you to reach.
"Shh, shh, it's okay," he's right there, right when you wake. He brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face. "It's okay, you're safe. I saved you."
It's something he truly believes.
The world out there is cruel and dangerous and he's doing what any good parent would. The world hurt you. So he took you away from it. You'll see. One day you'll thank him. Even if he feels guilty for your tears and panic, he views it all necessary.
He conditions you. Every single day, he asks you questions as if you're doing your normal session, but the questions are now aimed at a specific goal.
"Tell me one thing about the outside world that hurt you."
"Tell me one thing I do that makes you happy."
And each correct answer—each instance of you speaking about the world as a bad place and him as a savior—is rewarded with a favorite meal, a new book, a movie, a soft new blanket. You can ask for anything you want, so long as it can be brought down here.
Even though he doesn't hide his sadness when you curse him out and insist he isn't your papa, he's patient.
He's willing to wait as long as it takes.
When you finally start coming around, he's overjoyed. He'll tell you he thinks it's finally time for you to come upstairs and get acquainted with your new room, that he believes you won't run away anymore.
After that, you have a surprising amount of freedom.
Sure, you can't leave the house, but the house is huge. It's filled with things you like, things he learned about you during your sessions. You're almost never left alone, but if you absolutely must be, all doors and windows are locked and deadbolted.
Snapdragon is your coworker.
SYMBOLISM: Deception, presumption, graciousness, warding off evil (or in this case, "bad influences")
He's a bit of a gossip. He knows everything about everyone. He's charismatic and funny and always seems to know exactly what to say to get on someone's good side. He has a way of making people feel special and understood.
He takes an immediate shine to you. He seeks you out during lunch breaks, sits at your desk during downtime, and always finds a way to make you laugh.
Everyone seems to either love him or feel anxious around him.
You notice how he happens to coincidentally be wherever you are. If you're grabbing a coffee, he's there. If you're heading out for lunch, he's already on his way and asks to join. If you step outside to take a call, he's leaning against the wall nearby, smoking a cigarette.
At work, he covers for your mistakes, takes the blame for things that are partially your fault, and generally makes your life easier.
He learns everything about you. He "overhears" your conversations, sees things on your desk, notices your routines. He likes getting you gifts, pretending its no big deal to him, but inside he is crying from happiness when you act happy and appreciative.
Then, he starts pointing out flaws in others. Not in a malicious way, but in a concerned kind of way.
"Did you see the way Aster looked at you when you presented that idea? She's obviously jealous, kiddo. Watch out for her."
"Sorrel from accounting? He's a creep. I saw him looking at your social media profile. Don't worry, I took care of it."
"I wouldn't trust your friend Snowdrop. They just seem... off to me. Like they're taking advantage of your kindness."
He begins to create small, manageable problems for you that he can then swoop in and solve. He'll "accidentally" delete a file you were working on, only to have it recovered from a backup he conveniently made. He'll "forget" to pass on a message, causing you to miss a meeting, but he'll smooth it over with your boss for you.
He is your savior, your protector against the petty dramas and backstabbing coworkers of your office. He's the only one who truly has your back.
When you finally start to believe it, when you start turning to him first for everything, when you cancel plans with friends to hang out with him instead, that's when he decides you're ready.
The "accidents" outside of work begin.
Your car won't start, but oh, look, Snapdragon was just passing by and can give you a ride. A "stranger" tries to grab your bag, but Snapdragon is there to scare them off. You come home to find your window broken, but he's already there, having "just been in the neighborhood," and is boarding it up for you.
Each incident makes you more and more dependent on him. You stop going out without him. You stop talking to your other friends, who seem to cause nothing but trouble.
You let him move in "just for a little while" after your place gets broken into a second, more serious, time.
You live with him now. He makes all your meals. He drives you to and from work. He chooses your clothes, your food, your entertainment. He has removed all "bad" influences from your life.
He tells you it's for your own good. He tells you that the world is a dark, scary place, but with him, you're safe. He tells you he loves you more than anyone else ever could.
Sometimes he jokes about how he's like a dad to you, just so he can gauge your reaction. When you don't flinch or correct him anymore, he knows he's won.
You're so much happier now, aren't you? You don't have to worry about anything anymore. Just let him handle it. Just let him take care of you.
