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Dark Star {Part Five}

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Part Five

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Elijah’s obsession with resurrecting you drives his family deeper into darkness, where alliances fray and unexpected lives are lost as Bonnie Bennett becomes their reluctant pawn. In the 13th century, love turns to betrayal as your forbidden bond with Elijah transforms under the weight of sin, faith, and the cruelty of vengeance.

8.3k words - Warnings: uhmmmm PAIN, death, destruction, full-throttle red door Elijah, so much angst, more hallucinations, Kol and Rebekah still being the ultimate duo, a tragic brotherly bond, compulsion, murder, MY QUEEN BONNIE BENNET && i'm sorry babes.... this is where it begins to HURT ... xoxo

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Six}

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13 century Europe

The walk into the forest this time wasn’t filled with excitement and joy; it was heavy with dread. Each step felt like a descent into darkness, a part of you wondering if you would ever leave these woods again. But the pull toward Elijah was stronger than your fear, dragging you forward against your instincts.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together Sister Claire’s death and what it meant for you. You couldn’t believe Elijah would hurt anyone, but something told you that he was connected, somehow, to the terrible fate she had met.

He was too perfect, too healthy, too beautiful. He had led you to sin so quickly… He had to be a demon. There was no other explanation.

A cold wind swept through the trees, and clouds slid over the moon, plunging the forest into near-total darkness. You quickened your pace, as if Elijah’s presence in the clearing ahead could shield you from the shadows pressing in on every side.

Finally, you reached the clearing. A dying fire cast faint embers over Elijah’s dark form as he sat by it, his head bowed, lost in thought. He looked up as you approached, his eyes catching the firelight, flickering with an unreadable intensity.

He stood and moved toward you without a word, the shadows sliding over his face, and your heart pounded with a sudden surge of fear. You took a step back, tripping over a tree root and collapsing onto the damp ground.

“Stay away from me,” you warned, scrambling back, the words barely audible.

Elijah stopped, his gaze softening as he searched your face. “I would never hurt you,” he murmured.

You shook your head, panic bubbling up inside you. “What did you do to Sister Claire? How did she end up dead, her throat torn out?”

His expression twisted with pain. “Do you think me capable of such a thing? After what we shared, after what we promised each other?"

You took a shaky breath, fighting the urge to run. "You have led me into sin, and now a woman is dead," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

"I had no hand in her death," Elijah said, his voice firm, but there was a guilty look in his eye.

"But you know who did," you said, the truth dawning on you.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping. “Yes,” he whispered, sorrow clouding his eyes.

Your heart sank, the betrayal burning inside you. He was a demon, a monster. And you had been blind to it.

“You’ve corrupted me,” you murmured, your voice full of anguish.

“No.” He shook his head slowly, earnestly. “I would never. What we share…it is pure.”

A surge of rage welled up, fanned by guilt and shame. “You’re a liar, all demons do is lie,” you spat, tears streaming down your face.

“I would never lay a hand on you. Not in a thousand lifetimes.” Elijah knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your face, and you flinched away.

"Stay away from me," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Stay away from all of us."

You stumbled to your feet and ran, not daring to look back. You had been a fool, blinded by his beauty, seduced into sin. And now, a sister was dead because of it.

Branches scraped your face, roots snagged your feet, but you didn’t stop. The darkness pressed in, thick and suffocating, and each breath burned as you ran through the forest, terror clawing at your chest.

Just as your strength began to fail, you saw a light ahead and stumbled out of the trees onto the convent grounds. Relief flooded you, but before you could catch your breath, something slammed into you, knocking you off your feet.

You hit the ground hard, the impact stealing the air from your lungs. Dizzy, you looked up to find another figure looming over you. It was Klaus... Elijah’s demon brother... grinning down at you, fangs bared, his eyes glinting with malice.

“Hello, love,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“No!” you gasped, scrambling back, but he grabbed you by the hair, dragging you to your feet with ruthless strength.

Without warning, he bit into your neck, and an explosion of pain shot through you, raw and searing. You screamed, clawing at him, but his grip was unyielding, the world spinning as your blood drained away, leaving you cold and weak.

Darkness swallowed you, the last thing you heard was Elijah’s anguished cry, calling his brother’s name.

You felt nothing. You saw nothing, lost in the void. Your last thought was a broken prayer, a plea for forgiveness. And then, warm hands cradled your head, a voice calling you back.

“Elijah?” you murmured, confusion clouding your mind.

“Yes, I’m here,” he soothed, his voice a balm, a lifeline.

There was the sound of an argument nearby, Elijah’s voice rising, but you couldn’t make out the words. Cool liquid touched your lips, the taste of copper filling your mouth. You drank instinctively, the sweetness flooding your senses, warmth returning to your limbs.

Your eyes fluttered open, finding Elijah’s face above you, his expression etched with worry. You reached for him, and he pulled you close, holding you tight.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

The memories flooded back. “Klaus…he killed Sister Claire, didn’t he?”

Elijah nodded, his jaw clenched. “I’m afraid so.”

“But why?” you whispered, still reeling.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, regret shadowing his gaze. “Just know, I would never have let him hurt you.”

You clung to him, your mind spinning. He was a demon, dangerous yet the man you loved. The truth settled over you, cold and heavy.

“You really are a demon…” The words were barely a breath.

He met your gaze, pain flickering in his eyes. “Almost.”

Panic rose, and you tried to pull away, but his arms tightened, holding you close.

“Please, don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

“Let me go,” you whispered, fighting the ache in your chest.

Reluctantly, he released you, and you stumbled back, a final look of heartbreak passing between you before you turned and fled toward the convent, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The weight of his existence pressed down on you, a dark and terrible revelation. You loved him... and in that love, you knew you made a terrible mistake.

13 century Europe

You managed to climb back through the window of your bedroom and collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sobbing. The weight of what had happened pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting, until you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. You lay there, the floor hard against your cheek, tears staining your skin and blood drying on your lips.

You weren’t sure how long you remained like that, lost in despair, until a soft cough broke the silence. You looked up, startled, to see Sister Margaret standing over you, her face shadowed, her expression unreadable.

Realization dawned as you took in your disheveled state. Your habit torn, stained with dirt, your face wet with tears, and the telltale smear of blood on your mouth. Shame burned through you, and you averted your gaze.

“What happened?” she asked gently, kneeling beside you. Her tone was concerned, but there was an edge to it, a hesitation.

You sat up slowly, wiping at your face. “I…I don’t know,” you managed, voice weak.

Sister Margaret’s brow furrowed as she took in your appearance. “You were gone for hours,” she murmured, her tone laced with worry.

“I know,” you whispered, a fresh wave of tears prickling your eyes. You tried to blink them back, but they threatened to spill over.

Her gaze grew sharper, her concern tinged with suspicion. “Is this…is this a result of Lord Mikaelson’s visit?” Her voice held a faint accusation, a disapproving edge.

The shame intensified, and you closed your eyes, feeling a hot flush crawl up your neck. “Yes,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

She sighed, disappointment heavy in her voice. “I warned you, sister. I told you not to stray from His light.”

You lowered your head, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You knew she was right, but guilt and regret were tangled too deeply for any comfort.

“Come,” she said, reaching for your hand. “We must tell Mother Mathilde.”

“No! Please,” you gasped, clutching her hand as panic flared within you. “I can’t…not after everything that’s happened.”

Sister Margaret hesitated, her eyes searching your face. For a moment, you saw a flicker of sympathy, but it was quickly replaced by duty. “You must confess your sins, sister. It’s the only way.”

“Please, I can’t…I don’t deserve forgiveness,” you choked, the words escaping in a broken sob. “What I’ve done… It’s beyond forgivable.”

“God is merciful,” she replied softly, settling down beside you, her arm wrapping around your trembling shoulders. Her voice was calm, reassuring, and you found yourself clinging to that sliver of hope. “You need to pray, sister. Ask for forgiveness, and it will come.”

“You don’t understand…” you whispered, the shame bubbling up, choking you. “Sister Claire… It’s my fault.”

Sister Margaret stiffened, her arm dropping from your shoulders as she pulled back, shock and confusion flitting across her face. “What…what did you say?”

“It’s my fault,” you repeated, feeling the weight of the confession bearing down on you, pressing into your chest until it hurt.

Her eyes widened, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, forcing the words out, even though they tasted bitter. “The demon... Lord Mikaelson- he…he seduced me.” Your voice cracked, and fresh tears streaked down your cheeks, the shame almost unbearable. "If only I had seen sooner..."

Sister Margaret recoiled, her hand pulling away as if you burned her. She stared at you, horror and disbelief etched in her features. “Oh, sister…what have you done?”

You hung your head, guilt washing over you in waves. “I gave my body to a demon. I…I forsook all my vows.”

A long silence stretched between you, broken only by your quiet, hitching breaths. Finally, Sister Margaret drew herself up, her expression hardening. “We have to tell Mother Mathilde.”

“No!” Panic surged within you, and you reached out, grasping her arm. “Please, she can’t know…not after…”

“She needs to know,” Sister Margaret insisted, her voice growing firmer, colder. “This is a grave transgression, sister. The consequences will be severe.”

You looked at her, desperation in your gaze, seeing the resolve in her eyes and the fear. “Please…I’m begging you. Just…just give me time to figure this out.”

She shook her head, sorrow flickering in her expression as she stood up, stepping back from you as if you were a stranger. “I can’t keep this secret for you.” Her voice wavered, but her resolve was unbreakable.

Your heart dropped, and you felt as though the ground had been ripped from under you. The finality of her words settled over you, heavy as stone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking at you one last time before she turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with the crushing weight of your sins.

As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the convent in a pale glow, you knew it was time to leave. You had packed a small bag, gathering a few meager possessions. A spare habit, some candles, a few coins, and a small silver cross.

The night had passed in a blur of restless sleep and tears, the shame and guilt a constant, relentless torment. Now, as dawn approached, a cold resolve had settled over you. If you didn't run, you would be condemned... purified to death. Sister Margaret would tell Mother Mathilde, and the truth would come out. You couldn't face that. You had to leave, now, while you still could.

You opened the window, glancing down at the courtyard below, a cold breeze sweeping in. The early morning air was sharp and clear, and you breathed it in, steeling yourself.

Slowly, carefully, you slipped through the window, gripping the ledge. You took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer, and began to climb down the rough stone wall.

The convent was quiet, the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees and the faint chirping of birds. Your hands were numb, fingers cramped, but you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to keep going.

Just as your foot found purchase on the ledge below, you heard a shout. Startled, you lost your balance, the stone slipping from under your foot.

You fell, hitting the ground with a sickening thud, a searing pain shooting through your body. A scream rose in your throat, but no sound came. The world spun, a blinding light flashing in your eyes.

Hands grabbed you, shaking you, pulling you to your feet. Dizzy, you looked up, blinking, and saw the blurred face of sister Margaret.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice frantic.

You took a breath, forcing the pain aside, and shook your head. "No...I'm fine."

"What were you doing?" she demanded, anger and fear mixing in her voice.

You glanced at her, then away, unable to meet her eyes. "Leaving," you whispered, knowing that the truth would hurt her.

"I was afraid you would say that," she said, a touch of sadness in her voice. "Come,"

"I can't," you pleaded, desperation rising inside you. "Please, just let me go. This is my choice."

"It's not a choice, sister," she replied firmly, gripping your arm and leading you towards the chapel. "You have sinned, and now, you will face the consequences."

She dragged you through the courtyard, ignoring your protests, and you knew it was useless. You had no choice but to accept your fate.

Mother Mathilde was waiting, her expression hard and unforgiving. She stood, towering over you, a figure of unyielding judgment.

"You have betrayed God and your sisters," she began, her voice cold and full of fury. "For that, you must be punished."

Sister Margaret pushed you down onto your knees, the hard floor bruising. You looked up at Mother Mathilde, tears blurring your vision, the weight of her words a heavy burden.

"Please, I.. I didn't mean to..."

"Silence!" she shouted, cutting you off. "Do you think I'm blind to your indiscretions?"

You lowered your head, a quiet sob escaping. "Please, forgive me..."

"Forgiveness is not given freely," she said, her voice hard. "It must be earned. You will atone for your sins through suffering."

Your head snapped up, and you stared at her, fear and desperation coursing through you.

"Take off your habit and robe, you are not deserving of such garments," she commanded, her eyes blazing.

"Please, I can't," you begged, but Sister Margaret tugged the clothing from you, baring your flesh, exposing your shame.

Mother Mathilde leaned down, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at her. "You have brought darkness upon us all, and now, it is time to purge it," she spat, her eyes burning with anger.

