#and now he's taking the narrative by the throat and saying no. you don't get to define who i am;

[natjennie]

he literally main charactered too close to the sun. he used to be so invisible that the door physically wouldn't open for him to be part of the scene. he was out of focus, cut out of the shot. he was physically barred from stepping foot in the precinct. but he found a way to use that, to leverage his status as a background character to get a foot in the door. he delivered food, he replaced tech guy without anyone batting an eye. but he pushed it too far, because now he's The Character. everyone is saying his name and everyone knows his face and his story and they have control of it now. now that he's in the spotlight they have to prod pluck and primp and make sure everything is in it's rightful spot. the show must go on. the story restructures itself around him in order to get to the finale on time. and now they're casting him in the villain role and jamming together random pieces of the puzzle so it all adds up and the show has a satisfying ending..... I'm....

[inkskinned]

i was raised by a catholic deacon so as a kid - maybe ages 7 to 14 - i would have told you that abortion was only okay in exception cases like rape. i didn't even really understand any of the terms at play here, only how to parrot that there were "few and far between" exceptions, but abortion-as-a-whole was irresponsible and evil. i believed it was a bad form of birth control.

for context's sake - i still had a flip phone. google wasn't really a thing back then. the whole narrative was akin to the apostle's creed: i don't know that i ever thought about what the words meant, only that this was what i was supposed to say when asked. i remember being in 4th grade and having it down pat - abortion is evil, except in cases such as rape. my father wasn't insensitive, after all - he acknowledged there might be medical necessity to end a life.

what changed was that at 14 i learned how hard it is to prove that a rape has happened.

it was a boy, actually. and his piano teacher. and him telling me, crying, that nobody believed him that he didn't want it. and what if she gets pregnant?

this is the mark in a lot of our lives: at some point, someone will confide in you, and then you see exactly how often it happens. how it happens so fucking loudly, and nobody says anything. how often your friends, nervous, will shakily admit that while they love their partner, there are a few times that they didn't really consent, that they didn't really want it. for others, there are nights half-remembered in bars. for others, they married their partner at 15, so now it's "fine", legally. for others, there are yes moments that felt like a no. there were no moments that were never acknowledged. you say no but are told you actually said yes because of what you were wearing or because he is good at swimming and his life would be ruined or because he's a nice guy or -

in the last 8 years, my father has become radicalized. he now believes in "no exceptions".

but the truth is that there was never going to be a true "exception" clause. there was never going to be a grey area. i am not even really sure they believe in the concept of rape. and if they did - how would you ever prove it? in the six weeks you have to state your case - when it takes years in a court of law - the "rape exception" would simply evaporate under the continued pregnancy. you were never going to have a moment where you could privately tell a doctor - it's because of a rape. there was no box you could check. there was no form you could file. it was always going to be assumed consensual until proven malignant. it was always going to be your fault.

they also knew they couldn't actually sell the rest of us on this idea of it's always blessed. they knew in their hearts that every pregnancy should be wanted. they knew going in that plenty of us - even raised catholic, even having had this shoved down our throats - plenty of us still had too many questions about what ifs.

it's just they just didn't want to come off as monsters. they patted our heads and taught us they weren't insensitive. they just had these beliefs. and then they put their hands on our bodies. and said if you don't listen, i'm going to force them.

[vertigala]

*Grabs you by the throat* Listen to me you TMAGP-loving freaks. Listen to me right now. RedCanary might be the host for this universe's Jonah Magnus.

This is under the assumption that TMAGP takes place in a parallel universe that may or may not have already had the fears in it prior to Jon releasing them at the end of TMA.

RedCanary goes to explore the Magnus Institute ruins. They become paranoid because the Eye is watching them. They pick up a wooden box with strange symbols carved into it. They go to put it back. Next we hear from them, they post an image of gouged out eyes with the caption "Canaries should stay above ground."

They found the tunnels, hence that caption. Then they found Jonah Magnus's body sitting down there, waiting for a new host.

In this universe, the Magnus Institute burned down in 1999. Maybe in this universe Gertrude went through with her original plan of burning the place to the ground after finding out Elias was actually Jonah in 1997. Either way, let's say Jonah's original body is down there, maybe with Elias's body and his eyes and all that, and with his plans foiled, he's just chilling down there waiting for an opportunity which RedCanary then gives him. This is my going theory due to the specificity of the caption "canaries should stay above ground" (referring to the tunnels, and also it being in third-person) and the fact that RedCanary themselves would be pretty unlikely to be able to post that picture of THEIR OWN EYES GOUGED OUT unless it was Magnus assuming their body and identity and being a freak about it.

But there's more.

Narratively speaking, it makes sense for the third voice in the computer to be Jonah Magnus, right? If Jon and Martin ended up in this universe as voices in a computer, the only other person sharing their fate would have to be Magnus, given how TMA ended. Recall, also, the boot-up sequence in the trailer of TMAGP.

[id: a screenshot of the text from the TMAGP teaser, which says “initializing J.01… OK/initializing M.01… OK/initializing J.02… OK”. end id.]

Jonathan, Martin, and Jonah, right? Unless Augustus is gonna be a new J name or this is just an unrelated easter egg but like. It's Jonah right?? Right??? And he's watching the O.I.R.A through the systems like a good little voyeur, and Colin knows it!

So now we possibly have TWO Jonah Magnuses in this universe!! That's absurd!! One from the TMAGP universe now loose and running around in RedCanary's body, and one from the TMA universe trapped in a computer. But if this is true...doesn't that mean there would be two Jons and Martins too?

And listen...I'm thinking about what Jonny and Alex said during that liveshow panel about this story's themes regarding "what makes a human." If we dare to hope that Jon and Martin (and Jonah, if it's his voice in the computer) are going to gain consciousness and once again become proper characters...then, are they going to simply stay in the computer? Or are they going to "manifest" physically? Are they going to UPLOAD themselves into THEIR OWN TMAGP UNIVERSE BODIES?

@doomatix and I have been going crazy over these theories and they were the one that initially considered RedCanary's new identity as Jonah Magnus. Are our facts wrong? Does any of this even make sense? We haven't seen anyone else posting about this particular theory. Someone help us we are rotting. And don't even get me started on how GWEN would fit into this--

[writingsonsaturn]

lucy taking care of sick reader!!!

lucy and r aren’t dating yet, but they aren’t just friends either. when r doesn’t come into work one day, and no one (besides grey) has heard from her, lucy goes straight to her house when she goes out on patrol. she stops in throughout the day after finding out that r is like beyond sick.

maybe a little scene where r lays her head in lucy’s lap and lucy run her hands through readers hairrrrrr oh my

lovesick - lucy chen

{ masterlist }

🪐: im still trying to find my writing style, so hopefully this is okay and fits what you wanted!! <3

word count: 982

content warning: sickness (flu like), just fluff

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You woke up with a throbbing head and a clogged up nose. Originally, you thought you could power through it and suck it up long enough to finish a shift, but the moment you stood upright your world became disoriented. 

Doing your best to breath through the dizziness, you reached over for your phone to call into work. Grey practically pleaded with you to stay home when you mentioned you would come into work if you needed to, “you have more than enough sick days, use them and keep your ass out of my station.” You just sighed and agreed, saying your goodbyes when he wished you to get better soon.

Without much thought to it you passed back out on your warm comfy bed, hoping sleep would rid you of the constant pain your brain was forcing you to endure.

Lucy checked her watch when she got in, thinking maybe you were just late or had been caught in some early morning traffic. As the time ticked away she decided maybe it would be best to text you, and when she didn't get an answer her thoughts ran around her head like an athlete competing in a race that would determine if they go farther into their season. 

She opted to check in on you when she was out on patrol, getting into her squad car and making you her first check up of the day, praying to whatever could hear her that you were there and okay.

Pulling up to your apartment she felt a ping in her chest, she wasn’t sure why she was so worried about you. You guys weren't exactly a couple, but the others would argue that you two were basically already married, you both would laugh it off and call the team crazy, still continuing the narrative that you two were just ‘friends”. 

Lucy knew better than that though, she knew you were the first person she called when she was having a rough night and needed a warm bed to share with someone, you were the first she told about good news, you are the only person she truly, and deeply loved with every living and beating part of her body.

She grabbed the key you had given her for the nights she needed someone, after the Rosalind situation you forced her to promise you that no matter the time of night or day she would come over whenever she needed to. Lucy wouldn’t say she now abused the fact she had a key to your place, but it was used more than her own key to her apartment at this point.

“Y/n?” Lucy called out, she heard the faint sound of a groan coming from your bedroom, alerting her of your presents. “Hey, are you oka-” Her words were paused by the sight of you, your skin was shining with sweat and you were cramped in a fetal position. “My love, what happened?” she quickly came over to you touching your forehead, flinching at how warm it felt compared to her skin.

You only groaned and rolled over, “i really don't feel good luce.”

You tried your best to explain all your symptoms, but your scratchy throat only allowed for so much irritation before you were in a coughing fit. Lucy rubbed your back gently, doing her best to coax you through your attack, “Here let’s get you out of this stuffy room, and on the couch, yeah?” she encouraged. You nodded leisurely and threw your arm over her shoulder, allowing her to help you to your living room.

Quickly, Lucy put anything and everything you could possibly need besides the toilet in arms reach. “Before I leave, do you need absolutely anything else, babe?”  you only smiled at her with droopy eyelids, “No, but i wish you didn’t need to leave” you pouted at her causing her to smile. 

“Call me or text me if you need me, I'll be here in an instant.”

And then she was gone, you continued to pout until her next check up with you during lunch. “Okay, love, i brought you some chicken noodle soup and some cough syrup” she set the soup in front of you with cold water and a pre-measured cap of medicine. “Thank you, love” you croaked out, “You don’t have to thank me” she replied while helping you get in an upright position so you could comfortably eat your food and take the disgusting medicine.

“I'll be back after my shift, and remember to call-” “call you if i need anything, i know, honey.” you finished her sentence, she left you with a quick kiss on your forehead.

After eating and forcing yourself to down the medicine you fell back asleep, you woke up a handful of times with the constant tossing and turning, and being too hot or too cold. You finally decided you had slept enough and reached for the tv remote, aimlessly flipping through channels.

You heard the door click and a smile began to grow on your face, “sorry i'm late! Traffic has been just awful today” Lucy explained, taking her shoes off and sitting her to-go bag on the counter. “It’s okay hon.” you looked at her as she sat down. 

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked you, as you laid your head down on her lap looking up at her, “I've certainly been better” you joked. 

She reached her soft fingers to rake through your hair, massaging your scalp, aiding the headache that had been attacking your head all day long. “Well i'm here now, darling” she looked down at you, soothingly rubbing your forehead, lulling you to sleep. 

She gave herself an imaginary pat on the back at getting you to sleep so quickly, making a mental note that maybe when you get better she’ll finally take you on a long awaited date.

[fluidstatick]

FCG's sacrifice | Critical Role - Bells Hells ep 91

If you've not seen Sam's video on the Crit Role channel, It's Been Awhile, go watch it now. Then come back and watch this again. Then bear with me, I need to talk about this for a bit.

When I saw this the first time I thought it was odd that everyone was crying so much. Laudna's death gave everyone focus, and Molly's was met with solemnity, but few tears. Why did Sam's decision rock the table so much harder this time?

Everyone is crying when FCG decides to sign off. Matt cries harder than we've seen since the C2 signoff. Taliesin hides his face. Liam is visibly crushed, and then snarling with rage, and then numb. Marisha is bargaining, Ashley is protesting, Laura is speechless. At the time I wrote it off as the cast being tired, frustrated by the Otohan battle, disappointed by a rough run of ineffective strategies.

Most of all, I thought Travis' body language and quiet remark were so strange. He's smiling throughout this death scene, eyes sparkling, awed, and he says in a level, sincere voice - "I'm so proud of you." We all know Travis laughs when he's panicking, so I thought he was just enjoying the symmetry of FCG's character arc. But now that we know why the table was so broken up at this, I understand Travis' amazement and pride, too.

Everyone is in tears because they don't know if Sam is going to come back. They don't know if he'll make it. They know they can't make their fear and hurt explicit, because it'll breach Sam's privacy at a very dark and frightening time. But he takes this poetically timed opportunity to allow Bell's Hells to endure. He removes himself narratively, preserves his privacy, and lays a plot point that will allow the others to channel their grief and fear into the game in his absence. Travis sees what this decision does not just for the narrative, but for the health of the brand. That's CEO Travis telling Sam how proud he is. And when FCG bolts for Otohan at a full dash, thinking about Bertrand, and Dorian, and Frida -- That's Sam, squaring up to cancer, thinking of his predecessors in the fight, his comrades in his own battle, and the people who most need him to win.