She's old money. She's powerful, respected, and a little bit intimidating. Her office is on the top floor, with a view of the entire city.
She takes a special interest in you from the moment you're hired. She sees your potential. She wants to nurture it.
She starts by mentoring you, taking you under her wing. She invites you to galas and charity events, introducing you to influential people. She buys you expensive gifts.
"Just a little something," she says, as she hands you a diamond necklace or a vintage watch.
She criticizes everyone in your life, even your own family, in the most polite, backhanded way.
"That friend of yours... what's their name? Ah, yes. They're a bit... common for you, don't you think? You deserve better company."
"That man was your brother? My, my. He does seem to have a... rather unfortunate temper. I hope he's not like that with you."
She's especially passive-aggressive to your parents, if she ever meets them, especially if it's your mother or mother-figure. She can't stand the thought of there being another mother-figure in your life who holds any sort of sway over you.
She wants to be the only one.
She doesn't want to be your mother. As far as she's concerned, she is your mother. The biological one is an obstacle to be removed.
Slowly, she starts to manage your life. She'll "suggest" you break up with a partner she disapproves of. She'll "advise" you to cut ties with a friend she finds "unsuitable."
Her advice is always sound, always in your best interest.
One day, you come into work, and you find out you've been promoted. Shortly after you find this out, she says you should move into her penthouse to be closer to work and save money.
You protest, of course. But she's very, very persuasive. She points out all the flaws in your apartment, your neighborhood, your commute. She makes your old life sound squalid and chaotic.
And she does. Your new life is one of luxury and comfort. But it's also a gilded cage. She controls your finances, your social life, your career path. She has you quit your job to work as her personal assistant, a job with no real responsibilities but which keeps you by her side at all times.
The people in her social circle, the ones she introduced you to, all look at you with a strange pity. They know. They know what she's done. But they won't say anything. No one crosses Dahlia.
When you try to leave, when you finally realize the extent of her control and try to run back to your old life, you find it's gone.
Your friends won't return your calls. Your family says they're "disappointed" in you for throwing away such a wonderful opportunity. Your old job won't take you back. She's burned every bridge.
She finds you crying in your luxurious bedroom. She sits on the edge of your bed and holds you, stroking your hair.
"Oh, sweetheart," she croons. "Look what they've done to you. They've turned you against me. They were never good enough for you, not a single one. I'm all you have now. But that's okay. I'm enough. I'll always be enough for you."
By rumor, you hear he recently lost his child. He certainly acts like a man haunted by grief. He keeps to himself, but if you cross paths, he'll give you a tired smile.
If you show him a single iota of kindness, he will latch on. He'll start leaving small gifts on your doorstep: flowers from his garden, a freshly baked pie, a book he thinks you'll like.
He doesn't know a lot about you, but he's a fast learner. He watches you. He learns your schedule, your favorite foods, the names of your friends. He learns what makes you laugh and what makes you cry.
He seems harmless enough. Just a lonely old man trying to fill the void in his life. You don't have the heart to push him away.
Then you get sick.
It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before. The doctors are baffled. You're weak, your body aches, you're plagued by dizzy spells. You're too exhausted to leave your bed most days.
But Foxglove is there. He's always there.
He cooks for you, bringing you nourishing soups and teas. He cleans your apartment. He sits by your bed and reads to you. He's the perfect caretaker.
He's the one who poisoned you.
It was slow at first. A sprinkle of something in your coffee, a leaf from his garden mixed into your salad. He knows his plants. He knows exactly which ones cause weakness and confusion, which ones mimic the symptoms of a hundred different diseases.
He needs to be needed. He needs to care for you. He needs you to be as helpless as a child, completely dependent on him for your every need.
It's also the perfect excuse to coax you to move in with him after it continues for months.
"You can't live here alone anymore, dear. What if something happens? I worry so."
He makes you a room that looks a bit too childish, but he doesn't comment on it unless you do.
"Do you not like it? I just thought... you need your rest."
He becomes even more overbearing. He chooses your clothes, he brushes your hair, he even tries to feed you himself sometimes. He treats you like you're made of glass.
If you try to resist, if you try to assert your independence, he just gets this sad, wounded look on his face.