Tears streamed down your face, the humiliation and regret a painful reminder of your sins.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, pleading with her, but she turned away, ignoring you. She nodded at sister Margaret, and a heavy metal collar was placed around your neck, the cold bite of iron against your skin.

"Take her outside, to the square," Mother Mathilde instructed, her voice laced with disgust.

You were hauled to your feet, the chain connecting to the collar yanked sharply, forcing you to stumble after sister Margaret. The other nuns followed, their faces shadowed and grim, and you felt the weight of their judgment pressing down on you.

The sun felt too bright, the air too sharp, as you were led into the village center. A crowd was already gathering, word spreading quickly about your punishment. You looked around, desperately searching for a friendly face, but there was no one.

The chain was fastened to a post in the middle of the square, the rough wood rubbing against your skin as sister Margaret secured it tightly.

"Behold!" Mother Mathilde's voice rang out, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "The wages of sin."

There was a ripple of gasps and murmurs as the people gathered closer, staring at you, their faces twisted with disgust and fear.

"Confess your sins, before I send you to meet the Lord," Mother Mathilde commanded, her voice echoing off the surrounding buildings.

"I...I gave myself to a demon," you stammered, shame washing over you as the words left your lips.

The crowd murmured, a low, angry buzz. You lowered your head, tears stinging your eyes.

"And what did the demon do to you?" Mother Mathilde pressed, her voice filled with malice.

You took a breath, feeling the weight of the chains holding you in place. "He...he seduced me. He used my body for his own pleasure."

"Whore! Harlot!" someone shouted from the crowd, the words a harsh and ugly accusation.

"Speak the name of this demon, this devil among men," Mother Mathilde ordered, her eyes boring into you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak his name, the shame and guilt too raw and overwhelming. "I can't," you whispered, shaking your head.

"You will," Mother Mathilde insisted, her voice full of rage. "You will name the demon who corrupted you, or I will have your tongue cut out and fed to the pigs."

A wave of nausea rose within you, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the world to disappear. But the pressure remained, the iron collar tight around your neck as the crowd was grew louder, their voices raised in anger and fear. You closed your eyes, struggling to breathe as you spoke his name.

"Elijah Mikaelson," you finally whispered, the words barely audible.

The crowd erupted in shocked gasps and cries, a surge of fear and anger rippling through them.

"The Mikaelsons are demons, all of them!" a voice shouted, the words punctuated by a chorus of agreement. "They have brought evil into our midst!"

Mother Mathilde glared at you, her eyes cold and unforgiving. "Then the judgment is clear. For the crime of consorting with demons, and for bringing their curse upon us, you will be cleansed with stone,"

She turned to the crowd, raising her hands in the air. "Let this serve as a lesson to all, that the wages of sin are death!"

The crowd erupted in a frenzy, a storm of angry shouts and jeers. The first blow was from a young boy in the front of the crowd, he picked up a smooth, heavy rock and hurled it, the sharp edge catching your shoulder.

You cried out, stumbling under the force, the pain radiating down your arm. The next blow hit your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. You doubled over, the blows coming faster and faster, each one more brutal than the last.

Your world was reduced to nothing but pain, the rocks slamming into you, the chains holding you in place. You begged, screamed, pleaded, prayed, but the stones kept coming, the blows raining down on you, merciless.

You had abandoned God, and now he was abandoning you.

The rocks kept coming, tearing through your flesh, the blood streaming down your body. Each blow was a cruel and vicious punishment, and the crowd cheered, their voices ringing in your ears.

You fell to the ground, the stones striking you, tearing into you. Your world was a sea of red and pain, a never-ending cycle of suffering. Until the last stone was thrown, by the hand of Mother Mathilde herself.

You felt it strike your temple, the impact sending you spinning into darkness.

As the world slipped away, you had one final thought.

Elijah.

Elijah stood near the entrance of an old church, the crime scene tape fluttering in the wind. It was dark, the moon and stars hidden by the clouds, the air thick with humidity and the smell of death.

His gaze swept over the surrounding area, taking in the tall trees and dense foliage. Everything was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of the leaves in the wind.

Klaus was reading the crime scene report out loud, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "... Victim was found hanging upside down from the altar cross, her throat slashed. Blood was used to paint the walls, a message written in Latin."

"A sacrifice," Elijah murmured, his eyes narrowing, his stomach twisting.

"No, just a psycho," Klaus corrected, rolling his eyes. "Apparently the murderer is fond of leaving little notes."

"What did the note say?" Elijah asked, his pulse quickening.

Klaus rattled off the words, frowning as he translated them from Latin. "Lord God Almighty, light and truth, we beseech Thee, that Thou mayest drive away every unclean spirit, every deceitful demon, every foe of our immortal souls. Hallow this place and our hearts with Thy light and strength."

"An exorcism," Elijah muttered, his frown deepening.

Cami cleared her throat, she leaned into Klaus as she glanced at the crime scene report over his shoulder. "That kind of twisted thinking doesn’t come from nowhere. There’s a deep-seated belief system here, maybe even a distorted sense of duty. This is someone who believes they’re acting in service of a higher power."

Elijah clenched his jaw, his eyes burning with anger. "This has nothing to do with my wife,"

"Maybe, maybe not," Cami shrugged, her gaze softening. "But it does point to a connection between her murder and these others. If the killer is targeting women who look like her, we have to consider the possibility."

"No," Elijah hissed, his voice laced with venom. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Brother," Klaus said, his tone careful. "There's a pattern. You can't ignore it,"

"It doesn't matter," Elijah snapped, his voice rising. "We need to find a way to bring her back, that's the priority."

"Guys, down here!" Marcel's voice called out, interrupting the tense moment.

He was crouched on the ground, examining a patch of dirt. A trail of dried blood led towards a stone wall.

Marcel followed it, running his hands over the surface of the wall. There were cracks, and he slipped his fingers inside one, a frown forming on his face.

"There's a door," he murmured, pulling it open, revealing a set of stairs leading down into the darkness.

"A cellar?" Elijah guessed, his brow furrowing.

Marcel nodded, his expression wary, he looked at the others.

"Let's go," Elijah said, a chill running down his spine.

The air smelled musty, stale. It was cool and damp, the shadows clinging to the walls like a blanket.

Elijah stepped inside, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He could feel the darkness pressing in, the faint whisper of voices on the wind. Marcel was close behind him, with Klaus protectively hovering beside Cami, keeping her shielded from the unknown.

"This place gives me the creeps," Cami mumbled, shivering.

"Stay close," Klaus muttered, his arm sliding around her shoulders.

They followed the path, the stairs spiraling down into the earth, the air growing more oppressive, the temperature dropping.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the bottom. Elijah felt a sense of foreboding, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He couldn't explain it, but there was a dark energy here, a malevolence that clung to the air.

"I can't see anything," Marcel complained, his tone laced with frustration.

"Hold on," Elijah said, he felt around the walls until he found a torch attached to the stone, pulling it off and striking it against the wall.

A flame sparked to life, illuminating the room.

Elijah raised the torch, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light, his breath catching in his throat.

"What the hell is this?" Marcel whispered, his eyes widening.

The room was littered with long dead candles, moss climbed the walls, and bones were scattered across the floor. Blood was splattered on the walls, dried and brown.

Cami gasped, pressing her face into Klaus' chest, trembling.

Klaus held her close, his jaw clenching, a growl rumbling in his chest.

In the center of the room was a large cross, and upon it was a woman, a dead vampire. Her skin gray and covered in dark veins, her hands and feet nailed to the wood, her eyes wide open, glassy and unseeing.

Elijah's eyes were locked on the corpse, a terrible dread settling in his stomach. He recognized her, a face out of time.

On the floor next to her was another body, a wooden stake driven through her chest. It was clear that it was self inflicted, her hands not far from the weapon.

Your phantom stepped out from behind the cross, and Elijah's eyes widened, his breath hitching.

"Hello, husband," You smiled at him, tilting your head. Dressed in your nun's habit, the very same one you were wearing when he met you, the very same one the vampire corpses were wearing. "Do you remember them? What you made me do to them?"

Elijah shook his head, taking a step back.

"This is all your fault, Eli," you purred, your gaze burning into him.

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling.

"You corrupted me, made me drink their blood, made me crave it," you continued, your smile turning cruel.

"No," he whispered, his voice choked, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Yes," you replied, the word harsh, full of hate.

Klaus frowned, glancing at Elijah, his brow furrowed. He was muttering to himself, his gaze locked on the wall behind the crucified vampire.

"What is it, brother?" Klaus asked, his voice tense.

Elijah didn't respond, he was lost in the nightmare, trapped in the memories.

"Elijah" Klaus called, his concern growing.

Elijah blinked, tearing his gaze away from you, his eyes focusing on his brother.

"C-can you see her?" He asked, his voice strained, a desperate edge to it.

"See who?" Klaus asked, his confusion mounting.

"My wife," he whispered, his throat tight.

"She's not here, brother," Klaus said gently, his eyes full of sadness.

"But-" Elijah started, turning to look at you.

You were gone.

He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, his eyes stinging.

"There's something written on the wall," Cami pointed out, her voice trembling.

Elijah's gaze shifted to the wall where Cami pointed. In faint, jagged script, words were smeared in dried blood:

'In nomine eius quae nos decepit. In nomine eius quae nos corrupit. Tandem est purgata. Nunc quiescimus, missio sancta completa est. Salutem invenire possimus,'

Elijah felt a weight press down on him, his mind racing to translate the Latin. 

'In the name of her who deceived us. In the name of her who corrupted us. She has finally been cleansed. We rest now, the holy mission is complete. May we find salvation,'

The words struck him like a blow, each syllable carrying the weight of a fanatic’s conviction. His eyes darted between the two bodies sprawled on the cold stone floor. Mother Mathilde and Sister Margaret, both transformed into vampires. They had killed you, after all these centuries, they had gotten their revenge.

Elijah felt the world fall out from under him, his knees buckling, his mind reeling.

"You should have left me alone, Eli," your voice echoed in his mind.

"Elijah?" Cami said softly, placing a hand on his arm, concern etched on her features.

"It was them," he whispered, his eyes stinging with unshed tears, his heart aching. "They were the ones who killed her."

Klaus stiffened, his eyes darkening. "You mean to tell me, these two corpses were responsible for her death?"

Elijah nodded, his jaw clenching. "And now, they're dead too.”

Klaus stiffened, a wave of realization hitting him. "How could that be possible?"

Elijah turned to him, his face ashen, eyes haunted. "You tell me, you were the one drinking every villager dry!"

Elijah looked away, his gaze sweeping over the morbid scene. His heart was pounding in his chest, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

He could feel the rage boiling in his veins, a dark, powerful fury threatening to consume him. His fists clenched, and he let out a roar, lashing out at the closest thing to him. His knuckles slammed into the stone wall, shattering bone and splitting the skin. Blood dripped from his hand, but he barely noticed, his anger too intense to be soothed by the pain.

Marcel grabbed Cami, pulling her behind him, shielding her.

Klaus stared at his brother, shock and concern etched on his face.

"Elijah," Cami said, her voice quiet. "This isn't your fault,"

"Isn't it?" Elijah hissed, whirling around to face him. "Don't you get it? They killed her!" He pointed at the two bodies, his voice shaking, his eyes wild with grief and rage. "After all this time... She turned them by mistake... and they must have tracked her down..."

"Elijah," Klaus said softly, stepping closer, his hands raised, palms facing outward.

"No!" Elijah shouted, pushing his brother away, his eyes blazing. "She's dead because of me!"

Klaus stumbled back, his expression stunned.

Elijah took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, his eyes closed. His hand throbbed, blood trickling down his wrist, soaking into his sleeve. He looked down at it, his jaw clenched, his mind reeling. Then he ran, darting up the stairs, his footsteps echoing off the stone.

Klaus started to follow him, but Cami put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Let him go," she murmured, her eyes filled with compassion.

Klaus sighed, his shoulders slumping, a grimace of resignation twisting his lips. "This is bad, Camille."

"I know," she replied, her brow furrowing.

"How the bloody hell could they have turned into vampires?" he asked, his confusion mounting.

"Sometimes, snatch, eat, erase, has unintended consequences," Marcel mused, a scowl on his face.

Klaus felt a pang of regret, he had never really reflected about his time in the village. Him and Kol spent most of it drinking their fill of the locals. It was a blur, his memory of it hazy and vague, like a drunken dream. He had no idea that his carelessness could have caused something like this.

Cami wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He held her close, burying his face in her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Marcel watched them, his expression unreadable. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on the nuns' corpses, his stomach churning.

"Come on, let's get the hell out of here," he said, his voice strained.