When Matt said "The stakes are higher than ever", he wasn't talking about Exandria. He was talking about Sam, the table's one of a kind friendship, and the joyful soul of CR. And nobody knew when or how they'd come out the other side.

At the Greek, When Ashton failed his wisdom save against Dominox and it used FCG's voice to accuse them of letting him die, I was thrown a little by Tal's performance. If Ashton failed the wisdom save, why is he so strong in the face of this accusation? But now I see it's Taliesin asking cancer, how dare you try to make us feel guilty while our best friend kicks your ass? How dare you tell us that we've fucked up, when we've all done everything in our power to protect this man that we love?

I didn't like Braius when he debuted. I thought he was too vain, too brash, too pushy. I thought he was a goofy swing and an ill fit for the party. But now, in context with everything we didn't see before, he's perfect. He's a husky-voiced warrior of few words, a jittery fanboy, a wounded jester, a powerful healing force of darkness, a joyful slut with a slit throat, so alive, alive, alive.

I could say so much more but I'm emotionally exhausted. Get your HPV vaccine. If your body needs pelvic exams, get them, every year, no slacking. If your body tells you something is weird, listen to it, and find a doctor who will also listen to it.

If you're reading this, I love you. Go tell someone who needs to know that you love them.

Fuck Cancer.

[lightvixxen]

A shy boy with a dom side

SOOO i have no excuse. this may be a little series, we'll see how this does.

Warnings: SMUT its nothing extreme so I don't feel there's any warnings. AFAB reader tho, + dom!spencer!! MDNI

wc:1k-ish

summary: a Friday night taking a turn.

It was a Friday night, and you and Spencer had a few glasses of wine. And Now sat on your couch. You don’t remember how the conversation got to this point. 

“Whats…” You stop to think, swirling the glass in your hands before speaking again. “your biggest kink?” Spencer looks at you, then looks off to the side, obviously thinking about the question. 

“I’m not sure…bondage most likely,” Spencer tells you, shrugging before taking a sip of his wine. “But choking and, uh, slapping is up there too.” His face was red, and whether it was from the conversation or wine you couldn’t tell. 

“Huh, I was expecting you to say something a little more Vanilla honestly,” you say, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table in front of you. “Isn’t the bondage a little cliche though? I mean guy with handcuffs likes using them, the biggest stereotype in the book.” 

“Oh, I um.” He clears his throat, “I wasn’t talking about…handcuffs, I was talking about actual rope.” That made you raise your eyebrows. 

“So….are you the one being tied up or are you doing the tying.” You ask, your curiosity was officially peaked, you honestly had thought Spencer was going to say something like praise being his biggest kink. 

“Well considering I am a dominant, I do the tying up. I much prefer it anyway. It gives me a level of control they no longer have.” He said it so softly you almost missed it. “Anyway, back to you, what's your biggest…fantasy?” He asks, obviously trying to turn the attention away from himself. 

“Fantasy? Not kink?” You ask, a little stunned. 

“That's what I said.” 

“Well, it starts just like this…Though the person varies…” You start, trying to form this specific fantasy into words. Spencer nods along, watching how your face slowly turns red, and how you avoid eye contact. 

“And well they get up, maybe circle me for a second while we talk, of course, I’m oblivious to it. They slowly make their way behind me, and wrap their hand around my throat…and hands slowly wander…” 

You didn’t even notice he had gotten up. Before you feel the couch dip behind you and his breath on your neck. Spencer's hand slowly wraps around your throat, giving you enough time to stop him. 

“Like this?” his voice was low, it caused the hair on your neck to stand. You were almost frozen. 

“Do I have your permission to… continue?” You nod slowly, not trusting your voice at the moment. “Words sweetheart.” He demands, “I need verbal consent.” 

“Yes, you can continue.” You almost gasped when the hand not around your throat connected with your breast. His fingers expertly play with your hardening nipples through your tank top. 

“Good girl. Now, what else happens in this little fantasy of yours? Hm?” he asks, the grip he has on your throat expertly tightens, this isn’t the first time he’s done this. 

“T-they play with my breasts for a little…while also kissing down my shoulders and- oh my god.” A small moan leaves you, everything you describe Spencer does. His mouth is warm against your neck, unexpectedly he sucks a mark into your neck. 

“Keep going.” He tells you. 

“And then after a while their hands move down…” Again, he complies, his hand on your breasts moving downwards, messing with the elastic of your shorts. “They usually rub…me through my panties but-” before you could get another word out, Spencer's hand delved into your shorts.

“No panties? Surprising…knew a man was coming over and yet you go commando? Planning to flash me, my dear?” 

“N-no I just didn’t feel like it today.” your breath was shaky already. 

“Alright…Sorry sweetheart but since you can’t stick to your narrative we’re doing this my way. Okay?” he asks, his hand on your throat grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him.  

You nod, luckily this time he didn’t need you to verbalize what you needed. Spencer's hands made direct contact with your clit. His fingers slowly traced circles against it. You gasp, your hips automatically bucking against his hand. 

“You this wet already? I’ve barely done anything…” you could hear the smirk in his voice, one of his fingers slowly tracing around your wet hole, before it sinks into you. A sinful squelch sound can be heard. 

Spencer sets a fast pace, he quickly finds that spongey spot inside you, and with terrifying precision targets it. He quickly brings you to the edge, your moans grow louder as each second passes. 

“Fuck-I’m close Spence-” you moan, grabbing his arm, you have no intention of stopping him, but it just feels too good. 

“You got it, cum for me, sweet girl.” He tells you, keeping the pace of his fingers. 

“Choke me again please!” you beg, Spencer chuckles but complies, his other hand tightening against your throat once again. With one squeeze you were coming undone. 

“Shit, shit I’m cumming.” you moan, your walls clenching around his fingers. Your legs clamp shut around his hand, he smiles behind you. His fingers continue to work against you until you wince in overstimulation. 

Your legs relax, spreading to let him retrieve his hand from the apex of your thighs. Spencer brings his hand up to his mouth, licking off his fingers. 

“For a germaphobe, you’re quite gross” You pant, head lolling back to look at the man behind you. He chuckles, walking into your kitchen to retrieve a damp cloth. 

“And for a profiler, you're not very observant.” He shoots back, walking towards your front, he kneels, gently removing your shorts to clean your thighs. 

“Well-” you’re retort was cut short when Spencer licked a stripe up your cunt, swirling his tongue around your already sensitive clit. 

“Careful how you talk to me. I have no restraints about fucking you over this couch.” He tells you, blowing against your clit before finally cleaning up your thighs. 

“Why not just do it now?” you ask, curious as to why he’s decided to stop here. 

“I don’t have any condoms, But I won’t hesitate to take you here and now if you even think a bratty retort.” He tells you simply. 

[aihoshiino]

i dont know what akasaka is currently on, but that final chapter will either be fucking awful or somehow save this story

i really hate how many moments in the back half of the manga, some in this chapter included, could have had such a good emotional impact,,,, but nooooo.

i will now mourn aqua, bc for what's it worth,,,, his ending is painfully fitting. truly, he is his mothers son through and through.

I said this previously but I am desperately taking my Ws where I can get them, so having Aqua be the one to concretely parallel Ai in this specific regard after the story spent the last 40something chapters trying to cram forced Ruby = Ai parallels down my throat honestly felt like a stay of execution lol.

LIKE.......... I definitely think Akasaka was trying to recapture that emotional energy and impact of Ai's death and the sheer unfairness of her life being cut so short, but the issue is that Ai manages to get an actually satisfying narrative capstone to her arc vis-a-vis her death. That it happens ON her death bed is tragic but it's nevertheless immensely cathartic and even though I very much still ugly cry an embarrassing amount every I revisit that scene, I come away feeling deeply satisfied. It feels correct for Ai.

For Aqua... idk! I've said it before but I don't think Aqua dying is necessarily an unworkable plot point but the way it's executed just feels bizarre. Not only does the story suddenly have to rush to catch up with itself in terms of convincing the audience that omg no the twins totes had this amazingly close connection all along for reals!!! but it doesn't actually meaningfully engage with or resolve any of the things that are in tension in Aqua's personal arc the way Ai's death does.

It also doesn't help that, like. As I've said before, Aqua is a person who's spent hours ENTIRE existence living in service to others, to the point that multiple characters call him out on being willing to twist himself up and sacrifice himself for everyone else's sake. So having the story end not on the note of AFFIRMING this by framing "being Ruby's babysitter and guard dog" as his divinely ordained reason for existence really clashes with the idea that this is supposed to be a tragedy, because everything surrounding it makes it feel like the narrative is saying "yes, Aqua you ARE correct that your only purpose was to slice yourself to pieces for everyone else's sake and then kys". Insaaaaaneeeee writing decision to make.

[sungjinhos]

✷ There is a before and after you when the subject is Seokmin.

✷ genre: Angst, Break Up. Non-Linear Narrative. sad and angry

✷ word count: 4716

✷ featuring: Yoon Jeonghan, one (1) Hoshi mention, two (2) Jeon wonwoo mention, two (2) seungcheol mention, three (3) vernon mention

✷ thea’s note: hey y'all i've been m.i.a. because 1 - phd is kicking my ass but i am pretty sure now I can conduct a poli sci experiment, and 2 - i've been having the time of my life writing a book with an actual plot (i cried this week because of it)(i wrote this fic in 4 hours because i've been writing this book for months and i needed to end something). but yeah!! pretty great!!! here is some heartbreaking fic for you!!!  Also go listen to Niki - oceans and engenes while reading this ♥

Saturday sunset We're lying on my bed with five hours to go Fingers entwined and so were our minds

[Year one]

Saturdays were your new holy days.

If you started a new religion, Saturdays would be the day that would be saved and cherished. All because Saturdays started and ender in Seokmin’s arms.

It was like a clockwork. After your last Friday class – which happened to be a whole 2hours on Justice and a senior professor babbling about John Rawls when you much preferred Iris Young and her feminist critic, you would walk for thirty minutes in the outskirts of your campus until you reached your boyfriend's tiny apartment. He shared with three other dudes – Mingyu, Minghao, and Vernon. He got the smallest room, yet, in that cubicle was perfect.

“What are you thinking?” His hoarse voice rang in your ears, he drank too much (it was Jeonghan’s birthday, weird it would be if he didn’t drink his weight in alcohol) and was one step away from reaching REM sleep.

“Nothing,” you say, your fingers reaching his hair while his face is tucked on your neck.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” Seokmin grumbles, with every breath and every word his lips brush against your neck.

“I just really like Saturdays,” you want to say I like our Saturdays, I like spending all day with you, I hope we could spend all days like we spend our Saturdays.

“Me too,” he says hugging your tightly on his arms, and you hope he is saying he too want to spend all days with you.

Crying, I don't want you to go You wiped away tears But not fears under the still and clear indigo You said: Baby, don't cry, we'll be fine

[Year four]

“Why are you crying?” Seokmin asks with a smile so bright on his face that it hurts on your ribcage.

“Because this sucks,” being away from you sucks, it is what you want to say but the guilty is something that doesn’t go well with your boyfriend.

“Baby,” Seokmin almost laughs, “it is just three hours on a train.” He says, his fingertips brushing away your tears, “We can handle that, just three hours away.”

He says and you want to believe him, but when his voice shakes you just hold him closer, your grip tight on his white shirt and you almost want to crawl under it. Living under his ribcage is the only way possible. To share the same air, is the only way you know how to live.

“You are acting like you don’t believe me,” he says, his arms around you, “should I be worried that my girlfriend is acting like we are on the verge of a breakup?”

Yes is the word that gets stuck in your throat.

“We talked about that, come on, we even got into the masters we wanted, this is the best-case scenario. It is just a four-hour trip we can take turns and all that.”

“Four hours,” you repeat more to you than to him, in a way trying to understand why he is so calm and collected about not spending his hours with you. Four hours. Four hours seems like a whole life away. Four hours you could cross the earth in four hours.

You're the one thing I swear I can't outgrow My mother said the younger me was a pretending prodigy Well, nothing then much has changed

[Year one]

You don’t know how you met Seokmin. Really, the memory is just not there. You don’t know who is the missing link, it must be Jeonghan because Jeonghan knows everyone. You were a humanities girly you don’t know why you are in the company of biology undergraduates and people who want to be doctors.