"After all I've done for you... you want to leave? Don't you know I love you? You're all I have left."
It's emotional blackmail at its finest. He'll turn on the waterworks at the drop of a hat. He'll talk about his "lost child" and how you're the only thing that makes his life worth living.
And if he truly believes that his manipulation isn't getting to you, he just ups your dosage. Your "illness" will suddenly worsen. You'll be too weak to argue, too tired to fight.
You are his child now. He will nurse you back to health, even if he has to break you completely to do it. He'll make you love him, to need him as much as he needs you. He's already taken your health, your strength, and your home. Your will is next.
Begonia is an assassin.
SYMBOLISM: Caution, beware, dark thoughts
She was hired by someone you made mad, for some petty reason you don't even remember.
Begonia is used to the same kind of clients. She typically watches them and always finds some reason or another to hate them. That's how she gets the job done.
But she doesn't hate you. Not one bit. You're kind, you're considerate, you're funny. You're... good. A real rarity in her line of work. She's spent weeks following you, and she's grown… fond of you.
It wasn't even a feeling she thought she was capable of feeling for anyone, let alone a target.
She has a dilemma.
She's a professional. She has a reputation to uphold. What if someone else found out she couldn't bring herself to kill you?
Everyone would think she's gone soft.
But then she comes to a much more upsetting realization; if her client finds out she didn't finish the job, they'll just send someone else who won't hesitate.
The third realization is that she doesn't want to let you go from her watch. She thinks that one is the most horrifying one of all. She's grown a soft spot for you. She doesn't think that she could watch over you like a normal person could, she doesn't think she could do it without being so far away that she could no longer protect you.
By the last realization, she already thinks you're her little angel who can do no wrong. You're the only good thing about this awful world... specifically, you're the only good thing about her awful world.
She realizes she needs to save you. She kidnaps you and collects the money, and conjures up fake evidence to prove she finished the job.
When you come to, you're in a basement.
"Hey, kiddo," she casually greets, dressed in her usual dress shirt and slacks. "Sorry 'bout this. The basement, I mean. I was so busy with keeping you alive, I forgot to even have a room ready for you. Forgive Mom, okay? I'll have it all ready soon, it'll be much cozier than this place."
Your response, in her mind, is completely unreasonable: "are you gonna kill me?!"
"What? Silly goose, why would I do that?"
"You kidnapped me! And there's blood on the walls!"
She makes a cooing sound, kneeling down and cupping your face in her gloved hand. "Don't worry, munchkin. It's not yours. Mom's not gonna hurt a single hair on your precious head." She presses a dramatic kiss to your forehead, chuckling at her own lipstick stain on your forehead. "Now, lunch is ready. It might be a little burnt, your mom's not the best cook, FYI. It's a work in progress."
Once your room is ready, she takes you upstairs. She's surprisingly patient. She doesn't raise her voice. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't hurt you. But she also doesn't let you leave.
The locks on the doors and windows are more advanced than any standard ones you've ever seen.
She tries so hard to be a normal mom. She leaves notes in your lunch bag. She takes you on "vacations" to other countries to get you away from the house (all of which are just to other safehouses).
Since she has enough money to retire, she does just that.
The reason she did her dangerous line of work was because she had no one in her life she cared for.
Now that she has you, she went from not having anything to lose to having everything to lose.
And losing you is something she doesn't think she could survive.
Oleander is a loner.
SYMBOLISM: Beware, danger, death
You end up stranded at his house after your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere during a terrible thunderstorm. The closest house for miles is his.
He lets you in, but he's awkward. He stutters. He won't make eye contact. He's clearly not used to having guests.
You end up staying for a few days, because the storm is relentless and the roads are flooded.
You try to make conversation, to get to know him. He's hesitant at first, but he slowly opens up. He tells you about his hobbies, his favorite books, the little garden he tends to out back.
He's surprisingly sweet, once you get past the initial awkwardness. He's a good listener. He's thoughtful. He seems to genuinely enjoy your company.
He seems almost desperate for it, actually.
You notice, in the short amount of time you're there, how much he seems to light up when you talk to him. You also notice how he grits his teeth and grows quiet whenever you mention anyone from your old life.