"Right," Klaus agreed, taking Cami's hand, following Marcel up the stairs, and out into the night.

Elijah was nowhere to be seen, and Klaus didn't know where to begin looking for him. He had hoped that finding answers could ease his brother's burden, but instead, the truth had only served to deepen the wounds. There was no revenge to be had, and no one to blame but themselves.

13th century Europe

Death, it seemed, was a cold and endless void.

There was nothing... no light, no sound, no sensation. You drifted, suspended in an empty silence, time slipping away without meaning or measure.

But then, something broke through the emptiness. A gentle thumping, rhythmic and insistent, reaching out to you. It called to you, pulling you back.

Your heart.

Painfully, slowly, you felt consciousness returning, a heavy ache settling into your bones. Yet even as you opened your eyes, the darkness did not fade. Silence pressed around you, thick and unyielding, no hint of life.

You lifted a hand, reaching out and felt smooth wood just above your face. Your fingers moved to the sides, finding more planks, enclosing you in every direction. The realization struck, and a choked sob escaped your lips. You were trapped, buried alive, encased in wood and darkness.

A wave of panic gripped you, and you clawed desperately at the wood, splinters digging into your skin as you scratched, feeling the rough surface bite back. The air was stale, thick with the scent of earth. You were suffocating, the weight of the grave pressing in, sealing you away from life.

You were so hungry.

It was a hunger beyond anything you had ever known. It gnawed at your insides, a feverish craving that burned through you, leaving you weak and sick with need. You felt as though you might wither away, disappear into the dark if this hunger was not fed. And in the depths of your mind, one terrible thought rose, unbidden and irresistible.

Blood.

What had become of you? Was this hell? The punishment for your sins? You had failed. Failed God, failed yourself. Your body had been violated, desecrated, and now this was your fate. Condemned, starved, a monster craving blood.

But as the darkness closed in, and the hunger burned like fire, a muffled sound pierced the silence. A faint shuffling, a scraping, and then a loud thud. The wood above you cracked, dirt flooding in, dust filling the air.

Then, hands reached down, breaking through the wood and dirt, and grasping you by the shoulders. They pulled, dragging you out of the grave. The night air rushed in, cool and clean, filling your lungs with life. Above you, stars glittered in the dark sky, so beautiful, so bright it brought tears to your eyes.

A warm blanket wrapped around you, and a voice, soft and familiar, murmured reassurances. Strong arms lifted you, cradling you against a broad chest, carrying you away from the grave’s embrace.

Through the haze, you looked up and met Elijah’s eyes.

His gaze was intense, shadowed with worry, his face softened in relief. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, and as your vision blurred, his words echoed in your mind.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his voice a balm against the terror that lingered in your heart. “Everything will be alright now, I promise you."

When Bonnie's house came into view, the first thing Rebekah saw was a distinctive figure sitting on the step. She expected he would turn up sooner or later, figuring Stefan had alerted him the moment they left the Grill.

"Is that who I think it is?" Kol asked, his smile widening. "Another bloody Salvatore."

"Well, aren't we popular," Rebekah mused.

They pulled into the driveway and parked, stepping out of the car and walking towards the porch.

"Hey there, Damon," Kol greeted, grinning. "Lovely evening for a visit, isn't it?"

Damon cast a glance at him, but his gaze remained fixed on Rebekah.

"How can I help you?" Damon asked, his voice low, his expression hard.

"Well, for starters, you can leave," Rebekah retorted, crossing her arms. "This is a private matter."

"You can't hurt Bonnie," Damon snapped, his jaw clenching. "Not without going through me."

"Who said anything about hurting her?" Kol quipped, tilting his head.

"Get off of her porch," Damon replied, his voice edged with warning.

Before Damon could blink, Kol's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his hair. In a single swift motion, he slammed Damon's face down onto the wooden steps, shoving him hard against the boards. The sound of bone meeting wood echoed in the quiet.

"You certainly have the confidence of a madman," Kol chuckled, pressing his knee into the back of Damon's neck, keeping him pinned.

Damon groaned, trying to pull away, but Kol dragged him back, forcing him to his knees at the base of the stairs.

"Bonnie Bennett?" Rebekah called, her voice cutting through the tension. "I know you're in there, I can hear your heartbeat."

"Don't answer," Damon growled, struggling beneath Kol's hold.

The door creaked open, and Bonnie stood there, just behind the threshold, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the three of them.

"What do you want?"

"We’ve come to ask a favor, love. But your friend here is being rather rude," Kol said, his grip tightening on the back of Damon's neck, amusement flashing in his eyes.

"Let him go," Bonnie ordered, her tone sharp.

"Come outside," Kol demanded, his smile widening.

"Bonnie, don't," Damon hissed through gritted teeth, his muscles tensing against Kol’s hold.

"It's fine, Damon," Bonnie replied, stepping out onto the porch, her gaze wary.

"Good," Kol purred, leaning close, his lips brushing the shell of Damon's ear. "If you move, I'll rip your head off."

Damon snarled, his eyes flashing, but he stayed still, his muscles quivering with barely restrained rage.

"There's a good lad," Kol grinned, releasing his grip, stepping back and away.

"Now," Rebekah said, moving closer to the steps, her eyes locking with Bonnie's. "What do you know about resurrection spells?"

Bonnie let out a humorless laugh, crossing her arms. "No. Absolutely not."

"Come now," Kol drawled, his eyes glittering. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Not a chance," Bonnie answered, her jaw clenching. "Even if I could perform a spell that complex, and believe me, I can't, I wouldn't do it."

"Why the hell not?" Rebekah asked, her brow furrowing.

"Look, even if I was inclined to help you, and I'm not," Bonnie shrugged, shaking her head. "A spell like that, the cost is too high. It's not worth it."

"I'm sure we could work something out," Kol smirked, his gaze sweeping over her. He reached out and grabbed Damon by the collar of his jacket, yanking him to his feet. "Maybe a little incentive for you, hmm?"

"Leave him alone," Bonnie warned, her eyes narrowing.

"I would if you'd be reasonable," Kol chuckled, his tone light, a dark edge to his words. "We could do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice, darling."

The sound of tires squealing against pavement drew their attention, and Bonnie looked to the street, a sigh escaping her as she realized who it was.

Stefan came bounding up the steps and onto the porch, his gaze dark, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Let him go," he demanded, his eyes locked on Damon.

"Oh, Stef," Kol purred, his smile widening, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I was hoping you'd show up,"

"Stefan," Damon warned, his brow furrowing, his voice low.

"You have two seconds to back the hell off, before I make you," Stefan said, his voice laced with threat.

"What is with the hostility?" Kol scoffed, his brow raising. "I'm just having a little fun,"

Rebekah stepped between them, her arms raised, her gaze flickering from her brother to Stefan. "Everyone relax, this isn't getting us anywhere."

"Tell your brother to let go of my brother," Stefan replied, his voice cold.

"You heard him," Rebekah said, glaring at her sibling, her jaw clenched.

"Fine," Kol muttered, shoving Damon towards his brother. "No need to get testy."

Damon stumbled, but Stefan grabbed him, steadying him, his arm wrapping protectively around his shoulder.

"Let's try this again," Rebekah sighed, looking at Bonnie. "We need your help resurrecting our sister in law, and you're the only person I can think of who can actually do it."

"I can't," Bonnie insisted, her brow furrowing.

"Can't or won't?" Rebekah countered, her eyes narrowing.

"Both," Bonnie snapped, a note of frustration in her voice. "I know better than to mess with forces I can't control."

"Oh please," Kol scoffed, rolling his eyes. "We're immortal, darling. If anyone can control those forces, it's us."

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister in law, really, I am," Bonnie sighed, her shoulders slumping, a pang of sympathy flitting across her features. "But there are always consequences, and they're usually catastrophic."

"That's a chance we're willing to take," Rebekah said, her tone earnest. "You don't have to worry about any fallout, whatever happens, we'll deal with it. All I'm asking is that you consider it."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie shook her head, her brow furrowing. "My answer is no."

"Miss Bennett," a familiar voice called, the sound of footsteps approaching.

All eyes turned to the man walking up the driveway, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his gaze intent, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Elijah," Bonnie breathed, her heart skipping a beat, a sense of dread settling in her stomach.

"I will only ask you this once," Elijah said, his voice steady, a glint of steel in his eyes. "Do as we request, and no harm will come to you or your friends."

A tense silence settled over the porch as Elijah’s words hung in the air, his calm tone laced with an unspoken threat. Bonnie took a step back, her heart pounding, but her gaze held steady.

“Elijah,” Stefan said, his voice low and tense, moving protectively in front of Bonnie. “You don’t want to do this.”

Elijah’s gaze shifted to Stefan, his face a mask of cold composure. “I assure you, Stefan, I am quite certain of what I want.”

Damon stepped forward, positioning himself beside his brother, his jaw clenched. “And we’re certain Bonnie’s not doing anything for you or your twisted family reunion.”

A flicker of something darker passed over Elijah’s face, but he remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the Salvatores.

Rebekah looked between them, an amused smirk playing on her lips, she glanced at her brother.

Kol shrugged, his brow furrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"We don't need the witch's cooperation," Kol said, his gaze turning back to Elijah, his voice filled with amusement. "We could just take her."

"You're not taking anyone," Damon snapped, his voice low, a growl rumbling in his chest.

"Damon," Stefan murmured, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, his expression grim. "Not a good idea."

"Listen to your brother," Kol smirked, his eyes glittering. "This is none of your business."

"Everything happening in this town is our business," Damon replied, his gaze sharp.

"Is that so?" Kol laughed, a dark edge to his words.

"It is," Damon retorted, his brow furrowing, his hands curling into fists.

"Enough," Elijah said, his voice soft, but authoritative. He turned his gaze back to Bonnie, his eyes filled with a mix of resolve and grief. "Miss Bennett, my wife is dead. And while I do not wish to threaten you, I will not allow anything or anyone to stand in the way of her return."

Bonnie hesitated, her eyes searching his, a chill running down her spine at the look in his eyes. She could feel the weight of his stare, a deep sadness, and a deep rage, burning in the depths of his gaze.

"I can't," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I DON'T CARE," Elijah yelled, his voice booming like a thunderclap. "DO IT."

Bonnie jumped at his outburst. She had never feared the Mikaelsons before, not even when they were threatening her, but the look in Elijah's eyes was beyond anything she had ever seen. A deep, aching sorrow and desperation, mingled with a primal rage, all focused on her.

Damon scoffed, stepping up beside Stefan, his defiance barely masking the unease in his eyes. “So that’s it? You’ll sacrifice everyone and everything just to get what you want?”

Elijah’s gaze flicked toward him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You know nothing of what I have sacrificed.”

Damon’s lips curled into a smirk, though his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Yeah, well, I don’t care how ancient or heartbroken you are. Bonnie’s not your pawn, and we’re done playing along.”

Without warning, Elijah grabbed Bonnie's wrists, shackling them and suppressing her magic. Her body went rigid as her mind tried to process what was happening as Damon lunged, his fist aimed straight for Elijah’s face. But Elijah was faster. In a flash, he sidestepped, grabbing Damon’s arm and twisting it behind his back, forcing him down to his knees.

Stefan’s face darkened, and he rushed forward to free his brother, but Elijah’s other hand shot out, gripping Stefan by the throat, holding both brothers captive with terrifying ease.

“Elijah, stop!” Rebekah shouted, alarm replacing the earlier tension in her voice.

Elijah didn’t answer. His expression was cold, detached, a shadow of the man they knew. He brought Stefan's face close to his, his pupils dilating as he stared him down.

"Rip out your brother's heart," he said, his tone calm, almost casual as he compelled Stefan.

Stefan struggled, fighting against the compulsion, a growl rumbling in his chest. Elijah let go of his neck, still holding Damon in place with his other hand. Stefan’s face contorted with the effort to resist Elijah’s command, his hand shaking as it moved involuntarily toward Damon’s chest. Damon’s eyes widened with alarm as he felt his brother’s fingers pressing against his ribs, the pressure building, his breath quickening.

Stefan screamed in anguish, his mind fighting against the compulsion, his arm trembling. But no matter how hard he fought, the magic coursed through him, pushing his arm forward.

"Stop!" Bonnie cried, panic seizing her as she watched Stefan's hand dig deeper into his brother's chest. She moved to rush towards them, but Kol was quicker, pulling her away.

"I wouldn't recommend that, love," Kol whispered, his grip tightening as she tried to fight him off.

“Elijah, please,” Bonnie’s voice shook, her eyes pleading. “This won’t bring her back. It won’t change anything.”