“So, that’s the plan,” Seokmin says with a bright smile on his face, “I think working in the Intensive Care Unit would be a blast you know, I thought about working with kids but that just breaks my heart.”

“And ICU doesn’t break your heart?” You ask taking a sip of your mocha, you two have been studying in the library for the past four hours you need a sugar pick-up.

“It kinda does,” his smiles falter, “but like, people in the ICU need someone to look after them you know, too much time in that bed, and people who don’t breathe on their own need special care.”

“Well,” you take another sip of your mocha and you almost spit the coffee when you finally notice Seokmin’s big eyes on you, “I think you can do it, you would be great at it.”

“Really?” his sounds so hopeful you want to say to him that yes, you can do everything you set your mind in to, you are that special.

“Yes, I think you would be great,” you will be great at everything, “besides, dealing with kid is fine but dealing with their parents sounds like a nightmare,” you groan.

Seokmin laughs so loud you swear it fills all the empty space in the café, there is no corner where he isn’t. There is no place in your soul he hasn’t touched. You are so doomed, that this crush will kill you.

'Cause while you're wolfing down liquor My soul, it gets sicker But I'm sticking to the screenplay Gotta say I'm okay

[Year six]

You try one more time. Your dial the number again hoping your boyfriend picks up because it is fucking cold outside and because you are afraid he is fucking dead in a ditch somewhere.

After the third ring a voice that is very much not your boyfriend’s pick up.

“Hey,” Jeonghan says and he sounds so fucking guilty you don’t know how to make up your mind.

“Something happened?”

“No?”

“Jeonghan what is going on?”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing happened?” You look around the train station, and it is almost empty.

“I mean your boyfriend is wasted and can’t pick up his phone and this call woke me up and I was having a great night of sleep you know how I am I don’t get enough sleep so nothing beyond that I don’t even know why his phone is so loud-“

“Because he was supposed to pick me up,” you say breathing loudly holding your backpack up and walking towards the nearest exit.

“Pick you up?“

“Yes, it is my week, but I guess he can’t pick me up so if you just stay awake until I arrive it would be great, or hide the keys somewhere I don’t know.”

“Shit,” Jeonghan mumbles and you can hear that he is moving around, “do you want me to wake him up?”

“No,” you say already singling for a taxi. It feels like you just ate a bone that is now sitting in your throat, “no, don’t wake him up, I just don’t have anywhere else to go so-“

“No, of course, I will wait for you don’t worry.”

But answer this, babe

How is it now that somehow you're a strangеr? You were mine just yеsterday

[Year eight]

It is Jeonghan’s birthday.

It is Jeonghan’s birthday and you are in town because there is this global climate event in the same week. It is Jeonghan’s birthday and he knows you are in town because you are one of the panelists and the event shared a post on your Instagram. It is Jeonghan’s birthday and you are entering his birthday party and you can feel your brain almost leak through your ears.

And like fate is against you – because it is, fate hates you – you see Seokmin before you ever see Jeonghan. His eyes meet yours and he almost doubles check, and before he pretends you are a ghost of his past life Jeonghan screams your name and makes you enter the restaurant when you want to just walk through the door.

“You really came,” Jeonghan says, “I was about to crash your event and say fossil fuel is a good thing until they let me talk to you.”

“Yeah,” you say making yourself smile, “that’s why I came I don’t think someone claiming to be a nepo baby with Shell company trust fund in his name would help my career.”

“A man needs to do what he needs to do to make a woman appear,” Jeonghan says wisely.

Jeonghan introduces you to his friends, a few new ones that you have no idea where they met – a weird guy named Hoshi, a tall lanky guy in black who goes by Wonwoo, a broad guy with dimples that is complaining about the restaurant service that is named Seungcheol. A few old ones that you once knew, Vernon still the same you think – sometimes too lost in himself, but always too sweet, Seokmin – not the same you think, Seokmin is the one on this table that you don’t have idea who this person is. Seokmin, you think, is a stranger to you now, after a year or two, you no nothing about him. You don’t know his schedule, you don’t know about the last restaurant he got addicted to, you don’t know what is going on his life.

I prayed the block in my airway dissipates And instead deters your airplane's way But heaven denied Destiny decried Something beautiful died Too soon

[Year Six]

“It is really important to me,” Seokmin says his voice muffled on the phone. You stare at his picture on the screen – his big smile, his eyes scrunched, his hair all over the place.

“So you are not coming this week?”

“Can we skip? I can go in two weeks so you don’t have to come I know how much you hate the train.”

“I don’t hate the train,” you grumble, “is just the hours don’t match up so I have to wait for the last train, and then is not always great to get a taxi at three am when all the taxi drivers might be potential fuckers.”

“I am sorry ok?” Seokmin breathes and you almost bite your own tongue, “why can’t you let it go?”

Because I am still angry, you want to say but you are so fucking tired of those fights, maybe that’s why you are still angry because it is always over the phone, never in person, he never sees the aftermath of it. He never sees you suffering.

“I mean, whatever works for you, really, this week, in two weeks, if you don’t want to come this month it is also great like it is already august maybe we should save it till Christmas, it is not a big deal.”

You leash it out before you hang up on his face.

But I'm letting go I'm giving up the ghost But don't get me wrong I'll always love you

[Year one]

It is your third or fourth time on Seokmin’s bed, under his sheets. There is a layer of sweat between your body but is not like you two care. Your fingers drawn little constellations in his skin, trailing against his spots. One in the middle of his chest, one in his ribs, one in his collar bones. You want to know every single one, you want to create a path – a route. Thinking that maybe, if you remember every single one of them, if you know where to turn, you will always find home. Home, the one on his cheeks, your favorite one.

“You know I love you right?” Seokmin asks his hand on your nape.

Your breath hitches. Stuck on your lungs. Yes, you think. And I love you just as much, I love you so much that the mere idea of not loving you seems unfathomable, I love you so much that I forgot who I was before loving you. But kissing him is easier, and when his lips are on yours you pray for all the gods to make him understand every unspoken word.

That's why I wrote you this very last song I guess this is where we say goodbye I know I'll be alright Someday I'll be fine But just not tonight (oh)

[Year two]

“You know you are my favorite person in the world, right?” You ask your boyfriend who just gives you a bright smile.

He is sitting by your side in the living room of his shared apartment, it is February and it is the middle of the semester, and yet, Seokmin proudly told you that he got his greatest gift ever – a weekend without his roommates and a week off dishes duty. There is a cake – small, strawberry, with candles on it, on the table and you two are waiting for the clock to hit twelve o’clock so you two can celebrate his birth.

“No,” he says, a pout on his face, “I really have no idea, you don’t tell me enough.”

“That’s not the truth,” you grumble, and you think it might be the truth because you are not really good with words but you are sure that your boyfriend is just overreacting.

“Come on, tell me.” He says while he kisses your cheeks, “it is my birthday you can’t tell me no.”

“It is not your birthday yet.”

“Come on,” he pouts again, “please? As a birthday gift.”

“I already brought your gift and it is better than this.”

“Nothing is better than hearing you saying I am your favorite person ever,” he says his hands on your waist, his leg flushed on your back when he sits facing the side of your face.

He sounds so earnest that you give him what he wants, just because it is his birthday, just because it is a special day. “I love you, you are the most special person ever, every day I thank your mother before I go to bed because she put the most special guy in the world and even though it is your birthday I am the one that received the most special gift that is sharing my life with you, and every day is a bless with you baby,” you say watching his smile grows bigger, “happy?”

“The happiest,” he tells you.

“Come on, we need to light the candles,” you say watching the clock hit.

Plunging into all kinds of diversions Like blush wine and sonorous soirées But even with gin and surgin' adrenaline I see you're all that can intoxicate

[Year seven]

“It is weird, isn’t it?” Seokmin’s voice rings in your ears while you look through the window of the restaurant, watching the car dance on the street under the moonlight.

“What?” You ask and it sounds inaudible even to your own ears, your voice small like you are hoping he is not talking to you.

“Us,” Seokmin says like he still believes in this world there is an us, “in the same place like this, is weird, I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“Hm”, you hum trying to say something and not being incredibly bitchy about everything because you are the one that doesn’t belong, Seokmin is always here, you are the one who isn’t. Jeonghan is more his friend than yours, “I think it is bound to be weird, I think it would be worse if we acted like nothing happened.”

“Right,” he says taking one more sip of his beer.

You almost laugh. Maybe you still know Seokmin because when his eyes lock in yours again you know that you said the very same thing he didn’t want to hear.

It feels like you are polar opposites.

Oceans and engines You're skilled at infringin' on great love affairs 'Cause now my heart's home All I've known is long gone and ten thousand miles away And I'm not okay

[Year six]

When your phone rings for the third time Seokmin’s photo lights up the whole room. Your tears feel cold against your face. And you take another sip of your cheap and all not that great wine. It has been three days since you spoke with Seokmin, but it is the first day that you can cry and break down and suffer.

It was a dick fucking move. He broke up with you over a phone call. Dick move. Worse, he broke up with you over a phone call in the worst week ever – finals week. You had three articles due – one on authoritarian governments, one on gender studies and political participation of women, and one on fossil fuel and climate policies. You had already brought a train ticket. You have already chosen a restaurant to celebrate surviving the first year of going long distance.

You gulp down another sip of your wine, maybe you should drink from the bottle.

You told him that going long distance was insane. You told him it would never work out. It was a three hours train ride he said. You two could make it work he said, you two could conquer all he said. And he broke up with you over a phone call – not even a video call, a phone call like people did in the 90s. A phone call to tell you that it was too hard, that it was too complicated, that he was tired and you too were fighting too much.

A phone call to tell you that maybe this isn’t working.

But I'm letting go I'm giving up the ghost But don't get me wrong I'll always love you that's why I wrote you this very last song I guess this is where we say goodbye I know I'll be alright But just not

[Year seven]

You are explaining Wonwoo – a soon-to-be cardiologist, and Vernon – still unsure about his future but maybe psychiatry, what a carbon footprint is. And how capitalism will lead the earth to its collapse. Small talk. Seungcheol don’t really knows how the world will work if capitalism is dethroned as the only one system in the world that even worked – according to himself. Everything is ok. Is not at all great because you can physically feel Seokmin’s eyes on you, until he gets up the table and acts like he is not interrupting the table’s conversation;

“Hey, can we talk?”

You look around waiting for someone say sure and get up the table until every eye is on you. No, we can’t fucking talk, you want to bite. No, I don’t ever want to talk to you, I actually prefer smack my head against every surface on this place before talking to you, you want to say. But instead, you just say “Sure.”  

You follow Seokmin’s steps until the two of you cross the streets and sit in a bench. He sits staring at the sea, his shoes on the sand and you ask yourself if you want to get your shoes full of sand or ruin them. The answer is no. But facing the opposite way – the streets, the restaurant, facing Jeonghan sitting in the restaurant with his neck strained to watch your every move is not an option. So you take your shoes off before sitting on his side.

“What are we doing?” Seokmin asks when you finally sit. He is still looking forward, and you don’t know if it is the moon, if it is longing, if it still the love buried under your chest, but he still looks good. His nose still big and straight, his lips still full, his eyes so clear.

“I don’t know,” you tell him.

“No, really what we are doing?” He asks you finally looking at you and it hits you like a truck.

“I really don’t know Seokmin,” You tell him, “I don’t have a fucking clue, for the past year or so I don’t know what I am doing with my own life, let alone what I am doing right now, talking with my fucking ex on a fucking beach in a city we have never been on,” you say and you know you sound bitter but with the years you learned it was always better to tell him everything than to bite down your tongue.

“That bad hun?” He says taking a sip of his bear.

“The worst,” you look at him again, his eyes on the sea.

“It hadn’t been great either,” he says blinking slowly, his eyes still bright as the moon, “I mean, on my side, it hadn’t been great either.”

“I am sorry,” it is your time to look at the sea – so vast, so big, so dark, “I am really sorry, but half of it might be my prayers to the gods.”

You hear Seokmin chuckle, it is bitter and you hate it. You miss him so much that you will pray for the gods again – to erase him from your mind, to make your heart go back to its normal state and size, to make you go to yourself before Seokmin has laid his finger on you.

“Well,” Seokmin offers you his beer, “I can’t say I wasn’t angry either, we are a piece of work, aren’t we?”