When the roads are finally clear, you expect him to be happy for you.
Instead, he looks devastated.
He corners you by the door.
"Please don't go, kiddo." His voice cracks. "Please. I... I've never been this happy. Just stay. A little longer. Please?"
You have to refuse. You have a life, a job, friends.
And with that, something in him breaks.
The next thing you know, you're waking up on the floor of the living room, a splitting headache and a metallic taste in your mouth. Your phone is smashed, your car keys are gone, and the front door is locked tight.
He's kneeling beside you, looking frantic and terrified.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he's gasping. "I just couldn't let you leave. I can't go back to being alone again. I just can't. Please, forgive me. I'll be a good dad. I swear. I'll take care of you. Just give me a chance. Please, just give me a chance."
Unlike the others, he doesn't have a grand plan. He's clumsy and improvising every step of the way. He's a nervous wreck.
He's scared of you hating him, of you trying to escape, of you getting hurt. He hovers over you constantly, checking your temperature, making sure you're eating and drinking enough.
"Are you cold? Do you need another blanket?"
"Does your head still hurt? I can get you something for the pain. Please just... don't scream. I hate it when you scream. It breaks my heart, kiddo."
He buys you everything you could possibly want. He sets up a TV with all the streaming services, he buys you books and video games, he asks you what your favorite food is and learns to cook it perfectly.
He's trying to buy your affection, but it's not malicious. He's just a lost, lonely man who's convinced that he's the only one who can protect you. He's seen the news. He knows how horrible the world can be. Out there, you're a target. In here, you're safe.
But if you ever start seeking out the darkness of the outside world again... the news, the radio, anything that makes him feel like he isn't enough... he gets frantic. He'll take away the TV and radio.
"You don't need that stuff," he'll plead, his eyes wide with panic. "It's all poison. It just makes you want to leave. Don't you like it here? With me? I love you so much. Ain't that enough?"
When he's not panicking, he's surprisingly gentle. He'll read to you, he'll play games with you, he'll just sit in comfortable silence with you.
He's starved for affection, and you're the only one who can give it to him.
He wants to be your dad. He wants to tuck you in at night, to kiss your forehead, to tell you bedtime stories. He wants to see you smile and know that he's the one who put it there.
He'll do whatever it takes to make you stay. He'll do whatever it takes to make you love him. And if he can't have your love, he'll settle for your dependence. He'll settle for just having you here, where he can see you, where he knows you're safe.
Buck Compton came back to see the Company to let us know that he was alright. He became a prosecutor in Los Angeles. He convicted Sirhan Sirhan in the murder of Robert Kennedy, and was later appointed to the California Court of Appeals.
David Webster became a writer for the Saturday Evening Post and Wall Street Journal, and later wrote and book about sharks. In 1961, he went out on the ocean alone, and was never seen again.
Johnny Martin would return to his job at the railroad and then start his own construction company. He splits his time between Arizona and a place in Montana.
George Luz became a handyman in Providence, Rhode Island. As a testament to his character, sixteen hundred people attended his funeral in 1998.
Doc Roe died in Louisiana in 1998. He’d been a construction contractor.
Frank Perconte returned to Chicago and worked a postal route as a mailman.
Joe Liebgott returned to San Francisco and drove his cab.
Bull Randleman was one of the best soldiers I ever had. He went into the earth moving business in Arkansas. He’s still there.
Alton More returned to Wyoming with a unique souvenir: Hitler’s personal photo albums. He was killed in a car accident in 1958.
Floyd Talbert we all lost touch with in civilian life, until he showed up at a reunion just before his death in 1981.
Carwood Lipton became a glass making executive in charge of factories all over the world. He has a nice life in North Carolina.
Harry Welsh – he married Kitty Grogan. Became an administrator for the Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania school system.
Ronald Speirs stayed in the Army, served in Korea. In 1958, returned to Germany as Governor of Spandau Prison. He retired a Lieutenant Colonel.
Lewis Nixon had some tough times after the war. He was divorced a couple of times. Then in 1956, he married a woman named Grace and everything came together for him. He spent the rest of his life with her, travelling the world. My friend Lew died in 1995.