For the briefest of moments, Elijah’s resolve flickered. The pain in Bonnie’s voice seemed to cut through the haze of rage and desperation that clouded his mind, and the realization of what he was doing hit him. But then the memory of your dead body flashed in his mind, and the grief consumed him once again.

"Finish it," Elijah ordered, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

"NO!" Damon shouted, his face contorting with rage, his muscles straining against Elijah's grip.

Stefan's eyes met his brother's, and all he could see was the pain and fear in them, before they dimmed. He knew there was no fighting it, and the moment his fingers wrapped around Damon's beating heart, he accepted his fate.

Damon gasped, a strangled cry escaping him as Stefan began to pull his heart from his chest.

"I'm sorry," Stefan whispered, tears streaming down his face, his eyes locking with Damon's one last time.

Then, with a single, powerful jerk, Stefan ripped his brother's heart from his chest, blood pouring out over his hand. Damon's body fell to the ground, a sickening thud echoing through the night.

Bonnie screamed, the sound piercing the silence, her eyes wide with shock. Kol's grip tightened, holding her still, his other hand covering her mouth to stifle her cries. His expression was a mix of awe and revulsion, but he kept her pressed against him, watching the scene unfold with rapt attention.

Rebekah stood frozen, a wave of horror and guilt washing over her. She could feel the hot tears stinging her eyes, her throat constricting, the blood draining from her face. She looked at her brother, hoping for some sign of mercy, some trace of humanity, but his face was a blank mask, devoid of feeling.

Stefan, still compelled, released Damon’s heart and stared down at his own bloodstained hands in horror as the compulsion faded. He fell to his knees beside Damon’s body, shaking uncontrollably, his expression vacant as the reality of what he had just done settled in.

“Elijah,” Rebekah’s voice was a shaky whisper, her face ashen as she struggled to find the brother she had known. “What have you done?”

Elijah turned to her, his expression unreadable, his eyes empty. “What was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Rebekah’s voice cracked, a tear slipping down her cheek as she took a step toward him. “This… this isn’t you, Elijah. This… this is madness.”

Bonnie wrenched herself free from Kol’s grip, her gaze blazing with fury and despair. "I will never, ever, help you," she snarled, her voice quivering with rage.

Elijah looked down at her, then looked to Stefan, still kneeling beside his brother's corpse, a look of agony and guilt twisting his face.

"Is that your final answer?" Elijah asked, his voice quiet.

"Yes," Bonnie answered, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breathing ragged.

"Very well," Elijah said, he grabbed Stefan by the neck, pulling him to his feet. Then, without hesitation, he plunged his hand into his chest, tearing out his heart.

"No!" Bonnie screamed, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees.

Stefan's body dropped to the floor, lifeless and broken, his eyes wide open, landing with a soft thud next to his brother.

"Elijah," Rebekah's voice trembled, her eyes wide and unseeing, her mind unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Take her," Elijah said, his eyes fixed on the witch. "And do not let her go."

Kol hesitated, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the bodies.

"Now, Kol," Elijah ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Fine," Kol muttered, his brow furrowing as he approached Bonnie, his grip tightening on her shoulders.

"C'mon, love. Let's get this over with," he said to her softy, dragging her to her feet.

Bonnie didn't resist, her gaze locked on Elijah, the anger and hatred rolling off her in waves.

"We're going to do this, one way or another," Elijah told her, his voice calm, his eyes hard. "The only question is, how many more lives do you want to take before we get started?"

"I hate you," Bonnie said, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Yes, I imagine you do," Elijah answered, his expression unchanging. "But that doesn't matter, not now. What matters is getting my wife back."

Rebekah stood motionless, staring at the two corpses, her mind unable to process the horror that surrounded her. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, her heart racing, the world around her spinning. The Salvatores were a pain in her side, and she had always thought them fools, but they didn't deserve this. The gravity of what had just happened was too heavy, too surreal to fully comprehend.

Kol and Rebekah watched their once noble, honorable brother, the north star of their family, turn to face them. But that guiding light was now gone, consumed by shadow. What stood before them was no longer their Elijah, but something else entirely.

A dark star, collapsing under its own weight, dragging everything into its relentless abyss.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Six}

[velvetvexations]

This is an edited version of something I posted to r/DaystromInstitute, a Star Trek sub. I'm proud of it and, having deleted my account, want to preserve it here.

Dukat is a fantastic example of Narcissitic Personality Disorder

I'm an individual with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. It's very, extremely frustrating to see people claim everyone from Dolores Umbridge to Donald Trump also have NPD because they're like, just the worst. NPD doesn't mean "selfish", or "controlling", or even "self-absorbed", and certainly is not a synonym for abusive, despite all the self-help books that say sniping a narcissist who came within eight hundred yards of you is legally permissible under Stand Your Ground laws.

You might expect me to not be so appreciative of Dukat, who is, after all, a pretty horrible person. I actually have a worse opinion of Dukat's supposed nobility than many, as fairly often the fandom prefers to back the idea that he really was a misguided anti-villain who only succumbed to devil-worshipping when the writers assassinated his character.

Well, unfortunately, it's harder to recognize authentic NPD traits in heroes, and "recognize" is a term I use loosely, since most writers certainly didn't have NPD in mind at all. Nonetheless, I love Dukat because he exemplifies a nuanced, if not overly flattering, portrayal of a personality disorder that actual human beings deal with, and 99% of the time is just flattened into a thing you call people you don't like.

As a child, one thing that did a lot to mitigate the more negative social aspects of NPD was having it imprinted on my brain by anime and video games that being a Hero and as good as possible was the best thing to be. While praise and attention in general does scratch a powerful itch too, once my child-self internalized the values of the media I consumed - helped along by also being autistic - the standard for which I judged myself was set. I would literally cry if I accidentally picked up dark side points in a Star Wars game.

I think Dukat went through a similar process. Not all narcissists cling to a model centering morality, but Dukat, for one reason or another, did. He sincerely believes everything he does is altruistic and fair, and more than that, he wants to be altruistic and fair, having misidentified the origin of his cravings.

Another thing that helped me a lot growing up was a book called The Screwtape Letters. If you're unfamiliar, it's by CS Lewis and is presented as a series of letters from a high-ranked demon to his nephew, who works as essentially a shoulder devil attempting to guide his patient into sin and disconnection from God. I feel like Lewis would probably be annoyed with me not getting anything properly Christian out of it, but it is an amazing manual for teaching you how to examine your own thinking and subconscious impulses. It started me down a path of being very self-aware, which made it easier to navigate NPD, because I'm incapable of tolerating the flaws in my internal logic that I'm able to catch. If I may be excused for saying so, I think I do a decent job on that count, with the downside that I'm often far too hyper-critical and it results in regular anxiety.

But Dukat never learned that skill. As a result, his attempted nobility clashes with his other competing impulses, and all his actions are reinforced, rather than rejected, by his conscious, which his NPD assures him is being followed to the letter. As Lewis said:

The baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity at some point may be sated; and since he dimly knows he is doing wrong he may possibly repent. But the Inquisitor who mistakes his own cruelty and lust of power and fear for the voice of Heaven will torment us infinitely more because he torments us with the approval of his own conscience and his better impulses appear to him as temptations.

Dukat's inner struggle is fueled by the need to be a revered benefactor while also having served at the head of the bastard offspring of the Iraq War and Holocaust. His solution at the time was to make it more like the Second Boer War, the conflict that originally popularized the term "concentration camp" despite the fact that those concentration camps weren't even meant to eliminate the thousands that were killed in them.

DUKAT: So in my first official act as Prefect, I ordered all labour camp commanders to reduce their output quotas by fifty percent. Then I reorganized the camps themselves. Child labour was abolished. Medical care was improved. Food rations were increased. At the end of one month of my administration, the death rate had dropped by twenty percent. Now how did the Bajorans react to all this? On my one month anniversary they blew up an orbital dry-dock, killing over two hundred Cardassian soldiers and workers. "KIRA": We didn't want a reconciliation. We wanted to destroy you. DUKAT: So I had to order a response. But even then it was a carefully tempered one. I ordered two hundred suspected members of the Resistance rounded up and executed. Two hundred lives for two hundred lives. That's justice, not malevolence. Justice.

Throughout the episode the Kira hallucination embodies the disrespected and ingratitude he feels he gets for being "nice". Cardassian values, attitudes, and objectives came first. Dukat, however, was smart enough to understand some of what was being done to Bajor was wrong, but not quite able to tear himself away from his own identity as a Cardassian and the protagonist of the universe. That was just too much to totally upend, as would be required to fully comprehend the reality of the situation.

So he tries, in his own way. Because he wants to be a good guy, the hero, the main character, and he truly believes that he is. Unfortunately, it remains pointed solidly in the direction of his own ego. He's unable to recognize that to err is Cardassian, but repentance divine, because he's already invested in so much. His identity as a Cardassian, his own past actions, his impulsive grabs for power, and being convinced he's such a good man shields him from thinking critically because it would necessarily mean criticizing himself. Dukat can only truly appreciate that he's made mistakes when it makes him feel like he's being the bigger man willing to compromise and graciously admit fault, but he was in charge of the Occupation for twenty years. It's hard to walk back from that.

And I should know, because even understanding I'm the one at fault, it's pulling teeth to force myself through accepting I did wrong, much less admitting it to someone else. I don't want to be someone who fucked up, no matter how minor. Pulling teeth. Quite a lot of NPD can be described that way, in fact. While half-brained wannabee psychologists present narcissists as being sociopathic manipulators who skillfully terrorize those around them, most of NPD is horrible, chest-thumping anxiety. It's not fun at all to want to break my controller in half every single time I get got in a game of Splatoon, even when the round is far from over.

Most Cardassians involved with the Occupation seemed to be either outright monsters or falling under the "banality of evil", like Damar. They considered the Bajorans as, at best, a bunch of backwards hicks who needed to shut up and listen to their betters. Dukat, though, fetishized Bajor and the Bajorans themselves, as quite creepily seen in his string of Bajoran lovers and his dogged pursuit of Kira throughout the show (which horrifically took Nana Visitor putting her foot down to keep from being canon!). He pursed his tenure as head of the Occupation with the zeal of someone who truly wanted his subjects to see he was doing all this for their own good.

The Dominion and most other Cardassians don't give a fuck if your subjects like you except insofar as it's convenient and makes them less likely to rebel. That's the Dominion's whole thing, they just want control, and if the carrot doesn't work they'll shrug and without a hint of emotion give you the stick. It doesn't matter to them how they're in charge as long as they are. When Dukat makes his point about having only executed two-hundred (suspected!) members of the Resistance, the Weyoun hallucination comments:

"WEYOUN": The Dominion would never have been so generous.

It's telling that Dukat is fixated on the contrast between him and the people he allied with enough for it to show up in his breakdown. Just a little before that, Dukat says:

DUKAT: Major Kira knows full well I made every effort to heal the wounds between Cardassia and Bajor. Since the very beginning it was my intention to rectify the mistakes of the past and begin a new chapter in our relations.

Dukat is capable of saying, vaguely, abstractly, "mistakes were made", but it infuriates and honestly baffles him that it's not enough for him to be recognized as the most brilliant and loving extraterrestrial patriarch the Bajorans could ever wish for. In an earlier episode, he has this conversation with (the real) Weyoun:

WEYOUN: If you ask me, the key to holding the Federation is Earth. If there's going to be an organized resistance against us, its birthplace will be there. DUKAT: You could be right. WEYOUN: Then our first step is be to eradicate its population. It's the only way. DUKAT: You can't do that. WEYOUN: Why not? DUKAT: Because! A true victory is to make your enemy see they were wrong to oppose you in the first place. To force them to acknowledge your greatness. WEYOUN: Then you kill them? DUKAT: Only if it's necessary. WEYOUN: I had no idea. DUKAT: Perhaps the biggest disappointment in my life is that the Bajoran people still refuse to appreciate how lucky they were to have me as their liberator. I protected them in so many ways, cared for them as if they were my own children. But to this day, is there a single statue of me on Bajor? WEYOUN: I would guess not. DUKAT: And you'd be right. Take Captain Sisko, an otherwise intelligent, perceptive man. Even he refuses to grant me the respect I deserve.

Weyoun ends the scene laughing at Dukat. Because he was just advocating they exterminate all life on Earth, and yet he's amazed, truly stunned by how crackers Dukat is. The sheer depths of Dukat's psychological need for validation is as clinically fascinating to Weyoun as it is to the audience.

As it is to me, anyway. Like Narcissus and his pool, I peer into Dukat and see myself. Unsurprisingly, he's one of my favorite characters.

[cssns]

Everyone, Please Help Me Welcome @hollyethecurious back to the CSSNS!!!