We, it rings on your ears, we, us, does these pronouns even make sense to be used when the subject is Seokmin and you? In your vain hope, you say it doesn’t you say it can’t be used. You want to make a new grammar rule. You want to create an exception. When, Seokmin and you, are in the picture the pronouns we and us cannot be used, and if you are being bitter mine and my as well as ours are forbidden.

But you are afraid that will always be something you used to share in this life.

“What the fuck are we doing right now Seokmin?” Is your time to ask.

“I don’t have a fucking idea,” he says, “I just hate how things end up with us I guess, I really thought we were it you know,” his feet press on the sand making the tip of his shoes go under it, “I really thought we would make it through everything, and I hate myself that we didn’t, and this past year has been hell.” He chuckles the bitter sound again, how can a laugh be so fucking humorless?

“It was me,” he looks at you face all serious, stern, all hard angles and pointy shapes, “it was me who saw that you would be in town, I have been keeping tabs, fuck I even call your mom every week and I’m pretty sure she pitties me which is fucking insane because she could just tell me not to call but she tells me what is going on, she sent me pics of your brother’s kid and I know he would be pissed at that because I know he hates my guts,” when you feel the tears drip down your chest you know it is too late.

Tonight was the first time I stared into seas of beguiling sepia two years ago And the first time I learned real world superpowers lived in three words, they revitalize my fraying bones Now what do you do when your pillar crumbled down You've lost all solid ground Both dreams and demons drowned

[Year three]

“We can pick the same schools,” Seokmin says while doing the only thing you hate – chewing his food way too loudly.

“Right, because our dream programs happen to be in the same university,” you say picking up a new slice of your side of the pizza – chicken, he hates it. Seokmin’s half is pepperoni, which you always steal a slice because you love pepperoni, and you love chicken, you love all types of pizza that don’t include fruit.

“I mean,” he puts down his slice when he opens his mouth to have another bite when you give him the most furious look ever. “Sorry,” he says his voice small, “We can try all the universities in the region?  Of course, we have our dream picks, and okay we don’t really need to give up on that if we get in, but we can try more options just to be sure and try to get into programs in the same regions?”

“What if we get into our number one pick and we are like ten hours away?” You ask breathing deeply. It hurts just to think about it. It feels like the ceiling is too low and it is crushing your spine.

“A lot of phone calls,” Seokmin says, mouth fool of pizza again, “I think we can ask Jeonghan a loan or two. He can be our Shark, his interest rates might include a lung or a kidney, he may ask for a brain to train for his surgeries, but I mean it will be worth it.”

And this void's all you've found And doubts light it aglow I have so many questions But I'm pouring them into the ocean And I'm starting up my engine

[Year one]

The first time Seokmin kissed you was in Jeonghan’s kitchen.

You think the sink is full, and there are more cups on the kitchen table than people in his house, but nothing really matters when Seokmin’s lips find yours and you can feel his lips stretching out on a smile.

“Can we get the hell out of here?” Seokmin asks, his body pressing yours against a wall, his hand on your waist and neck and why you want to ask him, why you want to leave? Right here is perfect there is no other place I rather be.

“We can go to my place,” he says, his lips kissing the skin where your neck and shoulder met, “I mean all the boys are right here so we can have the apartment to ourselves.”

“Right now?” You ask but really what you want to say is Right now? Move? Getting out of your embrace? Stopping this?

“Yeah, it is like three blocks away,” Seokmin chuckles and you ask yourself if you said all that out loud.

“Okay,” you say, your hand getting under the collar of his shirt and touching his back – your hand trying to touch more of his skin, maybe if you spread your fingers you can touch more of his.

And I'm letting go I'm givin' up your ghost It's come to a close I marked the end with this last song I wrote I'm letting go This is the last falsetto I'll ever sing to you My great lost love

[Year seven]

You know it is a mistake.

And you know you would do this mistake over and over again when you smell his sheets. He still uses the same fabric softener. He still uses the same cologne. He still is the Seokmin that you used to know, the Seokmin you once loved. He is still the same.

The problem is that you don’t know if you are.

You don’t know if you are the same person that he once loved.

“What are you thinking?” He asks in your ear, low. You love his voice, still the same. His thumb traces over your lips.

You trace his mole with your finger – heart, ribcage, collarbones. Home. How can home be so far away? How can be home a place you cannot return?

“What is going on in your mind?” He asks again, his legs interwind with yours, his hand splayed on your back.

That we fucked up, you want to say, that we shouldn’t have done this, is the other option, that I will cry all over again, that I will ache in all the places that I thought I’ve healed, that I will miss you all the same, that I am back on square one. That I don’t know if I can ever love someone like I loved you, like I still love you, like I will love you. That I will carry this love till I die because you were once a part of my life and it will always have a before and after you in my life. That now I am thinking about taking you to meet my niece, I want to see her grow on your side, I want you in my life and this last year has been unbearable, I think death will be kinder and softer than this year has been. You want to say all that but you don’t think you can do so without crying.

[two-white-butterflies]

post mortem | part five

Description: Six thieves gather hostages and lock themselves in the Royal Mint of Spain - a criminal mastermind by the alias of the Dragon manipulates the police to buy them enough time to print money. (money heist au)

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Reader, and Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

Rating: Mature 18+

series masterlist | part four

(BEL-AIR, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. COLE ESTATE.)

Alicent Hightower knew the price of fortune - all of the material things she had in this life was because of her hard work. She was born in a small village; Bohoniki. It was engraved in her mind that the only way that she'd escape poverty was to study hard. - and study, she did.

Studied so hard that her eyes were strained after a few years - and when the exam results came out - she was thrown away, casted aside for some hot-shot heiress that would probably waste the opportunity of going to college. That was the day that she vowed to work - to step on whoever's corpse it took to have what she wanted.

But she was a woman.

She always had to be a victim against other people's actions. She worked hard to get accepted into a new university, but she ends up falling in love with her Economics Professor. He was beautiful - with silver hair that went past his shoulders. She was enthralled with the way that the words spewed out of his mouth. She had three beautiful children with him - same in temperament, same in looks.

You could take a girl out of the cold, but not the cold out of the girl.

Sooner or later, she'd become the abuser too. She left her family for a businessman - a man that could provide the life that she desired - was it her fault? Partly, but now it's come to bite her.

"Aegon has always been a mischievous child. I don't know why - we always provided him everything that he wanted. Maybe, that was the reason - he had everything and nothing in this world made him happy. But stealing made him happy - he says that it excites him." Alicent cleared her throat, stirring her tea clockwise.

"- it's not the first time that the cops have knocked on my door." she chuckled bitterly, assuming that what had happened was a minor thing - a small shoplifting incident that would be fixed with a few hundred dollars.

"What Mr. Aegon Targaryen has done - is of a different level, Congresswoman. We'll need your help to get him back." Corlys smiled. The government airlifted him to USA the moment they found out about Aegon's identity. What they were doing needed to be stop - before it could become a precedence for other terrorists.

"Get him back? Is he lost?" Alicent joked again. Corlys' demeanor shifted, and he leaned back on the sofa. "He is a terrorist," he said bluntly, and the atmosphere slowly turned dull. "Is this about the PETA Organization again? He's a soft hearted boy," she reasoned and the man shook his head, placing a yellow file on the coffee table.

She quickly placed the teacup beside her - hands shaking as she reached for the file. "The Royal Mint of Spain: Currently Occupied by Terrorists." the headline read out, a picture of her son in the bubble beside the drawing. Her lips shudder, fingers touching the picture.

How long has it been since she's last seen a photograph of her son? Those chubby cheeks still remained, but his eyes were down-set and his eye-bags were more prominent. "This is not real, whatever game you're playing Inspector Corlys - it's not funny. Especially now that election season is moving closer." her voice turned stoic.

"I am afraid that it is not a game - The Government of Spain is losing money in their attempts to quell this act of terrorism. One of the accused is your son, and you will help us if you want to win the reelection." he threatened, placing the deal more bluntly - aware of how politicians could turn and twist narratives. "I can just deny his existence, there are no records that the boy is mine." Alicent's face suddenly turned cold.

Corlys resisted the urge to roll his eyes - the Congresswoman's poker face was as stupid as her platforms. "You and I both know that you're not going to do that. Parents love their children more than anything, even when they are the shackles that bind us." he stated, taking a nonchalant sip of his chamomile tea. Alicent breathes a sigh of relief, partly afraid of what they'd ask her to do next.

"How am I going to help you? In Aegon's eyes, I'm good as dead." she scoffed, unable to entertain the notion that her children still loved her. She didn't deserve their love, neither their time. "What year did you leave Spain, congresswoman?" Corlys inquired and her teeth burrowed into her lower lip. "Twenty-one years ago," she answered.

"Your son was 2-3?"

"4 or 6. I'm not sure," she replied - in a tone that told her that she still loved her children. "A little too young, but still old enough to realize that you abandoned him." he further explains, taking something out of a separate folder. He places it on the coffee table. In all bold letters, she could barely make out the outline of her son's name.

MY MOTHER, MY HERO By Aegon Matthew Targaryen

Her eyes trailed up - until she was staring deep inside of the Old Snake's eyes. She'll do everything it takes to save her son, even risk her political career.

(EIGHT HOURS INTO THE HEIST.)

"Is he going to be alright?" Rhaenyra couldn't help but inquire. She's only been around her brother as much as there were fingers in her hands, but she's grown to love him. She loves him the same way that a woman loves her son. The thought of him possibly dying - it didn't sit well with her. "There's a bit of bleeding, but Mysaria had it fixed." Daemon responded, and his niece raised an eyebrow.

"I thought we weren't allowed to use real names?" she placed a hand on his collar, straightening his zipper with rehearsed ease. "Force of habit," he shrugged while freeing himself from her grasps. It was impossible to stay sated around his niece - around a beautiful girl. When she came into his life - he rebuked her. He couldn't understand why his older brother would adopt his ex-wife's daughter.

Aemma cheated on him with a barber - now after she's died of Cancer. Viserys still loves her. Loves her more than he loves Daemon. He couldn't stand the girl, that's why he left for college - he'd rather live in another country than watch his brother play house.

"Does the Professor know that his son is bleeding?" Rhaenyra asked, staring into the camera - knowing that her father was watching from behind it. "He doesn't need to know, worst comes to worst, we'll need better medical care." Daemon took a sip of his cappuccino. "Does that mean that he's stopped bleeding?" she frowned and he shook his head. "Stop babying him, it's a fucking scratch." he placed the mug loudly on the ceramic table - carefully retreating into the halls before anything else happened between them.

Daemon prepared another cup of instant coffee, surprised to see Aemond cleaning his bandaged wound. "What are you doing?" his nephew sanitized the skin around the gash, Daemon takes a mammoth stride towards the window - watching the police prepare their camp around the Royal Mint. "Just because we're on the clock, doesn't mean that there isn't time for slacking off." he responded.

Turning to look at his nephew - whose attention was plastered back into that bleeding piece of skin. "I hope you don't mind, but I haven't told Volantis about this little injury yet." he pointed at the young boy and Aemond frowned. "Why would she need to know?" he acted oblivious, adding more fuel to Daemon's anger.

"You're clearly together," he gritted his teeth - voice full of envy. It was unfair! He fucked the girl first, but his nephew was reaping late game rewards. "We're not." Aemond responded bluntly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. "Explain to me why there's always a moaning contest in her room, then?" Daemon scoffed. "Is she always stretching? Watching a horror movie perhaps?" Daemon antagonized, watching his nephew throw a piece of cloth angrily.

"I don't care if she's learning pilates or watching fucking Annabelle. I just want to get my money and get out of here." Aemond could feel his patience running thin. "You wouldn't mind then, if I made her my wife?" Daemon smiled mischievously. Aemond was just about to reply, but Aegon suddenly barges inside the room.

"You have to look at what's happening outside. It's urgent!" the boy's panicked voice caught their attention. "What is it?" Aemond groaned - aware that he was unable to walk due to his injury. "Mother." Aegon whispered, and the room's atmosphere dulled.

(TWENTY-TWO YEARS BEFORE D-DAY.)

Alicent couldn't stand staring at her children. They'd cry all the time - and she couldn't stand their constant need for her attention. "Aemond please stop crying, I don't know what to do." she cried, holding her son close to her chest.

It was going to be four hours before her husband returned, and by then, he was going to be too tired to take care of children. It was unfortunate because he was the only one who knew what to do. Viserys was the only one responsible enough to maintain a home.

"He's probably hungry," Aegon peeked through the dark living-room. Alicent could feel more tears flow out of her irises. Her son needed milk, and she was too stupid to even think about that. "Yeah, yeah. Uhh Aegon can you please call Peepaw for me. I-I need help." she stuttered - ashamed of her stupidity.