I took up his job offer and was a personnel manager at the Nixon Nitration Works, until I was called back into service in 1950 to train officers and rangers. I chose not to go to Korea. I’d had enough of war. I stayed around Hershey, Pennsylvania, finally finding a little farm. A little peaceful corner of the world, where I still live today. And there is not a day that goes by that I do not think of the men I served with who never got to enjoy the world without war.
The importance of correct lead was explained in the Luftwaffe Fighter Gunnery manual with an analogy designed to capture the attention of the young men forming the intended audience
The example was given that a shell will take one second to travel 500 meters and in that time the enemy aircraft would have traveled 100 meters, therefore the pilot needed to aim 100 meters ahead of the aircraft at that range
The young woman's hand on her outstretched arm was shown as the aim point if the target was her shoulder, and one did not have to pull lead if fortunate enough that the approach was frontal - to the aircraft, naturally
The radius of the circle on the Revi gunsight was the measure by which lead was to be calculated for various relative angles of the target, however it was emphasized that a no deflection shot was the ideal
Hans-Joachim Marseille was the master of the high-angle deflection shot using such extreme leads that he often couldn’t see the target aircraft. He would pepper his target from propellor boss to cockpit using a two-second burst.
The girl in my icon is my oc, she's a má tranh (kind of..more like a tiger demon possessing a human/mixed with the má tranh ghost folklore) who eats people..anyways when I'm having a bad day I literally just draw her looking cool standing next to a tiger 😂
For the characterization thing, how about Ron Speirs? If you don’t mind, of course
Don’t mind at all! Of all canon characters, Ron is the one I’ve written most (and feel most comfortable writing). I’ll try to keep this as concise as the other characterization notes, haha, but truth of the matter is that I could fill a small book with this. 😊
You see, Ron surrounds himself with stories. Ask people what they think of him and you will get a multitude of answers, which then may or may not be true. A story, after all, depends on the one doing the telling.. and Ron is rarely the one doing that. He will lean into whichever story suits him best at the time and doesn’t much care about how honest it is as long as it serves purpose. Ron is practical and goal-oriented like that: whichever method gets the desired result is the one he’ll jump atop of and wrangle, even when the method in question is morally questionable in nature.
Ron adheres to his own code. He’s got a strong idea of what he considers to be right or wrong and isn’t easily swayed from that by outside influence. You might call him stubborn, sometimes even obstinate, but that doesn’t mean he solely marches to the beat of his own drum. Ron is a tactician at heart who’ll observe a situation, get the lay of the land by listening to those around him and watching people, and who’ll then make quick snapshot decisions to gain the most from the situation at hand. He categorizes things and people as being either useful or not useful to whichever objective he’s set his sights on.
And, well, this really means one thing: Ron does not suffer fools at all. He demands a lot from people and pushes them to meet his (sometimes impossible) standards. He doesn’t have the time to play 100 rounds of Q&A and interrupting his business with what he considers to be inane stupidity is likely going to subject you to a showing of Ron’s hair-trigger temper. He’s got a bite to him that’s every bit as bad as his bark, and sometimes it’s very much a keg-meet-gunpowder situation, but he tends to channel the majority of that straight into his dealings with the enemy.
Toward people who aren’t his people, Ron is standoffish and sometimes even casually brutal. He doesn’t mince his words and can be utterly ruthless when the situation calls for it. Sometimes literally cut-throat, he is often the first to put himself out on the line where the danger is and will charge headfirst into a situation. Some might think he’s impulsive, but I can promise you that Ron’s already five steps ahead and knows what he’s getting himself into. Which isn’t to say that he isn’t addicted to the rush a fight gives him, though, because he is. The man just cannot sit still and isn’t one to wait things out.
On a personal level, with people who’ve somehow wormed their way past Ron’s many layers and walls, Ron’s very giving. He cares, okay? He has genuine interest in how someone is doing, but also knows when to give them space. He’s a little bit allergic to overly emotional displays, but at the same time Ron is someone who feels really deeply and doesn’t always have the words for it himself. He’s prone to giving gifts or spending time with someone he’s fond of, but he won’t usually come out and say directly what they mean to him. Once he’s devoted to someone, though, he’s all-in: Ron is very loyal to people he cares about and will do whatever it takes to keep them safe.