Your Tumblr and any other applicable names

hollyethecurious (Tumblr) / HollyeLeigh (ao3 and ff.net)

How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?

Since 2016

When did you start shipping Captain Swan?

When Emma held that knife against Hook's throat in S2

What drew you to this event?

My besties

What inspired your topic?

The TV show Grimm

If you would like to share a snippet/sneak peek/summary of your fic or artwork, please use the space below.

Killian watched the vans depart and began tearing down the police tape they’d used to cordon off the area. The techs had left behind one of their flood lights for him to use while finishing his own tasks, but after he stowed it away in his cruiser he realized how unnecessary that had been. The moon was bright enough for him to do a final patrol with the assistance of his flashlight to illuminate the hidden areas within the trees’ shadows.

He’d just finished a sweep of the perimeter when the skin at the back of his neck prickled and his hair began to stand on end. The area, which moments ago had been softly sound-tracked by an ambiance of crickets and distant hoots of owls, had gone quiet.

Too quiet.

Reaching down to his holster, he flicked loose the restraining strap with his thumb before palming his side arm. “Who’s there?” Killian called out as more prickles of unease crept over his skin and up his spine. “Storybrooke PD! Identify yourself!”

Movement flickered in his periphery and the quick succession of snapping twigs alerted him to someone fleeing the scene.

“Halt!” he yelled out while in hot pursuit with his gun drawn. “Storybrooke PD, I demand you stop and identify yourself!”

Barely able to keep pace, Killian chased after the suspect. His attempt to call in the incident over the radio on his shoulder had been met with static as he was clearly too far out of range. Not wishing to lose the perp, he did not want to risk digging his phone from his pocket, lest it slow him down. The pursuit lasted for an agonizing length of time, drawing Killian deeper and deeper into the woods, his legs burning and his lungs screaming from the extreme exertion.

He finally stopped after bursting into a clearing, biting back curses under his heaving breaths for having lost sight of the suspect. Holstering his weapon, he doubled over with his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. A painful stitch began to form at his side and sweat from his forehead threatened to blur his vision.

The snap of a branch was the only warning he had before something solid collided with him, knocking him to the ground. Inhuman snarls and the gnashing of teeth curdled Killian’s blood even before he caught sight of the monstrous wesen he was currently trying to fight off with all his might.

Blutbad. The Big, Bad Wolf. In full woge and ready to tear Killian’s throat out.

For our artists: What kind of art do you like to do? Picsets, painting, digital, etc?

picsets and collages mostly

What are you looking forward to most about participating in this event?

As always, all the new exciting stories and art pieces. I'm also looking forward to getting a bit of my writing mojo back.

Ok, am I the only one who had shivers running down my spine at that snippet? Welcome back, Hollye!!! Can't wait for the rest of this on July 21!!

[flamedraco]

c!Wilbur Redesign

This is my compromise to the current situation regarding Shubble and the speculation surrounding Wilbur. This is coming from a fanfiction writer who has always, and always will, see the CCs as nothing more than voice actors for their characters. Buckle in, this is going to be a long one. But please read all the way through. If you don't know, recently Shubble came forward with a video about how she was in an abusive relationship. And she dropped some hints because she wants people to speculate about who it is. Wants to make sure that a person with bad intentions can't get away with more bad things. A lot of people are speculating that, due to said hints and previously established crush that he had on her, Wilbur is the person who abused her. Now personally? I do not believe this. It's hard for me to believe that Wilbur would do something like that. I don't like the idea of hopping on the hate train or immediately jumping to cancel someone. So I will be waiting for real facts and confirmation before saying anything regarding the CC. A lot of the speculation doesn't make sense to me logically and I also never got the chance to see the video before it was deleted. This is not me calling Shubble a liar. I 100% believe her and my heart goes out to her completely. She doesn't deserve being treated horribly, nobody does. The situation I'm hearing she went through is a wretched thing and I will not TOLERATE people insulting her or saying that she should just say who it was. That shit is not okay and never will be okay. HOWEVER! I will NOT stop writing Wilbur's character. A little fact about me is that when I came into this fandom, it wasn't because I watched the CCs. It wasn't because I was interested in MCYT. The reason I came here was because a very close friend of mine asked me to cowrite a fic with them. At the time the only fandom we really shared even vaguely was DSMP. I knew very little about it but I knew some things. I let my friend choose the ship. They chose TNT Duo. And it's thanks to that friend that I wrote Arsonist's Waltz. That I started to adore Quackbur and wrote my most well known fic, You Were Never Meant to be a Hero. And thanks to YWNMTBAH I made so many cherished friends. It's all because of these two little characters that still have me in a chokehold even though I've been writing them for quite some time now. And that's why I can't simply let go of Wilbur's character. But regardless of my ability to separate the Cs from the CCs, for some people that distinction is harder. The CCs to me are just glorified voice actors. For other people it's harder. They can separate the characters from the content creators just fine, but this situation hits them close to home. And it hurts. So, this is my proposed solution, brought to my attention by a friend who was heavily affected by this situation, but loved the work she was doing and didn't want to have to let it go. C!Wilbur doesn't have an actual canon design. When you think about it, the only thing we have to go off of is his Minecraft skin. Something that, when you think about it, doesn't tell us much about the character at all. There is no canon design because most of what we see as "canon" is based on the CC, not the character himself. When you look at c!Wilbur, the skin, does he have an eye color? Do we know his height? What about his hair length? His build? What do we actually know about this character outside of the clothing on his back and the personality his actor gave him? And when you make an AU everything changes. From now on? My c!Wilbur design that I'll use as a baseline for most of my fics is a 6ft man with heterochromia. One eye blue, the other teal. He's going to have brown curly hair that dips just below his shoulders and a light scar over one of his eyes. Sometimes he'll have freckles because what the fuck can we tell from a Minecraft skin anyways? He wears black nail polish because why not? Slay.

I already treated him and c!Quackity like glorified OCs already. Why not further OC the glorified OCs? So what if they aren't a faithful adaptation? How can anyone say what is and isn't "faithful" when we're talking about BLOCK MEN. Make them eldritch. Make them supernatural. Make them whatever kind of hybrid you want them to be! I'll die on my Magpie!Wilbur and Shrike!Quackity hill! Give them different eye colors and let them dye their hair sometimes, I'm going to make the white streak PINK because TWINS DUO and CHERRY BLOSSOM TRIPLETS! Give your Phantom!Wilburs green eyes and glowing blood! Give your Shapeshifter!Wilburs more hair and eye colors! Do what you want because the character has no actual canon design. Go wild with your AUs and remember that you're doing this for fun. For your enjoyment. Don't conform to what someone else wants from you just because your adaption, your interpretation, "isn't the real Wilbur". The characters are what we make them. Because the reality of the situation? They are literally just blocks in a cube game. There is no canon design. Don't let the actions of some asshole ruin what you love.

[torchickentacos]

PLEASE elaborate on solidad thoughts :o

ABSOLUTELY! 1 AM rambling ahead, coherence may vary.

Solidad is ICONIC. She is the MOMENT. She is AMAZING. She was only in three episodes (save for silent cameos), and yet her impact on the (CS but also general) fandom far outweighs the brevity of her canon appearance. We saw Solidad less than we saw Angie, Lyra, Robert, Morrison, and I think Tyson's Meowth, yet I'm pretty confident in saying that she had a stronger fandom impact than all of them. (Brianna's in that club of 'impact outweighs her appearance', too- for a character of the day, Brianna really cemented herself as a staple CS fanfic problem-causer. She had twenty minutes, a goddamn problem, and a dream, and I support her tbh.)

But back to Sol, I really enjoy that she had such a wide impact with such a small appearance. Not only in the fandom as a recurring character in many people's creative projects, but in canon itself! WIthout her, Drew would have read as a different character in those final episodes. She provides a softer context to him that we rarely get to see.

She exists solely to further Drew's development as a character, but she does a good job of it. I have specific feelings about that, I wish she'd been given more time to be a character in her own right, but she's instrumental to the character arcs that we see in AG, even though she only pushed it forward at the end. I feel the same about Drew, though- he only exists around May. You cannot talk about Solidad without talking about Drew, and you cannot talk about Drew without talking about May. I wish we had more of those characters on their own, but anyways.

She's a view into Drew that we'd been severely lacking up to that point. She's insightful in her dialogue to May, but also in her discussions on screen with Drew. It's just nice seeing Drew interact with people who are not May, which he never does. We get to see more of his personality come out around Sol, parts we don't usually see because he's too busy tunnel-visioning. (Note to self, I need to clip every time Drew talks to May and every time he talks to someone else and compare the runtimes because I bet it's going to be, like, a twenty minute difference, but anyways).

Solidad comes across as a former mentor of sorts, and it's nice seeing Drew interact with someone with that sense of respect (which he usually lacks). I think for May, it's also really fun to see her talk to Solidad- because Solidad respects May. It's just a really fun dynamic that adds balance to May and Drew. Drew's shown as stronger than May up to this point, but Sol is much stronger than him and yet respects May, and it's just a fun way to sort of even the playing field, if that makes sense? Solidad bridges a gap there; her career respect of May paired with her career superiority over Drew just really hammers in how far May has come by the Kanto Grand Festival, if her main rival's stronger rival sees her in such a positive light. I hope that made at least 5% sense.

I think also, going into more shitposty territory, I love Solidad's personality. She comes across as this mature, well-spoken, composed, respectful older sister type, but you look closer and she's actually such a shit-stirrer 😭 She point-blank told May that Drew has, and I quote, "Feelings for you" (shoutout to my queue tag, feelings for queue), and she's friends with Harley so her ethical code must be at least flexible, and she is, IMO, the reason that The Absol Scene goes as poorly as it does (Drew obviously went to the woods to train and be alone for a reason, as he is Not Doing Well, so Solidad... checks notes, calls him out in front of his crush WHICH SOL KNOWS and also like 5 other people when he's already in a fragile state. great job girl💀). Like, under the cool and collected exterior she is SUCH a problem-causer. A tea-spiller. She'd submit coordinator blinds to deuxmoi, I know this in my heart. I think it's so fun though because from her canon actions, you can extrapolate that she's someone who does her own thing if she thinks it's right and without input or permission, regardless of if it's actually right or not, and that's kind of where my joke about her being Chaotic Lawful comes in. I think she does have a strong sense of right and wrong, but I think it's a very Solidad-specific sense and not one that is, you know, rooted in a binary that most people would understand or assume to be the case lol.

This is so unstructured, but she's just fun and I like rambling about her. I also like that she only has Kanto pokemon, I love her backstory with Drew, I like that she knows Brock and Harley, she's just really interesting for a three-eipsode character!

[haveaclock]

Uhm...

Hi everyone?

Back from my little break I guess.

1 year is quite little

yea sure April 18 ,2023( the last time I posted) was a long time ago but,

"It's April 21st!! Of 2024!!"

oh wait I'm talking to myself again..

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

Guess whose back, Back again, Shady's back..tell a friend.

yea

I have an excuse! I was going to take a break in observance of my little sister turning 10 (she's 11 she's growing up way too fast), boom one year later.

Genuinely forgot why I left Tumblr,for that matter social media after that..blame it on mental health and stress.

People should know that stuff happens in a year, things change. So guess what, this blog is changing..whoopi. Excluding my pfp I love it so much for absolutely no reason

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

Blog things.

When I created this blog, I was in my "Jeantonio era", Jeantonio hyperfixation, if you were a CS fan in late 2022 most likely I was in your screen yapping about them and what not. Literally that was all my blog was good for, for that reason alone.

Yea, no more of that. I'm guessing the light switch turned off. I don't know what happened genuinely speaking they just aren't like..you can say I've gotten mature, when I look back at my posts I want to cry, bawl and curl up into a ball fetus position by the pure cringe of it. I don't know.

Not all only Jeantonio, it's just CS in general, sure I'm in a discord server (hi @tiredguyswag) about La Femme Rouge but I really just don't feel the same way about the show I used to. Blame it on personal life I guess.

now that I say that all I say on discord is how I stopped having a Jeantonio hyperfixation 🙃

Anyways,

Don't get me wrong I still love the,but I'll barely post about them. Yea, mind blower.

Next segment

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Bio thing

It's funny how I haven't made this before but that's that I guess,

- I go by Cassandra,

(@r41nb0wzzz DO NOT CALL ME OUT, I KNOW WHAT MY NAME IS.)

-Minor (don't hit on me 😒)

-She/Her

Hobbies: Drawing, Animations, Running,..does talking count?

.. I'll just skip to the fandoms part.