---

"You shouldn't have called me at this time, I had a sermon today." Otto scolded his daughter, removing his coat and placing it on the rack beside the door. "I didn't know what to do - the kids haven't stopped crying since their father left." she sobbed.

"I always told you that having children this young was a mistake. Imagine, you're only eighteen and you already have two-children? It is an abomination, Alicent." her father scolded, and she could only bow her head in the face of his criticism. She severely needed his help.

He reached for Aemond who was fussing in Alicent's arms. "I didn't have a choice, you told me that I'd go to hell if I didn't marry Viserys." she grimaced, and his dark glare returns. "Premarital Sex, Alicent. I couldn't allow you to sin." he gritted his teeth. His face softened, seeing the familiar figure of his favorite grandchild. "Aegon," he smiled before turning to his daughter.

"Go and rest, I will handle everything."

@fan-goddess @marvelescvpe @theshatteredideal @acollectionofcells1 @mxacegrey @bellstwd @nyctophilic0vitnir @icarusgloom @pearlstiare @themotherofblood @immyowndefender @ammo23 @ladywin17

[fadelbison]

If you wrote FadeBison, I would read the hell out of it.

elliiieeeeeee!!!!! thank you! this is another ask that only made me worse and I had to prepare a little gift to express my gratitude.

I don't even know why FadelBison got me in a chokehold like this. It's not like I endgame ship them. I just need Fadel to haunt Bison's every narrative. Kind of like this:

[KantBison; R]

Bison looks so good like this - well Bison, unfortunately, always looks good. But the way he looks in Kant’s arms naked, sated after a bout of their lovemaking is definitely a cut above the rest; a delicious sheen of sweat, apple red cheeks, hair mussed with the streaks of Kant’s fingers running through them.  Except, he isn’t naked, not entirely. Kant feels the pearls, still somehow cold, when he curls his fingers into the nape of Bison’s neck.

Bison is melting into his arms, following the path that Kant’s other hand makes on his body, down his sides and gently massaging his sore hips; still a livewire of sensation in his afterglow. Kant kisses his neck, trails down his pulse at the hollow of his throat and finds himself deterred by the smiling little charm, mocking him on his thwarted quest.

Kant tests the waters, picks at the necklace absently before taking the clasp between two fingers. Bison’s hand shoots out, no longer sluggish and teasing, firmly stopping Kant. He has one eyebrow raised at him, wary.

“I just want to kiss your neck.” Kant says, curiosity piqued.

“Best of luck.” Bison responds, though he’s now sporting a small smile. He still pushes Kant’s hands away from his neck. Kant pulls him in with a fingers under his jaw instead, indulging in all the things that Bison allows him to do. And there’s so many things he gets to do; like knead on the globes of his ass or play with his nipples as they kiss. And yet–

“Something special?” Kant asks, picking at the necklace again.

“No.” Bison is quick to answer, though he has his eyes cracked open now, watching Kant instead of drifting to sleep, “It’s cheap but I’ve had it for a long time.” He clarifies, in a tone that feels very much like Kant should stop asking.

“So…special then?” Kant says laughing a little, trying to keep the mood light. He pushes Bison onto his back to expose his neck better then starts kissing deliberately, reverently over the necklace.

Kant doesn’t know if it’s because of what he’s doing now, or if it’s because they’ve been cuddling and kissing for a while now but Bison is beginning to get hard against Kant’s thigh, barely able to hold back his moans.

“From someone special?” He continues, as he teases Bison’s hole again, just to test that it’s still sufficiently wet for him. He sheathes himself and slides in, “You like me fucking you in it?” He says. Bison only moans brokenly in return. He brings a hand up to Kant’s shoulder. 

For a split second Kant thinks that Bison will push him away. Eventually, the tense lines of his body relaxes, and he simply swings his legs more firmly around Kant’s back, Kant holding his thigh open to make the angle easier. 

They come like that; bodies pressed together in an artless rhythm, the imperfect imprint of Kant’s lips over the pearls on Bison’s heart.

[clonerightsagenda]

Station 11 wrapup!

You all know I'm a stickler when it comes to adaptations. I just reread a whole bunch of books so I could nitpick their adaptations better. But Station 11 said fuck that. This is an adaptation. We're going to adapt.

Station 11 the book is about the power of art. Survival is insufficient! Art brings back joy in the apocalypse. The Prophet is there, yes, mostly as a generic post-apocalyptic predatory cult to move the plot along, and he's defeated after a moment of artistic connection. But the TV show says, hold up. Yes art can save us. It can allow us to speak to each other when we can't find the words. But it's not enough on its own. You can't keep telling the same story for 400 years and always have it land. You have to leave the wheel. You have to adapt. You have to ask yourself, what if it ends differently this time? If you don't - if you resist all change, if you can't handle going off course - you're going to wither and die. Frank unable to leave his house. The father dead on the sofa. Kirsten letting poison spread through her veins. Hamlet, who for four hundred years has been dead from the beginning. The finale music doesn't play at the end of the final episode of Station 11. It plays during the play, because that's the turning point, when this show's Hamlet holds a knife to Claudius's throat and doesn't stick it in. The play finally gets another ending.

It's not subtle about any of this. The metaphors, the narrative parallels, the masterfully done scene cuts, and the select quotes about Station 11 are all very blatant, but it clicks together well enough that it works and I don't care. When we get to the final episode and Miranda drops a tragic backstory that happens to connect to the problem at hand, I accept it because I'm not bought into this story as realism, I'm bought into it as a piece of well-constructed, very deliberate art.

Your art is your message. It's your last phone call. And maybe sometimes that last call saves an airport full of people. Maybe it condemns a plane full of passengers to die. Usually you don't know. Everyone's going to take it a different way. It might save someone. It might damn them. It might not do anything. Miranda starts Station 11 as her life collapses, burns it all down, and starts again, and then the world ends and two very different people find it and adapt it in two very different, disastrous ways. But you have to make it anyway. You have to talk to people even when they're not there. I don't want to live the wrong life and then die.

I love what the show did with Jeevan, turning a relatively minor character into an awkward millennial fumbling his way through the end of the world but genuinely wanting to do good. I loved the extra content we got from Miranda and the ways she touched people's lives even beyond her graphic novel. Clark's dark turn was unexpected but worked for the story. I'm still not sold on why everyone loved Arthur Leander, but I am constitutionally immune to movie stars. I liked that the show took the brief connection between Kirsten and the Prophet and turned it into two very lost people who remember damage and can't escape the stories they're telling themselves until someone else crashes into them and tells it a different way. Forget the generic Christofascist child bride cult. We've heard that before. Let's hear something else.

My one complaint is the child army thing got defused a bit mysteriously, but mostly it was tidy in the way a graphic novel is tidy. Every image is deliberate, every line counts. This is one of the rare instances where I think I actually like the adaptation better than the book, although it's very clear that they're doing different things. I probably should have saved this for last because now all the other TV shows are going to suffer for not being Station 11, but them's the breaks sometimes.

Highly recommend! Only if you can handle pandemic trauma though.

[sapphire-weapon]

Leon, in the intro to RE4make:

"September 30, 1998. It's a day I'll never forget. The cop inside me died that day."

---

Officer 1: So, tell me, Yanqui. Why did you come to this horrible place? As close to nowhere as I've ever seen.

Leon: Let's just say... looking for someone.

Officer 1: That someone must be very important, eh? The Chief gave the orders himself. "Help him," he said.

Leon: I'm sure you boys didn't come all the way out here to roast marshmallows.

Officers 1 & 2: (laugh)

Leon: (annoyed) Maybe you did.

Officer 1: You have a strange sense of humor. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Just between us. A lot of people have gone missing around here, and it's been that way for a while, now.

Leon: (still annoyed) Well, then. Should be just another day in the office, right?

Officer 1: Mmm... I mean, last week, there was a search for some missing hikers.

Leon: (sarcastically) I'm sure you'll do your best to help me.

Officer 1: (laughs)

[...]

Leon, much later in the scene: So much for helping me.

---

Leon, later in chapter 1:

(bitterly) "Gotta fix everything myself."

---

Leon tells Ada in RE2make that the reason why he went into law enforcement was to help people like Kendo and his daughter -- vulnerable people, good people, members of the community who are facing the worst moments of their life and need someone to help make it right.

And yet he says in the intro to RE4make that the cop inside him died that day. When we take that in context with what he told Ada about Kendo, what he means is that his desire to help people died that day. The belief that he could help people died that day.

His faith in humanity died that day.

Leon goes into his mission to save Ashley already expecting the two local officers that he's with to be completely fucking useless, and he gets immediately annoyed at the first hint that they are. His "So much for helping me" is said with a sense of "Why am I not surprised?"

He went into RE2make believing that people are generally good and that things will work themselves out.

He goes into RE4make believing that people are generally selfish and will take advantage of him, leaving him to work through any problem that arises on his own.

This is why he's so supremely pissed off at Ada when they meet back up again, and it's also why Ashley is so integral to his character arc. It's also why I've said in the past that Ada is a foil for Ashley in RE4make.

(NOTE: A foil is a character that is set up in the narrative to directly contrast with another one. Where one character is deficient, the foil character is strong, and vice versa. Where Ada is cold, Ashley is warm. Where Ada is physically capable, Ashley is defenseless. Where Ada is secretive, Ashley is honest. Where Ada is calculating, Ashley is impulsive. A foil does not necessarily exist to make one character seem better than the other; a foil exists to showcase two equals using a different approach and receiving different outcomes as a result.)

Ada is the genesis of Leon's cynicism. She's the reason why he expects less than nothing from people anymore -- the reason why he goes into every social interaction waiting to be screwed over. And she reinforces this throughout the narrative by trying to tear him down ("Leave the girl. She's lost no matter what.") or by keeping score ("Happy to help. Now you owe me.") -- which she takes even further in Separate Ways ("Don't worry, Leon. First time's free.").

In the six years since her initial betrayal, Leon has been forged into a weapon by the US government. The kind-hearted boy from RE2make who wanted to save the world now is more comfortable shoving a knife in the throat of an old woman than he is with carrying on small talk with people.

But weapons on their own are neither good nor bad. It's how they're used that determines that. Up until RE4make, Leon has been surrounded by extreme violence and senseless death (that's the point of changing Operation Javier btw), and he doesn't see a way in which his status as a weapon could possibly be used for good.

Until Ashley comes into his life.

If there was ever anyone who had a good reason to take Leon for granted and take advantage of him, it's Ashley -- but not only does she not do that, but she goes out of her way to make herself useful without expectation or strings attached. The only thing she ever asks for in return is a "thank you."

So, every time she gets that "thank you" -- every time she gets a real smile out of him -- she's returning pieces of his humanity to him. She's healing the hurts that Ada and the CIA inflicted on him so many years ago. She's showing him that there's still some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for. She's worth fighting for.

When Leon says: "This time, it has to be different..." he's not talking about his inability to save anyone in Raccoon City. That's a very surface-level interpretation. What he's referring to there is that Raccoon City destroyed his faith in humanity, ruined his image of himself, and poisoned his ability to create meaningful connections with people.

That's what has to be different this time. That's why the full line he says in the intro is: "If I could just forget what happened that night... the pain, even for a second... This time, it can be different. It has to."

RE2make took so much from him, but Ashley spent the entirety of RE4make giving so much of it back. But if she were to die in his arms in chapter 15, that hope and that healing would die with her. Her death would be a reaffirmation that everything that Leon wants or hopes for in this world isn't real, and that reality is nothing more than a series of random tragedies and chaos that results in suffering.

Ashley re-teaches him how to trust in people again, how to work as part of a team again, how to feel good about his own actions again. She teaches him how to hope again.

Ashley is the first person in six years to care about whether Leon gets or feels hurt by her actions. The most important line of dialogue spoken to Leon in the entire game is "Stay back! I might hurt you again..." as Ashley openly sobs over the mere thought of it.

Juxtapose that beside...

During the boat scene, Ada asks Leon in response to whether or not she's changed, after all of the damage she's already inflicted on him: "What do you think? Don't think too hard."

And so, in the ending, Leon answers: "I think we both know that this is where we go our separate ways."

Because, this time, things were different.

Because, this time, his partner was Ashley.

[savage-rhi]

Duality

Chapter 12: The Other Side

Summary: Sawyer Kiddo has walked a razor's edge as a hacktivist for several years, driven by the loss of her family in the Raccoon City incident. Haunted by past choices and fueled with desire for vigilante justice, Sawyer's work takes an unexpected turn when she ventures to Spain and crosses paths with Luis Serra—a man with blood on his hands long thought to be dead. Together they unravel a web of corruption and face an impending bioterror threat, fighting not only monsters but also the darker elements of their humanity. As they delve deeper into each other's pasts and the conspiracy at large, Sawyer begins to sense something unsettling about Luis—something that might be even more dangerous than their mutual enemies.

Read on AO3 Here

Blink. 

"Why can't you be more like Carmen?" 

Sawyer had heard it a dozen times growing up. Over the years, it had become her mother's catchphrase—a weapon to discipline and guilt trip easily. Every stumble, every failure was laid out for judgment, carefully measured against her cousin's successes.

It was never Carmen's fault. Sawyer had always known that. Their families had written their narratives long ago, casting each girl in roles neither had chosen, and Sawyer tried—she really tried—not to resent it. She didn't hold it against her parents, not even while they looked at her with disdain and disappointment, but tonight, it felt different. The words that once just scraped now felt like they were digging deep, rubbing salt in wounds that never had the chance to heal. She felt the weight of every time she felt short, and every time she wasn't enough.

"I'm not Carmen," Sawyer enunciated bitterly. "Unfortunately, you got stuck with me. You might as well say the quiet part out loud." 

"Sawyer, that's not—" Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose, the same look he always gave her when he didn't know what to say or was too tired to keep trying. "Soy, you need to get it together."

"I was trying to get it together!" 

"By getting arrested? You call that getting it together?!" Her mother's tone was hoarse, eyes red from earlier tears, but her gaze wouldn't soften.

"Now, hon—"

"Don't hon me!" Her eyes stared daggers straight into her husband's. "She's lucky your brother Pax knows people at the RPD because of his janitor job at Umbrella! Do you realize that? Your daughter will have this on her record for the rest of her life!"

"Community service isn't that bad," Sawyer shrugged. "It beats sitting in jail."

"Jail is where you're heading if you keep this up!" her mother countered, hands flinching as she gripped the kitchen top. "Don't act like this is nothing!"

"Hey, I'm accepting the consequences of my actions, okay? What else do you want from me?"

Her dad stepped forward. "Sawyer, you're 21 years old."

"Yes, and?" 

"Kiddo…"

Sawyer shrunk into her seat.

She swallowed her words like a five-year-old caught scribbling all over the walls of the living room. She hated how years later, as an adult, his voice could still reduce her to nothing. 

"Your mom and I don't ask for much, except you get an education and stay out of trouble. But these past couple of years? It's like you can't even manage that. You were in community college full-time, and now, barely part-time, you're always in between jobs; why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"I'm doing my—"

"Don't even start," her dad interrupted. "Carmen's been employed since you both graduated. Your uncle Pax tried to get you the same job, and you declined, and your aunt Tori? She practically handed you that receptionist position on a silver platter, and still nothing. I don't understand it, Soy. Every time you're given a handout, it's like you're too proud to take it."

Carmen again. It always came back to Carmen.

Sawyer could feel the lump rising in her throat, but she swallowed it. "My odd jobs were helping me cover—"

"You mean your smuggling jobs?" her mother interrupted. 

Sawyer scoffed. "You're not letting me finish!"

"Why should we?" her mother balked. "After everything you've done, how can we trust you?"

"We never have money!" Sawyer yelled, the words ripping out of her like they'd been trapped for too long. "We never have anything! Don't you get it? That's why I dropped to part-time. I couldn't afford the tuition anymore, and we all know you can't afford it either! That's why I did what I did. That's why I didn't want to take those jobs Pax and Tori offered; it would keep me trapped here; they don't pay jack shit! I've been scraping together every penny I can to return to full-time and get a damn career! I don't want to be stuck here like you! I'm tired of being poor!"

"Committing crimes isn't going to get you ahead, Soy." Her father's tone was gentler now, but the disappointment remained.

"I know it bit me in the ass, and I know I fucked up, but—"

"But nothing!" her mother's voice rose louder than the storm in Sawyer's chest. "Are you seriously trying to justify yourself?"

"I'm not! Please, let me explain how I can-!" 

Seconds later, Sawyer's voice was extinguished, drowned out by her parents. Accusations flew, with words twisted into daggers aimed straight at things that hurt the most. It didn't matter how far she clawed through the dirt; Sawyer knew she wouldn't get a final say.

"It's not just about the weird music, the bailouts, or any of that! She's always with strange men. It's been like this since high school! God knows what else she's doing for money!"

Sawyer clenched her jaw at the insinuation. It was always like this—they feared the worst and assumed even worse. She wasn't going to explain herself, not when they wouldn't hear her out or didn't want to know her, the real her.

"Look, we're both upset, but we can't shame her for doing what normal twenty-somethings do. They have desires just like we did once." 

"But we weren't selling ourselves for money, Daniel!" 

"Maybe you should've had Carmen for a daughter instead," Sawyer spat, shattering the tension like glass, the bitterness curling in her throat like smoke as she finished. "Or even your dead son."

Her parents turned toward her, shock on their faces like she'd hit them both in the gut. Her mother's face twisted into something ugly and wounded, a fury rising in her eyes.

"It's too late to change that."

Sawyer's breath caught in her throat.

"Hon," her father's hand jerked, but it was enough. Her mother cringed as her expression faltered, regret dimming the anger behind her eyes. 

Sawyer made a fist so tight her nails bit into her palm. Finally, they said it—the truth.

She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like nails on a chalkboard. She grabbed her pack of cigarettes from the table, stuffing them angrily into her pocket. With shaking hands, she zipped her jacket and headed for the door. 

"Soy, wait—"

"Never thought I'd say this, but fuck both of you." Sawyer gulped, betraying the tears already burning behind her eyes. She paused at the door, her back to them, shoulders tight with pain. "I love you, but—" 

She left before the tears could spill over, immediately power-walking to get as far away as possible.

"I need to wake up. I need to wake the fuck up."

Blink. 

"Thanks for taking the heat," Carmen murmured. She offered a weak smile as Sawyer handed her a beer, but her fingers hesitated around the bottle's neck, too heavy with guilt to open it. "I'm sorry—"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Sawyer said confidently, her eyes narrowing slightly as if daring Carmen to disagree. "Even if you got busted and I slipped away, they'd still blame me. I'm the bad influence, remember? The problem kid."

Carmen's shoulders drooped. "It's not fair. It's never been fair," she whispered, the frustration of years unraveling in the quiet of her voice. "Maybe I can go down to the police station and—"

"No." Sawyer shook her head as her eyes softened. "What happened, happened. No one expected an undercover cop. You need to let this go. We screwed up and paid the price in our own ways. You still want to be a teacher, right?"

"I do…"

"Well, no place is gonna let you near kids if you have a record. You're lucky. You still have a future."

"What about your future?" Carmen asked, glancing up with an almost pleading look.

Sawyer took a long, slow sip from her beer, her eyes distant. "Pardon?"

"College. What happens to you now?"

Sawyer laughed. "I'll do my community service. Then I'll find some nine-to-five gig and save up. I'm good with computers; maybe I'll get a decent tech job and work up the ranks. College, well...I'll go back eventually. Somebody's gotta give me a chance again."

"You're the smart one," Carmen sighed, almost to herself. "You shouldn't be stuck like this."

Sawyer smirked and nudged Carmen's shoulder. "Hey, I might've teased you about aunt Tori dropping you on your head, but you're every bit as smart as me. Come on, between the two of us, you have the charm."

Carmen shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah, but you're the one with all the plans ."

Sawyer chuckled, watching Carmen absently pet Abner, her lab retriever, who lay half-asleep by her feet. "If I could sleep like that, I'd be in heaven."

"If you slept that deep, you'd be dead," Carmen muttered.

"You worry too much," Sawyer teased, but her voice carried a hint of weariness now, a slight tremor that Carmen caught as she swallowed hard.

"I'm scared, Sawyer. I don't want to be stuck because of our stupid mistakes like my mom and dad or your parents."

Sawyer's smile faded, but her tone remained steady. "I told you. I'm going to take care of us. I've got it covered." 

Carmen stared at her, the fear in her eyes still there, unspoken. "You always say that."

"And when have I ever let us down?"

"Never," Carmen whispered with a smile.

"Exactly. I'm gonna fix this. I'm gonna fix this my way. Just watch."

Carmen sighed. "Sawyer, you need to wake up."

Blink. 

Sawyer bit the inside of her lip, staring blankly at her email. The inbox flooded with messages from her family, Carmen included. Each unread subject line felt like a rock pressing down on her back. How are you? Are you okay? Why haven't you called? They all blurred together as the mouse hovered over each one and sent it to a private folder on the screen.

She paused momentarily, eyes darting to the calendar hanging beside her bookshelf. 

September 22nd, 1998. 

When had summer slipped away...? 

Sawyer glanced back at the emails, her heart too heavy to open them—yet the longer she waited, the more it hurt to do nothing.

She'd done her time in solitude, getting her shit together like her dad always told her to. For herself, for Carmen. 

She'd call them tomorrow. 

She'd pick up Carmen after.

They'd both would turn a new page.

It's time to stop running and wake up...

Blink. 

"We lost our insurance today," Sawyer sighed. "I think there's only five sessions left that I can afford out of pocket unless we get something from that suit with Umbrella."

Carmen's hollow stare had grown colder with each passing second. Her once bright eyes were vacant, barely acknowledging the world around her. It was day four of the hunger strike, and the untouched plate of rice on the kitchen table made Sawyer uneasy.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to speak through the knot in her throat.

"There's a survivors' group about half an hour from here," Sawyer said tentatively. She nudged Carmen's plate, hoping for a response. "It might help, y'know? Since therapy hasn't been working, maybe being around people who understand what happened—"

Before she could finish, Carmen's hand slammed onto the table, dishes crashing to the floor. Then came the slap. It wasn't hard, but the sting of it left Sawyer reeling as she immediately grabbed Carmen's wrists, desperately trying to calm her. She watched her cousin's eyes become crazed, full of rage and something even more wrenching—despair.

Carmen snarled and writhed, attempting to throw Sawyer off. 

"Carmen, stop! Please! It's okay! Carmen, stop! Stop! Stop it! Stop!"

Then suddenly, she went still. Tears spilled down her cheeks, a broken sob tearing from her throat as she whined.

"I know, I know, hey, hey...it's okay," Sawyer whispered, pulling back as Carmen collapsed into herself.

Sawyer wanted to reach out and embrace her, but the space between them felt too vast like a chasm neither could cross. All she could do was watch Carmen's face crumple, more tears staining her cheeks.

At the very least, she offered a hand. 

"Hey, c'mon...it's okay,"

"I'm sorry...I wish I were dead," Carmen muttered, shaking her head. Then, barely audible, she whispered, "I wish you were dead. I wish it would've been you. I miss my mom. I miss uncle Dan. I miss Abner."

Sawyer was too shocked to notice Carmen getting up, muttering something about going for a walk. She didn't even hear the door click when Carmen finally fled. 

I wish you were dead.

I wish you were

I wish you

I wish

I wish you would wake up.

Blink 

The cabinet door creaked open, and there they were—bottles lined up neatly, their promises of escape whispering to her. Sawyer reached for one without thinking, the familiar burn of alcohol beckoning her to have a taste. 

Her fingers shook as she twisted off the cap.

There was no need for a glass. The bottle of whiskey was dinner, just like it would be breakfast and lunch.

As she swallowed gulp after gulp, only one thing went through her mind:

I don't want to wake up...

Blink. 

The scent of freshly ground beans wrapped around her nose, but it did little to chase away her nerves. The warm cup in her hands was a poor substitute for something to lean on to keep her grounded.

Sawyer never thought attending those stupid meetings would lead to anything other than awkward silence and a waste of two hours on a Saturday, yet here she was. For once, she had followed the counselor's advice: "Make a friend." 

Maybe it was the alcohol still buzzing in her veins, or maybe, just maybe, she was feeling something close to ease as she sat across from Samuel, the widow. He'd found her antics amusing, especially when the local pastor paid his visits to preach about "finding god" after losing loved ones to the undead.

They'd met only a week ago, but she spilled her thoughts to him like they were old friends. He was so easy to talk to, and it scared her how genuine he was. 

Samuel pulled Sawyer from her wandering thoughts. The familiar crease between his eyes told her something more was on his mind.

"I'm sorry about what you've lost, Kiddo," his voice heavy as his slumping shoulders. 