- Avatar:The Last Airbender

- Carmen SanDiego (kinda obvious)

- Any kind of children's show

-Mandela Catalogue

- MLP

- Undertale, but just barely

- Steven Universe

- Genshin Impact

-Spiderverse

I've forgotten now

Now, this shall come as a Total shocker for you guys but,

- Total Drama Island

see what I did there

next segment

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Everyone knows what a hyperfixation is,

A character(s) or show, or something you like so much you traumatize them or you draw them in class so much you have 3 full pages of that one character.

(Okay, funny thing is I've never drawn El Topo and Le Chèvre like, never in my life until like, January this year during Carmen week, crazy.)

Anyways, I'm pretty sure I was never one of those users that had a new hyperfixation like, by the day, "Jeantonio 4 life man"

Which is funny,

Okay I'll get on with it Rajbow (Raj and Bowie) is cool guys.

I love Rajbow so much man..

It's like ... it's like Terry McGurin watched Carmen SanDiego and then implemented Jeantonio onto Total Drama Island.

I will go on and on about them like..

Like look at them!!

Look.

Goofy Goobers times 2x man..

I didn't even mention Wayne man..Wayne!!!

I will put each of them in my pocket..each!

It's a brainrot.. man..

Will I be making remarks about my hating Bowie? No!

Le Chèvre got them because I hated him but now I don't because I forgot my reason,

or I just made him too fem queen in my head..

I love Bowie man..

And Raj..

And Wayne..

Platonic Raynebow 4 life man..

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

I forgot the majority of the stuff I came here to say, so I'll just say what I remember, and leave you guys to forget this,

-I'm going to delete a lot of my old posts most likely this weekend, they were very cringe man, understand where I'm coming from...

-Thetalkwithaveaclock isn't coming back, it's getting killed off. But then again nobody cared or knew what it was,

- Posting won't be something you'll be getting in every 56 seconds, it's more like every 56 days or something..I either just don't want to come back to Tumblr or its school man..

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

Yeah, that's pretty much it..I forgot a lot of what I was going to say to you guys, okay..uh..

Anyways,

Bye Bye..CS nation?.. I'm guessing the majority of this will be read by CS nation..

- cassandra

[4getfulimaginator2022]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I haven't been tagged, but I saw @fandomsbyladymelodrama do one of these a few months back - so of course, I wanted to give it a try. 🙃 Also, I haven't done any personal posts on here in forever. Time for a change!

How many works do you have on AO3? I have 18 works so far. And when it comes to ships, it looks like I have a "type." 😉

What's your total AO3 word count? Oh boy. 660K+ right now and growing all the time because when stories speak, I write.

What fandoms do you write for? Mainly Once Upon a Time (starting in 2013), followed by Game of Thrones (2024, baby!) and then that 1 Greek myth collection thingy. I was a die-hard Once fan back in the day and watched episodes religiously, so all the canon lore was seared into my brain until season 6 (when I dropped the show because the writing was so off the rails). Surprise, surprise - I haven't watched GoT in its entirety. Everything I know is through my own research, watching videos, reading, reading, reading, and the contributions of the wonderful Jorleesi fandom.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? All Captain Swan fics, in order from the most to the least: 1) Heart Bound 2) Only the Beginning 3) A Cobbler's Life For Me 4) Be My Angel, Be My Demon 5) Nevermore

Do you respond to comments? I try! I used to be less strict about replying to comments, but with my resurgence in fanfic after years of absence, I have replied to each and every one. Currently, I am behind on replies, but I will get around to it again. Soon.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Oof. I don't do angsty endings because I will die on the hill that is Jane Austen: “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” Probably my angstiest ending is in Trader of Hearts, which is a really dark fic. I do have a one-shot that is semi-angsty, though: Thinking of You.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? *deer in headlights look* I make it my business to give my beloved characters the happiest endings I can. Seriously. I don't know how to rank endings against each other, since the characters always end up together. I currently think my happiest ending is for The Old Curiosity Shop, my Jorleesi fic.

Do you get hate on fics? I have, but these were readers telling me how I should write my stories "the right way." I also have gotten spam comments. Overall, people are pretty nice.

Do you write smut? Hoo-hah! 😏 Let's count: I have 3 fics rated Mature and 5 fics rated Explicit. That's half of my fic repertoire. And when I do Explicit, it's ❤️‍🔥. Enough said.

Do you write crossovers? No. Not happening, cannot do, end of discussion.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Well... There was a scandal back on FF.net in 2014 or 2015? Websites were copying all fanfics to scammy websites or selling fanfics as ebooks. Not cool. I used to have all my content on FF.net, but now only my in-progress fics are there. All my fics are up on AO3.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No, not that I know of.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Hey, if someone is offering... But again, no. No one ever wanted to co-write with me. 🥺 But maybe it's because I'm sooooooooo bossy!

What's your all-time favorite ship? Oh crap. All-time favorite?! WHAT. I have to cheat here and say there's a tie: Captain Swan and Jorleesi. Emma Swan and Killian Jones had a long journey to love and happiness, both in terms of their individual character growth and their relationship as a couple. The more I learned about them, the harder I fell in love with them. It helped that the CS fandom was HUGE as the ship became canon, and Tumblr was so active then that #captainswan was all over the place. We were one of the largest canon ships for that show. Now, as for Jorleesi... Jorah Mormont's loyalty and devotion earned my attention and respect from the first, and then when I found out about his love for Daenerys and her repressed love affection for him, I was a goner. My 2 OTPs: both women are BAMFs who are survivors and warriors, while their guys value love above all and are willing to die to protect them (*sobbing for Jorah because noooooooo* 😭)

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Heart Bound. This fic... I love this fic. This is my Jane Eyre/Jane Austen fix. It's my 2nd period piece and I adore some of my prose in this one. It. Needs. 4. Chapters. To. Be. Complete. Can I do it? Yes. Do I want to do it? *cries* Of course I do but it's hard...

What are your writing strengths? Hmm. Some would say it's my prose, while others would say that I know how to channel emotion into my writing. I like to incorporate literature and historical references into my fics (historical AUs or not), so I think I've done well with that. I've also been told that my characterizations are fantastic and unique. You do notice that I'm not claiming credit for any of these observations, right? Usually, I believe my writing is awful and I could have done so much better. I have a hard time acknowledging my strengths. You could hand me an Olympic gold medal for Writing and I would still insist that it's all lies. My self-belief and confidence have not improved over the years.

What are your writing weaknesses? Dialogue. It's always dialogue. I want it to be realistic but my vocab gets in the way and it starts sounding like prose. Not good. But I am getting better! No way to go but up.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Maybe I'd do it, but it would have to be necessary for me to put in the effort. I don't purposely bamboozle my readers. 🤣

First fandom you wrote for? Once Upon a Time (of course *rolls eyes*). One Against the Wind is my ultimate period fic - pirates, the Caribbean, my tribute to PotC and pirate novels I've read. I created character backstory when there was no canon backstory. It's also my longest fic at 147K words. So proud of it and it still holds a special place in my heart. 😍

Favorite fic you've written? Ugh, no no no! I always, always say I cannot have one favorite because that is BORING. But okay, I will say that at the moment, it's The Old Curiosity Shop. I just did a full read of the entire fic and my heart absolutely melted. Adorable, heartbreaking, angsty, and so romantic. Jorleesi, I love you and I will die for you. You own my heart a thousand times over. ❤️

Fineeeee, I'll tag 5 people (no worries if you don't want to do this - completely voluntary fun and games here 💕): @ser-jorah-the-andal, @rileypotter17, @houseofthebear, @clarasimone, @thank-god-and-you

[s1urpjuic3]

More Scathing hot takes

RANDOM DISCLAIMER I have not watched not a nan lick of g3 Monster High, this is entirely based off of Tumblr post, y'all please inform me of wtf be going on over there.

Tonight, I will be touching on Monster High, because honestly, I don't see enough people talking about my opinions so I'm forcing y'all to see it lmaoo

THE WORLD SHALL KNOW PAIN

Anyways, I feel like this is gonna come out so wrong omgggg but

I DON'T LIKE HOW THEY BROKE OFF ICONIC SHIPS AND MADE EVERYONE LGBT+!!! I don't even care that their gay, it's just the fact that I feel like when shows/media wants to be inclusive when they remake/bring back old shows, they get lazy and just rewrite the existing characters to fit their agenda.

The only time in media it really makes sense (to me) is when a character is going through change, or left a traumatic situation, OR they were always written as a queer character

ie: Harley Quinn. Yeah, I (think) she's always been Bi, but i'd definitely wanna stay the hell away from men after The Joker. I say this as a lifelong Jarley fan. #GoJivey.

And before I go any further, girlllll everybody alr new Clawdeen was lesbian she wasn't fooling nobody💀 it makes SENSE for her character.

Like I know there are now hardcore Cleo x Frankie shippers, and that's fine, I love when people ship characters like that, it's expression of the love for the show, but making it canon??? *Faints*

Maybe i'm just a diehard Cleuce fan idk lmaooo

What I (personally) think they should have done is just introduce new queer/gender neutral/LGBTQ+ characters! I think that would have been so cute and unique cs I feel like no show does that and it's lame.

Like, I just feel like it's such a missed opportunity to make their love interest dynamic, y'know? Like, give them actual depth outside of liking their ghoul.

ie: Deuce. They could've gone into depth about his career and his hopes dreams and aspirations was, and it still ties into Cleo because of her dad and things of that nature.

(Sidenote: Clawd & Jackson/Holt could literally take over the Monster High fandom if they wrote him better in all the gens but y'all not ready for that Convo.)

THERE WAS SO MUCH POTENTIAL FOR JACKSON/HOLT OMG

I WANT NEW QUEER/LGBTQ+ CHARACTERS

Especially the boys ;)

Anyways, that's my hot take for tn, first moderately sized post (Hooray)

Post Script: What is this narrative that G1 Frankie liked too many boys?? Y'all be so frl. She liked 2 people. Jackson and Holt were the same people stop playing in my Tumblr space like that :|

Post Post Script: They had low-key pmo not giving lala some depth we all know she a bad bitch stop acting like she static.

[mgopinoon]

I really hope they did break up cause with CS finishing filming this week I'm not looking forward to pap walks and Gerber family trips. I just want to see him live a more peaceful life without paps and nepobabies on his back you know? I would be happy to only see him at events and at work, honestly. I don't want to know everything about K through this fandom, cause I'm sick and tired of her spoiled untalented face.

I hope Austin really ended that relationship, because if he didn't we'll see miserable paparazzi walks again starting in December. I also wish he rests and that we can focus on his projects. I would also like to see him at the awards events, if he has free time (without Kaia), I love his looks, how happy he looks meeting other actors and hearing about him for those reasons and not because of paparazzi harassment, although I'm 100% sure that after breaking up with Kaia we'll see very little of Austin being captured, because miraculously when Kaia is not around he can live a completely normal life.

[firewoodfigs]

any royai headcanons? :)

hi anon!! I'm SO sorry it took me forever to respond, but ah thank you for the ask--this is especially fun now since ao3 is down, much to everyone's dismay!!