Sawyer blinked a few times, swallowing the lump in her throat. She exhaled sharply, feigning nonchalance. "It's whatever, you know? We've all lost something. Maybe the preach had a point...we're gonna carry this crap for the rest of our lives, aren't we?"

Samuel leaned back, his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a smirk. "That bloke was full of 'horseshit,' as you so eloquently pointed out. Mid-coughing fit , no less."

"I was such a jackass that day, wasn't I?" Sawyer snorted, not able to help it. A grin tugged at her lips.

"I'd go with 'asshole,' but you got Sonny and Joyce to laugh. They haven't smiled in weeks. That's a win in my book."

They both chuckled, but Samuel's face grew serious as their laughter subsided, his eyes searching hers while humming thoughtfully. 

"Penny for your thoughts, professor ?" she teased.

"Oh please, I'm not that handsome," Samuel smirked, but his gaze softened. "I was thinking…maybe we should do this more often. Y'know, make it a weekend ritual. After the meetings, we come here and shoot the shit. Be friends, at least."

"Friends, huh?" Sawyer tilted her head and smiled amusingly. The counselor never said anything about scaring the friend off. "We could be more than just friends if you keep buying coffee for me."

The silence that followed hung heavy, and then Samuel's hearty laugh broke through the tension, catching Sawyer off guard. 

"Yeah, I'll stick with caffeine as my main squeeze."

Sawyer rolled her eyes playfully and giggled. 

"C'mon, what does she have that I don't?" she asked, gesturing toward the cup in his hand. 

Samuel grinned, his crow's feet capturing his mischief. "For one, she makes my heart race, and I know where she's been—unlike some people."

"Asshole!" Sawyer tossed a napkin at him, but she couldn't help the laughter rippling up from her chest. "I'm flirty, but I'm not a harlot!"

"Sure, act like one." Samuel snorted.

"You would've gotten along great with my parents," Sawyer muttered with a snort, leaning back into the booth and shrugged. "I'm all bark and no bite in that department, but my offer still stands for you."

Samuel's smile softened, but his gaze didn't waver. "Maybe when you're not dying."

This wasn't right. He never said that to her, no. She could've sworn he said, "Maybe when you're not a functioning alcoholic anymore." That's how it was supposed to go. 

"Ouch," Sawyer grimaced, blinking as she tried to play out the scene. "You're never gonna get a girlfriend with that attitude." 

"Well, I landed a wife once, and you're never gonna get a boyfriend with your personality either."

She forced another laugh, but her chest felt heavier now. She couldn't smell the coffee anymore. The cafe and all the people inside felt like they were somewhere else, in a fog she couldn't conceptualize.  

"All the more reason why we should be friends, right?"

Samuel leaned forward, his voice low and serious. "You need to wake up, Kiddo."

"What?"

Blink. 

She sat in a courtroom. The warmth of that moment with Sam—felt like it belonged to another life. The lights above hummed faintly, and all Sawyer could hear was the pounding of her pulse against her chest like a drum in a warzone.

Her gaze fixed on the man on the witness stand, her late uncle Pax's boss at Umbrella. His voice was mechanical as he recited the same excuses: "corporate responsibility," "miscalculations." Each empty word shredded what little remained of her patience. 

They had stolen everything from her, from Carmen. 

Sawyer's shaking hands clenched tightly at her coat pockets, fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the gun hidden within.

She could feel it anchoring her rage as the courtroom withered.

She wanted to scream and tear down the facade of a mourning niece and daughter, to make him and everyone who was under the thumb of that godforsaken company pay. 

"Wake up!"

Sawyer's head snapped up. The voices were everywhere now, loud and insistent, drowning out everything but a sharp ringing in her ears that doused the judges' screams. 

"Wake up!" 

Blink. 

Through the haze, she could make out Luis. Blood smeared his mouth, and his eyes—wild and glowing, something more than human—met hers. Fear clawed its way up to her throat as she gagged on bile. Her body refused to move away, too weak to respond. She reached out with shaky fingers, brushing his hand before darkness pulled over her eyes. 

A warmth bloomed inside her. It was foreign but strangely soothing like something deep within her clung to a final spark. When she came to, the world was coming apart around her. Luis was cradling her body in his arms, the terror in his eyes contrasting with how gentle he was being.

"I know...I know it hurts," Two Legs whispered. He lowered her onto something hard, something cold. His hands reached for her head, supporting it as he peered over her face. 

Stay awake…

"Hey...!" A broken smile stretched across his lips when her eyes fluttered open. "Hey, you..."

She had never seen anyone look so happy and relieved to see her alive. 

"Carmen…" Her cousin's name slipped out before she could stop it, no louder than a breath. It was all she had left.

Two Legs leaned closer, brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" 

He called out to her somewhere far away, a distant echo bouncing off invisible walls she couldn't see. 

"No…no, no, no!" 

Sawyer felt Luis's hands shaking in his weak grip on her. He muttered something she couldn't make out. His breaths were uneven and quick as if he was running out of time, trying to avoid death's scythe from reaping its next victim.

A hand found hers, warm and sticky with blood. 

Suddenly, pain—sharp, searing pain in her right arm. Something pierced her skin, jolting Sawyer back into awareness for a moment. She gasped. A red string went from Luis's arm to hers.

Everything went dark again. 

Realities' coldness faded, and a heat she hadn't known in years washed over her. Voices came with it, distant and muddled as if they were speaking underwater—familiar but lost.

Sawyer didn't understand any of it, but the noise calmed her. It was like hearing a lullaby one had forgotten, the memory just out of reach, but there if one had the strength to peel the layers away.  She wanted to touch those endless voices, but it wasn't needed in this place—not when she could feel every vibration like a thousand hands reaching out to greet her.

She was floating. 

A new sound appeared—faint at first. 

"The truth may be stretched thin, but it never breaks, and it always surfaces above lies, as oil floats on water."

"...For I've heard that what they call fortune is a flighty woman who drinks too much, and, what's more, she's blind, so she can't see what she's doing, and she doesn't know who she's knocking over or who she's raising up."

"I have never died all my life."

She knew that voice, knew it in her bones. 

Samuel…?

Between the lines of the text, another voice—a more profound, softer one—spoke in the spaces between. Sawyer couldn't understand words, but the tone held her, soothed her. It felt like a pull, gentle but unstoppable, tugging her away. She fought for a moment to stay—to hear the rest and hold on.

And then, just a vibration—faint, wordless, like sound without shape.

Blink. 

Blink.

Blink. 

"It's time to wake up, Kiddo." 

Sawyer's senses returned as if rising from a bottomless abyss. A blanket pressed gently against her skin, and she curled her fingers into the softness beneath her, grounding herself. Her eyes, unfocused at first, settled on her hand resting across the mattress.

Her skin looked paler than she remembered, and the glint of an IV needle buried in her vein caught Sawyer's attention. She traced the red tube upward, following it to the unmarked blood bag beside a saline solution hanging from an IV pole. She swallowed reflexively, blinking to clear her vision further.

The attic she lay in felt impossibly distant from where she'd last been. It wasn't the cramped, dusty kind—this space was open and refurbished, with sunlight pouring in from a window so bright it hurt to look. Only the tops of distant trees were visible beyond the glare.

She shifted, wincing as the needle tugged against her hand, and glanced at the ceiling. A large net hung just above the bed, hooked from one side of the room to the other and overflowing with blankets and pillows. The material nudged to one side like a forgotten cocoon—like someone had been sleeping in it.

Wooden beams crisscrossed above her, worn smooth by time but looking recently polished, string lights draped across them. Shelves lined the far wall, cluttered with mismatched knickknacks—framed photos and old books. The air had a faint, comforting scent of citrus and lavender, like someone had tried to make the space inviting despite its makeshift feel.

Her lips twitched into a weak smile. 

Heaven…? The thought slipped into her mind, playful but fleeting. 

If heaven had IV bags and hammocks, maybe…

Her gaze drifted to a book beside the nightstand. She reached for it, then paused, feeling a strange disconnection between herself and the body she was only beginning to reclaim.

"Oye, bella durmiente!" a familiar voice called out, playful and full of mischief. "You look like crap!" (1)

"I feel like it," Sawyer groaned softly, turning her head toward Two Legs as he finished climbing a flight of stairs. "Why do you have to speak in tongues?"

Two Legs grinned, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes relieved.

"My apologies for being excited to see you..." He paused, squinting while looking her over more closely. "Ehh, mostly dead?"

"I see your tact hasn't changed," she quipped, trying to sit up further. 

"Five days isn't long enough to form a new habit, I'm afraid."

"That's how long it's been?" Sawyer blinked while a dull ache sank in her chest.

"Yeah..." Two Legs trailed off, his grin faltering as his gaze drifted to the floor. "I didn't think that you'd..." He quickly cleared his throat, hiding behind humor again as he raised a coffee cup between them. "I uh—bought you a little pick-me-up."

"Liar," Sawyer teased, though her voice staggered. "You got that for yourself. I can see it on your face—you weren't expecting me to wake up. Probably came to check if I had a pulse."

Two Legs chuckled, shrugging as though he could brush off the truth. "Caught me red-handed!" 

He walked over to the bed, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. "Although between the two of us, you need it more than I do."

Sawyer smiled. "You cut your hair down and shaved the beard off."

"How nice of you to notice." Two Legs grinned. His expression was gentle, as if her noticing something so small reminded him that things were okay again.

"How come?" 

Two Legs shrugged, his smile dimming slightly. "Eh, I got tired of rolling out of bed looking like Jesus and felt nostalgic for 2004."

Sawyer snorted, wincing at the ache it caused, but the laugh still escaped. "Relevant year?"

"You have no idea," he sighed, shaking his head before handing her the cup. His fingers lingered on the edge of it for just a second longer than necessary. "Go on."

Sawyer accepted it reluctantly, taking a small gulp. She winced, the taste strange in her mouth, lips tightening into a thin line.

"Too sweet?"

"No." Her voice was quiet, almost strained. "I can taste my blood in between my teeth. Not the best combo with coffee." 

She grimaced, shutting her eyes as a wave of nausea passed through, a slow exhale escaping her. Her gaze fell to the top of the cup while a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"All it's missing is bubbles."

Two Legs raised a brow, his grin widening. "Bubbles?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said softly as if she were seeing something far away. "When I was younger, I wouldn't drink anything unless it had bubbles in it ."

Two Legs let out a small chuckle, his gaze lingering on her face. "Why?"

"I was a weird kid?" Sawyer tried to laugh with him, but the sound came out rough and uneven, her throat scratchy. The glow in her eyes faded just as quickly as it came. "Maybe it was a sensory thing. I thought they were neat to look at."

Two Legs hesitated, unsure what to say, then made a small gesture.

"Lemme see that."

Sawyer blinked, confused, but handed over the cup. She watched as he fished a straw out of his pocket and stuck it into the coffee. Her eyes narrowed, ready to protest, but then he met her gaze, something playful and tender rising there, and he blew bubbles into the drink.

Sawyer burst out in giggles despite herself. The sound filled the room. Two Legs, grinning, exaggeratedly puffed his cheeks and did it again.

The heaviness in her heart lifted for a moment, feeling as though she could breathe again.

He handed the cup back with a dramatic flourish. "Your bubbles, madam."

Sawyer's grin widened, her cheeks flushed from the laughter. It was well worth the pain that came after the fact. "You're so cliché, you know that?"

Two Legs winked, the mischievous spark in his eyes still there. "I aim to please—and you're welcome."

Sawyer winced as she tried to sit up further. Her eyes, still heavy from exhaustion, swept around the room again. "Where are we?"

"My humble abode," Two Legs smirked. He glanced between Sawyer and a worn rocking chair nearby, finally pulling it up beside the bed so he could sit. "We're in the Costa Brava region. About eight hours from Madrid, give or take."

"All this time, I thought you lived in a van," Sawyer scoffed, though it came out weaker than intended.

"Haha, good one!" he replied, trying to keep things light.

She sighed, rubbing her temples, then finished the coffee and set the empty cup aside.

"Anyway," she muttered, swinging her legs off the bed's edge and pushing herself to her feet, wincing as her legs wobbled beneath her. "Give me an hour, and I'll be gone."

"Wait, what?" Two Legs shot up from the chair, his eyes widening with concern as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to coax her back to bed. "The last thing you should be doing is running around. You're in no shape to leave. You need to take it easy."

"I can't," Sawyer whispered, almost pleading. Every part of her body screamed at her to lie back down, but she refused to listen. "I have 24 hours left to get on a plane or…you said I was out for five days, right?"