I should preface this by saying I've just been writing fic and hardly engaging with canon material LMAO so I unfortunately only have paltry crumbs to offer at this point but there have been so many interesting h/cs going around, and it's always fun to see the fandom coming back to life again :)

some completely random and bizarre royai headcanons (this is more crack than anything else because I have about two brain cells left):

roy is a simp

riza is a simp

roy loves shrimps (and also loves peeling them for riza because he is a simp)

riza forces him to finish his vegetables

they are each other's emergency contacts

they 100% got it on before the promised day. how else could they have been so agile after literally sustaining life-threatening injuries???

roy is a generally reckless driver but drives with extra caution whenever riza is on board as passenger princess bcs that's his precious cargo right there

riza has a nifty collection of his shirts that she routinely wears as PJs (back to point no. 2)

roy has a burgeoning collection of dog toys bcs he was the asian dad who claimed he didn't want a pet but is obviously deeply in love with the dog

riza would make breakfast first for the dog and give roy crumbs and roy would be like aww yea that's fair (also "that's my wife")

riza is secretly an amazing singer and roy is always looking for ways to sneak in karaoke sessions during team bonding activities

but nobody wants to go for karaoke because roy is tone-deaf and deadass cannot sing. when he's drunk he just raps and that gets everyone on their knees begging for mercy

roy was very excited when riza started growing her hair out because he's always dreamed of getting to braid it with his own two hands, yadayada

riza on the other hand adores it when roy rolls his sleeves up

tldr they are both thirsty and in need of something more than a drink or two

riza fell in love first but would sooner die than admit it

riza decided to pick up xingese while in the countryside so that she could listen to the songs and read the poems that roy enjoys in secret

roy on the other hand really loves buying first edition copies of poetry books for riza. i'm sure he's also loaded so no biggie (apart from the possible mesothelioma but honestly first editions are worth inhaling some asbestos or whatever for)

roy's nickname is tailor swift because he's really good at sewing and has made riza more than one dress

roy's black coat is gucci

[tandy-angel]

💐 quotev refugee & professional sillyposter

hi there :3 i'm mars short for marshall & i like nicknames (among other things) ! my prns are they/them :3 i'm queer and have some gender in between the spectrum idk. currently in limbo since i haven't thought about it in a while haha

i'm tandy-angel or some variation thereof on most anything just hmu if you're interested in following on other platforms not listed below ^_^

i'm a fairly low-effort hellenic practicioner and modern witch who sometimes believes they used to be an angel. i love culture and religion and i'm currently reading the bible and learning tagalog. i have a moderate understanding of written spanish but do not believe i could hold a verbal conversation. i'm working on it

i have a lot of interests. i love all things beautiful and even those that aren't. i love humanity and romanticize everything! so yeah. i have a lot of interests. i'll link a post below outlining them all <3

more useless info below the cut but please follow & interact if any of this interests you :D i have no idea how to use tumblr despite having had one for years. my gf is coaching me so please be kind >_< anyway. hmu ♡ i'm nice i love talking to people i'll be here. like subscribe & follow thanks. mwah! xo, mars

⭐️ reference to tags i use [ official taglist ]

#hehe :3 things i like. more vague than #mecore

#mecore things i relate to. fairly obvious

#ray speaks truth a raypost i've reblogged and agree with. also obvious imo

#raycore things i think my gf might relate to/things that relate to him

#i love my southern gf idk. more specific gf tag, things that relate to him being southern or things that just make me feel particularly affectionate

#witchery on main fairly self explanatory. i usually post witch things on @mars-witchery

#check misc my "check and sort later" tag

#misc is anything non-fandom related. fandoms will be tagged as such

🔮 other socials

tandyangel2 / ao3 (i use this when i have something to publish that i am pleased with. very rare)

tandyangel / fanfiction (no longer active, yet sometimes i dream of going back ;___;)

tandy_angel2 / twt (also no longer active. have a few good memories from that era though) (edit: i will be heading back + revamping soon. re: quotev death)

tandyangel / pokefarm (i'm here only sometimes. read: barely ever)

mostly on quotev (no longer, since quotev death) & instagram with a personal account. hmu if you want it if we're friends, mutuals, or have interacted once. barely here on tumblr but it's a cute space so i wanna be on more. we'll see

🌷 other links

• interests

• carrd

• side blogs

long story short ! ★

✿ mars, they/them. queer + neurodiv

✿ taken, 1r1p. aroace bi lesbian

✿ likes music. psych + cs major

✿ i hate queer discourse count me OUT

✿ i'm a romantic i love everything else

✿ i'm friendly i promise please hmu

[on-a-lucky-tide]

CW: discussion of Lambert's abusive father; links to personal reflections.

I usually lean into the abusive father in a working class setting for Lambert because it mirrors my experience, and I find it cathartic to explore that background and use that personal experience to inform my character writing. When life gives you lemons, right?

But a discussion we had in the CS a while ago has just popped up in my brain. It was about reinforcing the idea of the working class drunk man beating his wife and kids, and how it can add to the demonisation of the poor and/or working class as more inclined towards violence and aggression; a trope that gives me the ick when it's recycled by a predominantly middle class fandom, replete with their tertiary education and perhaps no small sense of moral superiority, without nuanced reflection on why we pluck that particular background off the shelf for our favourite emotional porcupine.

It got me thinking about my own contributions to that and how I allow those harmful stereotypes to propagate, that I need to sit down and think about how I present Lambert's background.

Poverty has been linked to domestic violence as both a cause and a consequence. For Lambert, I often give his dad a skill (mine was a carpenter and carpet layer, so guess what profession the Fictional Arsehole gets in my head), so that sense they aren't necessarily "badly off". Skilled professions tend to lead to more comfortable lifestyles; not necessarily always on the bread line or without shoes, but it also means that the victims are kept in that situation by financial shackles.

They can't afford to leave.

And that's not necessarily something confined to the working class. There are so many women and children stuck in those relationships because the abuser has the money, the property, the everything.

It got me thinking about a slightly different take to Lambert's past. Perhaps he and his mum were trapped there not just by coercive control, but because the alternative was starvation and a different type of exploitation. Give Lambert a "comfortable" home, a gilded cage. Give him servants and maybe a title, with land. The Witcher teaches us that evil and corruption is endemic amongst the powerful classes. Not just in the books, but in the games; who can forget the Bloody Baron storyline?

Why not have Lambert returning home after the trials to a manor house that still haunts his dreams? Finding his mother at peace in the family crypt, and his old man at his mahogany desk, drunken and pathetic? No longer the towering visage of Lambert's nightmares, but a pathetic, shrivelled worm cowering in a high-backed chair?

Lambert's background is so rich for interpretation. I think I'm gonna change it up for a bit.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

The Girls' Trip Fairy Tale Ending--Chapter 3 of 5

Summary:  This is my combined birthday gift for Joni (  @jrob64​  ), Marta ( @snowbellewells ) and Krystal ( @kmomof4 ).  Happy birthday ladies! Four fandom friends are nearing the end of their annual girls’ trip when they’re suddenly visited by Isaac, the author before Henry.  He gives them an each a gift–an opportunity to jump into any scene in the storybook they want and fix it.  Large focus on CS, although other characters and relationships will be explored.  A big shoutout to @hollyethecurious​ and @winterbaby89 for betaing!

Word Count: 2897

Other chapters:  (1) (2) (4)

Can also be found on: (ao3) (ff.net)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Note: Happiest of birthdays to Marta, @snowbellewells! I hope you enjoy your trip into the book! (You might want to sit down when you read this; there is a decent chance you'll swoon, hehe.)

Chapter 3

The book deposited Marta somewhere in the middle of the Storybrooke cemetery as dusk settled over the town. She grinned, knowing she was exactly where she was meant to be–and because against all odds and logic, she was about to actually meet and interact with Graham. Best. Girls’. Trip. Ever.

She wasn’t going to fulfill her purpose by standing here and thinking about the surrealism of her situation, though. She needed to find Regina’s vault, and she needed to find Emma and Graham before Regina did.

She scanned the cemetery past rows and rows of completely ordinary tombstones, some with loving epitaphs and others rather nondescript.  She even saw one on which was etched three bears standing side by side. The epitaph for this stone read “Jesus saves.”

Finally, in the distance she saw the large mausoleum with its twin pillars and its circular crest, emblazoned with antlers or curved vines. Marta wasn’t entirely clear what they were supposed to represent.

Even more significantly, she saw the three figures of Emma, Graham, and Regina standing before it. They spoke for a few moments, and then Regina threw a punch, which Emma quickly returned, before slamming Regina up against the vault.

Marta’s heart sank; she hoped she wasn’t too late. 

As Emma began walking purposefully toward her cruiser, Graham not far behind, Marta knew she had to make her move.

“Graham was right,” Marta said quickly, catching up to Emma. “Regina is keeping his heart in the vault!”

Emma stopped and stared at her for a long moment. “Is there something in the water today? Have I dropped into some bizzaro world where I’m the only person who hasn’t lost my mind? Do you realize how you crazy you sound, Marta?”

“Yeah, I’m sure I sound insane,” Marta said, “and normally I’d give you the opportunity to figure all of this out on your own, but right now… it’s literally a matter of life and death. We can’t let Regina get to that heart!”

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, growling in frustration. “Okay, say I believed you,” she finally said, encompassing both Marta and Graham in her glance, “we searched the vault. There’s nothing there but a coffin.”

Marta didn't know how much she should or could intervene. It was probably best to be a little cryptic and circumspect.

"It seemed like you were interrupted in your searching," she said. "I'm sure there's more to be discovered there than you realize."

"She's right, Emma,"  Graham insisted. " I can still feel it. It’s there somewhere."

"Look, Graham,"  Emma said gently, taking his face in her hands and looking into his eyes. "It’s been a difficult and emotional day for you. Please just take a breath and trust me. Everything is going to be alright."

Marta saw the moment Graham conceded, and she began to panic. “You have to listen to me!” she tried again. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true!”

Emma shook her head. “Look, we already tried searching for it, and that led to an encounter with Regina that I don’t think either of us is ready to repeat anytime soon. If there’s something there, we can always come back and look for it another time, but until then, there’s a first aid kit in the sheriff’s station that’s calling my name.”

“But–” Marta tried one last time, but they were already gone.

Now what?

She considered heading back to the vault and confronting Regina herself, but she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to go up against the Evil Queen–even in the Land Without Magic. What she needed was an ally.

And then it clicked. Henry. Who better than the truest believer, who had been working so hard on Operation Cobra, to help her stop his mom from doing something irreversible?

She needed to get to Henry now … wherever he was.

She’d no sooner had the thought than she was at the front door of the mayor’s mansion. She could really get used to traveling at the speed of thought like this! Knowing she didn’t have a moment to lose, she rang the doorbell and then waited impatiently until Henry opened the door.

“Marta?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s an Operation Cobra emergency!” she said. “We have to get to your mom’s vault A.S.A.P.”

Without a word, Henry grabbed his coat and followed her out the door. As they rushed back to the cemetery, Marta filled Henry in on what was happening–being careful to heavily edit the situation, not entirely sure it was suitable for ten-year-old ears.

“And so,” Marta finished, just as the vault came into view, “I thought you could distract your mom, and then I’ll grab the heart and take it back to Sheriff Humbert.”

To Marta’s profound relief, the plan went off without a hitch. When they got to the mausoleum, Marta hid behind a nearby tree while Henry called out for Regina. She came rushing out, and Marta slipped in behind her just as Henry started in on a tale of how he didn’t know where Regina was and he’d been worried.

Thankfully, Regina hadn’t had time to push her father’s coffin back into place before rushing out to her son, and Marta ran down the cold, stone stairs, heart pounding, fearing to find a pile of dust instead of a heart, but to her relief, she saw it right away, bright red and glowing from inside the small box in which Regina had kept it. Marta took a moment to peer into the box to make sure she truly had her prize before closing the lid and making her way back outside. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next thing Marta knew, she was standing in the doorway of the sheriff’s station just as Graham leaned in and kissed Emma. No sooner had his lips touched hers than he pulled back with a gasp, his eyes blown wide.

“Emma,” he said in wonder, “I remember!”

“You remember … what?” Emma asked carefully.

“Everything,” Graham answered. 

Marta stepped forward. “Then I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see this again.” She extended the box toward him.

Graham gasped. “You got it? You really found it? How?”

“Let’s just say…” Marta said, “I knew where to look.”

For a moment, Emma merely looked back and forth between the two of them, her confusion and unease plain to see all over her face, and then she threw up her hands and headed for the door.

“Look,” she said, “I don’t know what the hell is going on around here tonight, but it’s just … too much. I forwarded the station phones to my cell; I’m going home. Graham just … take care of yourself, okay?”

He smiled at her gently. “See you tomorrow? Maybe we can talk.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Promise you’ll get some rest?”

“You have my word.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Marta blinked again, she found herself just inside the door of Granny’s diner.  She glanced around, confused.  She didn’t remember this scene from the show.  Maybe it was something new created because of her changes?

Marta noted that it was dark outside, so it must be evening.  Was it the same evening as her previous scenes had taken place?  What was she meant to do here?  Just as she considered stepping out the door, she spotted Graham sitting alone at a booth near the back of the diner.  He slowly brought a porcelain cup to his lips and took a sip as he looked pensively down at the wooden box in which Regina had kept his heart.

With no idea what she was intended to do, Marta decided she might as well join Graham.  He looked up as she approached the table, and a smile lit up his face at the sight of her.  He gestured to the opposite seat of his bench, and she took the offered seat.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude, Marta,” Graham said.  “If you hadn’t been there, hadn’t believed my wild tale, I shudder to think what might have happened.”

Marta felt a shiver go up her spine, remembering what really HAD happened in the original storyline.  “It was no trouble,” she assured.  “I knew you were right, and I didn’t want anything worse to happen to you.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand with another gentle smile.  “Thank you, nonetheless.  I know the things I’ve said and done over the past day have been–difficult to believe–but you’ve had faith in me even so, and I appreciate it more than you know.”

“Well,” Marta said, “I … know more than you think.  I believe you.  On all of it.”

“Do you?” he asked, surprised.

Marta nodded.  “And I know that you’ve been controlled entirely too long.  You need to get your heart back in your chest.”

Graham sighed, and glanced sightlessly out the window.  “Then you know I need a magic wielder to make that happen.  The only ones currently in this town are Regina and Mr. Gold, neither of which I trust to help me.”

Marta thought for a moment and a specific scene came to mind: Mulan returning Aurora’s heart in Rumplestiltskin’s cell.

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true,” Marta said.  “I’ve, well, I’ve seen a non-magical person return a heart.”

He glanced at her quizzically.  “Just who are you, Marta?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked with a small, secret smile.

His returning smile could light up an entire room.  “Perhaps I would.”

For several moments, Marta couldn’t speak, could barely remember her own name or why she was here.  That smile was lethal.

“Anyway, that’s … not important,” she answered, still more than a little flustered.  “The point is, I think it can be done.  I could try, if you’d be willing to let me.”

He was silent for a moment, considering it, and then he nodded.  “It’s worth a try.”

Graham got to his feet, and Marta gave him a questioning look.  “I’d assume you shoving a red glowing object into my chest might attract… attention.  I thought it would be best to go somewhere a bit more secluded.”

Nodding at the wisdom of that, Marta got to her feet and followed Graham to the back hallway of Granny’s, where he gave her his heart. (Marta was sure for the rest of her days she would never forget the warm fuzzy feeling that gave her.)  Holding it carefully, she hesitated for a moment, before quickly plunging her hand into his chest.

Graham gasped, closing his eyes and grimacing in pain for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Marta asked quickly.

After a moment, he opened his eyes, and the smile that came over his face would put the sun to shame.  “I’ve never in my life been better,” he said, “and I have you to thank for it.”

Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips, placing a quick, grateful kiss on its back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Marta was fairly certain she’d swooned after Graham kissed her hand, and this time when she came to, she found herself in Mary Margaret’s flat. Emma sat at the kitchen table, pushing around the cereal in her bowl rather listlessly.

Breakfast time, then–must be the next morning.

“Emma?” Marta asked, taking a seat on the other side of the table, “I just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright. Last night was kind of a lot.”

Emma snorted.  “Yeah, you could say that.  I have a knock-down, drag-out fight with the mayor, who also happens to be my son’s mom. My boss kisses me and then has some sort of … break with reality.  All in a day’s work in Storybrooke, right?  I’ve only been in this town a few weeks, but already I realize things are just … weird … here.”

“Well that is one way to put it,” Marta replied. “But … maybe try to keep a bit of an open mind about Graham.  Obviously he was going through … something … yesterday.”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Not you too!”

Marta’s brows furrowed.  “Not me … what?””

“Mary Margaret’s already been all over me this morning about closing my heart to love and not giving Graham a chance, and being afraid, and, well, whatever other crap she mentioned.”

“So I take it you told her about your kiss,” Marta prodded.

“Yeah, and she jumped all over it,” Emma said with a frustrated huff.  “Got all excited, talking like I’d just started dating my true love or something.  It was just …way too much for this early in the morning”

Marta chuckled.  “Knowing her, I can imagine.  She means well; just wants you to be happy.”

“I know she does,” Emma sighed.  “I just wish she’d back off a little sometimes.  I’ve been a loner for a long time.  I’m not used to… friends.”

“Well you have them now,” Marta said, “and that’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma said slowly, “except when they're jumping to too many conclusions about my love life.”

“Okay, I could see that,” Marta conceded. “So what are your thoughts about Graham and what happened last night.”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, looking down at her bowl of cereal and continuing to drag her spoon through it.  “I do have, I don’t know, feelings of some sort toward him.  I do care about him, but … well, for one thing, he’s clearly going through something right now.  I don’t know if he’s sick and delirious, or something else, but all that crap he was saying back at the office–”

“Yeah, I know it strains credibility,” Marta said carefully.  This was harder to navigate than she’d anticipated.  If she said too much would she change the future?  Was Emma even ready to hear it?  “Maybe he just needs a little time.  You probably do too.”

Emma barked out a laugh.  “That’s for sure.”

For a few moments, the two were silent, thinking about the conversation and the events of the past day.  Finally, Emma spoke up again.

“It’s not just Graham’s … issues, though, to be honest.”

“What else is bothering you?” Marta asked.

“It’s just … those feelings I feel toward Graham? I don’t think it’s love.  I just don’t think I feel for him what I should feel for the man I’m in love with.  I don’t want to start something and hurt him later.  I know I’m the last person who should have this, I don’t know, romanticized view of love, but I just feel like there should be more to it than this.”

Marta smiled gently, thinking about a certain leather clad pirate Emma was only weeks from meeting for the first time.  She thought about their epic love story that even death itself couldn’t stop.  “Emma,” she said, “I have no doubt that epic, passionate, all-consuming true love is out there for you, and I have a sense that it’ll find you sooner than you think.  Until then, there’s nothing wrong with keeping things with Graham at the friendship level.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma thanked Marta for the talk and then headed for the station.  Left alone in the loft, Marta wondered what else she was meant to do.

Then she noticed the storybook–the storybook Lucy had at the start of season 7, the one that contained all of the events of canon along with the past fairy tales.

Maybe she was supposed to flip through and see what changed thanks to her ministrations?

She paged through until she found the events of the past day, and then she moved forward.  Regina, angry with being thwarted and concerned with how much of the truth Graham might know, came up with a creative–and particularly cruel–way to solve her problem.  After convincing the town that Graham had suffered a mental break and was no longer fit for duties as sheriff, she had him committed to the Storybrooke mental asylum in the hospital basement.

It appeared the rest of season one continued largely the same as canon.  Curious what would happen following the breaking of the curse, Marta kept reading.

After the curse, Graham was freed from the mental hospital and went on to team up with Ruby to head up the task force to reunite people with their missing loved ones.  Working together brought the two of them closer, and it wasn’t long before they began dating.

Through the seasons, Graham continued to help the heroes as various villains showed up and were subsequently defeated.  Eventually, he and Ruby decided to pull back from the craziness and enjoy their life together, even as the world continued to crash around them.

It was all Marta could have hoped for her favorite first Storybrooke sheriff.

She’d no sooner closed the cover of the book than she felt a tug in her midsection, and the room around her began spinning.  She closed her eyes against the sudden dizziness.  When she opened them again, she was back in the living room of her cabin, looking at the eager faces of her friends.

“I can’t wait to tell you what just happened!” she said excitedly.

“Well, you’re gonna have to,” Isaac said irritably.  “Come on; I don’t have all night.  Who’s next?”“I think it’s my turn,” Krystal said, a blood-thirsty gleam in her eyes, “and I know exactly what I’m going to do.”

Notes:

--I hope you enjoyed your birthday gift, Marta! Your affinity for a certain handsome Storybrooke sheriff who deserved so much better is well known to all of us. Since we got so little of him in canon, I thought I'd give you more one on one interaction with him!

--Up next: A bit of a longer hiatus. The next chapter will be posted on October 15, Krystal (@kmomof4's) birthday. We'll be moving on to the missing year between 3a and 3b, and Krystal will get a chance to give Neal the ending he deserves. (Cue evil laughter)

NEXT CHAPTER-->

[cssns]

And Now to Welcome @myfearless-love to the CSSNS!!!

Your Tumblr and any other applicable names

myfearless-love (Niki)

How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?

I've joined the fandom when the show started airing Season 5. I followed people on Twitter who were watching it and saw pictures and gifs/videos they shared. At first, it didn't really interest me, but then I saw this one person obsessing over the main couple, sharing gifs and pics of them, also bts of the actors playing them. It got me intrigued so I started watching. I was disappointed that this Irish actor they've been singing odes for, the one half of the main ship wasn't in the first season. But when he showed up and had his first scene with Emma/Jen...BOOM. A CS fan was born.

When did you start shipping Captain Swan?

I think I started shipping them before I even started watching the show. People I followed on Twitter were obsessing over them and after a while I started to wonder "a lost princess and a pirate? And they are also hot? Okay, okay, okay..." And when the bean stalk scene/episode came I was done for, they stole my heart completely.

What drew you to this event?

So far I've participated in two CS events (Captain Swan Little Bang and CSSNS) and realized how much fun they were. After that I only wrote for my hobby projects but I didn't really have enough time to start something new. I'm still short on time for writing something new, so I decided to participate in another way - as a beta! :)

For our betas: Who/what have you beta'd before, or is this your first time?

I did some beta work for other fandoms (AOW and Vampire Diaries), so I'm excited to finally have a chance in the OUAT fandom as well!

What are you looking forward to most about participating in this event?

I'm really looking forward to diving deeper into the Captain Swan Supernatural universe and getting a sneak peek at some of the upcoming fan fiction and creative works that will be featured during the event. It's always exciting to be one of the first people to read new stories and see how others interpret and expand upon the world and characters we all love. Plus, events like this are a great opportunity to connect with fellow fans and maybe even get some insights from the authors themselves.

Welcome back, Niki!!!! So glad you're joining us again for this final go round!!!

[spaceorphan18]

So glad I wasn’t around for fandom wars when show aired. No wonder glee fandom has reputation of being crazy - was any other show fandom this bad?

In terms of the song tournament, if your previous Anon wants to look back at the 550 messages left when CS beat Rhi, they’ll see rude comments about Blaine and Darren. How voting for him meant we hated women - same as they said on ship tournament. The OP got a lot of messages in her in box calling her names etc, which no one should have to put up with. We got called an unhinged Blaine Stan and told Darren had brain washed me with his bland singing for expressing my preference. Seems the Nara fans are very passionate about her.

I’m surprised anyone wants to run a fandom tournament at all, so respect to the song and ship OP.

I think every fandom has some level of crazy. If you go back and look at the Harry Potter fandom back in the day that makes Glee look mild. Times were wild, man.

See, here's my thing. I mean - it's a human thing to choose sides and then defend your side. Like, this is why wars are a thing. This is why sports are so popular. This is why stupid internet polls bring out the worst in people. We need to unhuman our brains and remember to live and let live.

As I said earlier - no one should be throwing out hate at other people. Don't like the thing? That's fine - move on and enjoy what you enjoy and leave others alone.

I will say - the Ship OP, who does like a good competition, knew what they were getting into and was rather surprised at how good natured 99% of the tournament went. It's a shame idiots on the internet, who feel like polls like this somehow validate their viewpoints can ruin it for the rest of us. That said - I'm looking forward to the, most likely less heated, episode tournament coming up next year.

Play nice. Don't be an asshat on the internet. Don't let asshats ruin your enjoyment of a thing.

<3

[killianxswan]

Challenge for you: Rant on something ouat related but not Captain Swan

oof. you got me on this one. this will be tough.

of course i could talk about how i unironically love the musical episode and how the songs from it actually bring me so much joy and comfort. i think the melodies and overall themes are beautiful, even if the lyrics are basic and sometimes too "disney singalong" feeling.

but...i'll admit. a lot of that has to do with how it culminates with the cs wedding and their 'happy beginning' and all...so i'll steer clear of that (unless someone asks for separate post about it, which, fine, twist my arm, i'll probably write one eventually anyway) i'm going to rant about my beloved, henry swan mills. because i loved his character from the start and i always will. i know he gets a lot of shit in this fandom, and i will defend him through all of it (aside from criticisms of jared's acting, which i do think are valid, it was his first gig and he grew up on that set, etc). i think i'm in the same boat as a lot of people of not liking the entire author plot line (maybe 'not liking' isn't the right phrase, more agonizing over the lost potential), but if anyone was going to be the author i am so glad that it was henry, and i think it fits well with the canon. at the end of the day the whole show comes back to emma and henry. and if it's one thing we know about henry, it's that he has the heart of the truest believer and he cares about getting everyone their happy ending. henry and the book are the crux of the show from season one for me, so it makes sense to ME that the fate of the book be in his hands (and i love his moment of breaking the pen, such a harry potter deathly hallows part ii moment of harry breaking the elder wand if you know what i mean) additionally, i cannot pass up the opportunity to talk about captain cobra. (i actually have a side blog captain-cobra that i might end up using one day ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) but yeah. their relationship means so much to me. the connection they both have to bae, the way killian gets a second chance at being a father figure to none other than bae and emma's son like agsjkfd god i don't agree with the writers a lot but to me that is truly brilliant writing. i also love the antics they get up to together, both of their mischievous plotting sides, the way they both just want the best for emma, killian teaching him to sail, etc etc.

okay okay there was a little cs in there but i TRIED to keep it brief. thank you for the ask!!! this was a really interesting challenge for my rat brain and a perfect opportunity for a henry appreciation post.

you asked for a rant and you got one ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

send me more things to rant about <33