"That's right," Two Legs nodded, his brow furrowing as he hovered beside her, unsure what to do. His hands twitched as if ready to catch her if she fell. 

Sawyer's face paled. "Oh, shit..."

Two Legs swallowed hard, noticing the fear creeping into her expression, and stepped closer to try to calm her down. "I'm sure you can find another arrangement to get out of Spain."

Sawyer's shoulders slumped, and her eyes were distant as she murmured. "It's not that simple."

Two Legs frowned. "How so?"

"It's like I told you back at the hotel," Sawyer sighed. She couldn't help but recall that last night before everything went wrong—the night before she was shot. "Everything's fake. All my travel papers, documentation…and Kari, that fucking—" 

Sawyer paused, her vision swimming as she fought back a sudden wave of dizziness.

"Easy. Take another breath," Two Legs murmured, his concern hidden behind a gentle command. "VITA can still help you out, right? Even without all the paperwork they did for you?"

Sawyer's lips pressed together, frustration bouncing as she tried to focus.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly, her mind drifting back to that failed attempt to access the archives, a gnawing suspicion that Kari had sabotaged her. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close Luis was, his breath warm, his face just inches from hers. She looked away, her pulse quickening for reasons she didn't want to investigate, before she winced and sank back onto the bed, her legs finally giving in.

"I've never been in a situation like this."

"I guess this means you're stranded," Two Legs replied, his relief tangible when she sat down, though his eyes were clouded.

"Yeah," Sawyer let out a weak laugh, but there was no humor in it. She caught onto the tension in his features, the worry that mirrored her own. "You seem upset?

Two Legs rubbed the back of his neck, furrowing his brow before leaning back in the creaky rocking chair. "Not at you. Just the situation, what happened back there, in Toledo."

Sawyer's face softened as she studied him. His shoulders held tension even though he attempted to appear relaxed, and his eyes wandered like he hadn't rested well in days. She wanted to ask about Kari and the complicated mess between him and her but now wasn't the time.

He looked like he was barely holding it together.

"How did you get away?" she asked instead, her voice a bit quieter, as if acknowledging the gravity of what he'd been through.

"I ran like hell," Two Legs chuckled, the kind of laugh that only came from someone trying to chase away something that still scared him. 

"Obviously, or we wouldn't be here," Sawyer grunted, trying to lighten the mood, but the reality crashed down on her as she glanced at her bandaged shoulder, packed with gauze. "Did you take me to a hospital?"

"Nope," Two Legs admitted, almost proudly, though his voice was softer now. "I, uh, pulled a MacGyver, as one might say. I broke into a medical supply facility and patched you up. The bullet skimmed an artery—it didn't go all the way through, but you lost a lot of blood. Guess my minor in anatomy came in handy, huh?"

"And then some," Sawyer gingerly touched her shoulder, wincing as she felt the stitches beneath the wrappings. Her brow furrowed, confusion clouding her thoughts. "Wait, how the hell did you get me here in one piece? I was eight hours away when I got shot…"

"Here comes the crazy part." Two Legs hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his playful tone faltering. "After I stitched you up, I…well, I hooked an IV from me to you. Then I found a motorcycle and had you sit up front and lean against me to keep the blood flowing. Rode the whole way like that."

Sawyer's eyes widened in disbelief. "How the fuck did I not drain you dry?"

"Adrenaline?" Two Legs laughed sheepishly like he was trying to hide how close he'd come to collapsing. "I made some stops along the way, gave myself a break…then kept going."

Sawyer stared at him for a long moment. Her eyes flicked up to the IV pole and the blood bag. "And that up there…that's yours too?"

Two Legs nodded, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "Made it myself."

"Oh, you're crazy…" Sawyer murmured, shaking her head as she let out a shaky breath. "How did you even know our blood was compatible?"

There was a slight pause before he answered, his eyes darting away.

"There were some tests in the facility. I took three, just to be sure."

Sawyer had a sinking feeling he was lying. A brief flash of memory surfaced—Luis's face, pale and tautened, his eyes dark and feral. Blood smeared across his lips. She shuddered, forcing herself to dismiss it as a hallucination from her blood loss, but the unease lingered.

She frowned and glanced at the empty cup before her, biting her lip. 

I almost died…

"Well," she said with a forced casualness, "give me a day to recoup, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Wait, you said you can't get home."

"I'll find a way; I always do." Sawyer insisted, her tone a little too firm. She gave a sharp nod, more to herself than to him. "We've helped each other enough."

"That may be true," Two Legs began, pausing as if carefully choosing his next words, "but we're both still in the hot seat, and I don't feel comfortable letting you go out there while you're still injured. You'll have no protection here."

"You don't think I can—" Sawyer started, her irritation rising.

"Hear me out," he cut her off, his voice softening. "I know you're strong. Hell, you took a bullet helping a man you hardly know. I'm not underestimating you. But you don't know your way around Spain like I do, and there's a good chance Alvarez is looking for us. We're better off together than separated."

Sawyer hesitated. He was right, and she knew it, but admitting that felt like admitting weakness, and that scared her more than the pain in her arm. 

"But I…"

"I want you to stay," Two Legs plead. The sincerity in his eyes made Sawyer's heart skip. "It's the least I can do for…for getting you caught up in my mess. At least until you're back on your feet, how about that?"

Sawyer's gaze dropped to the floor. The truth was, she didn't have the strength to argue anymore. The consistent pain radiating down her arm reminded her she wasn't at one hundred percent. Still, she hated feeling vulnerable and needing help. 

"Alright…" she muttered. "I'll stick around, I guess."

"Great then!" Two Legs' smile was big and warm, too warm for the grey still swirling in her head. "We'll figure this out. Trust me!"

Sawyer was silent for a long moment, staring at her hands. She felt a knot in her stomach. "Should we talk about how we will deal with Kari and what happened between you two back there?"

Two Legs' face fell slightly. 

"Let's table that for now," he said calmly. "I may look like I have it together, but these past few days have been hard for me too. I know you have a hundred questions, and I'll answer them, but…If it's all the same to you, I need time to get my head straight."

Sawyer furrowed her brows, feeling sympathy despite the questions clawing at the back of her mind. She nodded slowly.

"First things first!" Two Legs exclaimed, his voice bright with an almost contagious excitement. He disappeared downstairs momentarily, returning with a crinkling grocery bag filled to the brim, which he promptly set on the bed beside Sawyer.

"I bought you some snacks. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything. The pantry's stocked, fridge too—and oh! Clothes, I got you some clothes!"

Sawyer blinked, her groggy mind struggling to catch up. "Clothes?"

"Yeah!" His grin widened, a proud glint in his eyes. "Shirts, pants, underwear, socks...based on what you had on."

It took a second for her to register what he meant, and when she did, a flood of realization hit her. She wasn't wearing her original clothes—hell, she wasn't even wearing a bra.

Her heart gave a startled lurch as she glanced down, then quickly back up at him. 

"You looked at my body?"

Two Legs' face flushed deep red, his hands shooting up defensively.

"I—I had to clean you up! You were unconscious. I wasn't going to leave you lying there in...well, you know." He shifted on his feet, clearly flustered, dropping his hands. "But I swear, I didn't peek at anything. I...I respect ladies."

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open, torn between shock and something resembling gratitude. He was an awkward mess, but the sincerity in his words disarmed her.

"Oddly comforting..." she muttered.

Two Legs slapped his forehead suddenly, struck by another thought.

"Oh man, I forgot body wash, conditioner, all that…If you don't mind smelling like me, you can use my stuff for now. There are more blankets downstairs, a deck, umm...kitchen area's a bit of a mess 'cause I haven't had time to—"

"Luis," Sawyer interrupted gently. Her throat narrowed as she looked at him, at this man who had taken care of her when she was most vulnerable. "Thank you."

Two Legs expression eased, nervousness melting into something more caring—something that whispered he was just glad she was awake. He smiled faintly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as his mind raced ahead of him. 

"Can I ask you something?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Sure, it's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Who's Carmen?"

"What?"

"You said her name a lot when you were bleeding." His gaze searched hers. "Is she another one of your friends, like Sam?"

Sawyer's face darkened as a flood of emotions surged forward. She took a shaky breath, ignoring his eyes, pretending she hadn't heard him right.

"I need some time alone...if that's alright," she whispered.

Two Legs' eyes widened for a fraction of a second, realizing he had crossed an unspoken line.

"Yeah, yeah, sure...um," He nodded, stepping back, his usual confidence faltering. "I'll be downstairs. Just holler if you need anything. I'll check on you later, yeah?"

"Okay..."

Sawyer's mind was already shutting him out as she turned away and lay back down. 

Two Legs stood in the doorway, watching her frame disappear into the sheets. For the first time since meeting her, she looked small and lost. He didn't know what to say, so he slipped out of the room, the door closing with a soft click.

Once downstairs, he pressed his back against the wall, releasing a deep breath he didn't even realize he was holding. His arms shuddered, pulsing almost violently, his fingernails shifting from blunt to sickle and back again, between human and parasite.

"Mierda joder," he muttered under his breath. (2)

Two Legs stared at his hands for a long moment with resignation as he focused on his breaths, controlling himself.

"You can do this," he whispered to himself, jaw tightening. "You've got a plan. It'll work." 

He had already made arrangements and figured out his "meals" for the next week to keep himself from spiraling, especially now that she was awake. Then he let out a dark, humorless chuckle, rubbing his temple.

"If you were human...if you were Luis, you'd be thrilled right now. Over the damn moon. There's a woman in my bed, hell yes!"

His cheeky grin faded into a frown. "But no...there's a woman in my bed, and I can only think about how not to kill and eat her."

His conflict churned, making it even more complicated when he thought about what had happened earlier. When Sawyer stood up from the bed, her body so close to his, it sent a jolt through him, standing the hairs on his neck. How the faint scent of her lingered in the air, her skin warm...he was painfully aware of the distance between them, or lack thereof, and how easy it would have been to pull her closer.

Two Legs sighed. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, and the hunger bit at him, primal and instinctive.

"I can do this..."

He curled his hands into fists to steady himself and keep from doing something he couldn't take back.

Notes:

1. Oye, bella durmiente! = Hey, sleeping beauty! 2. Mierda joder = Shit, fuck

[ride-thedragon]

You know, I'm glad they did not give Nettles' story to Rhaena.

Truth is, even if Show! Velaryons are black and therefore Laena's daughters are black, they still take part in an elitist society and part of a race considered the most beautiful and most powerful of the world that used to have an empire that took part in the Conquest of Westeros; and the Velaryons are also considered to have magical Valyrian blood like the Targaryens.

And even if Rhaena is not a princess because her relation to King Jaehaerys is that of a great-granddaughter/great-great-granddaughter through her father and mother; Rhaena is still a lady of House Targaryen, the most powerful family in the world.

Rhaena has lived with her stepmother, stepbrothers and half-brothers for so long she knows a lot about dragons and because of that she would never have to retort to herself slitting the throat of a sheep and would never get to sleep in dirty alleys and have so many scars from encounters with merchants.

Not even Baela, who is a tomboy, has the narrative of sleeping near commoners nor having a thief scar on her nose.

Rhaena has the privilege of the highborns and most specifically the privilege of being a Targaryen; whereas Nettles is a commoner girl who has had to adapt to live as a thief to survive and whose only proof she's a dragonseed is that she claimed Sheepstealer, and even then, her method is not exactly common among the current dragonriders even if the original ones did it that way.

Personally I dislike the theory of Nettles being Daemon's daughter, Daemon is explicitly described as fond and preferring of Valyrian maidens, and given Nettles' looks it's obvious her mother was not Valyrian; and if Nettles was his daughter we have to remember that's the only form of incest the Targaryens never ever had.

In my own headcanons, Nettles has more possibilities of being a descendant of Aegon the Uncrowned who was known for entertaining many maidens, or Maegor Targaryen, and she could even be a descendant of Daemon Velaryon the brother of Queen Alyssa Velaryon as they themselves had Targaryen blood.

I agree mostly. It's not a narrative that makes sense for Rhaena. No matter how they try to position her. Even if we look at her show characterization thus far, it would be unfortunate to give her another plot. I see a lot of people saying they're glad rhaena has something to do, but it's a disservice to her character. As though the show couldn't think of a role where she isn't head first in war even though she's such an important character towards the end of the dance. They just have to get a Vale plot, which could simply be her teaching the boys as best as she can and looking over dragon eggs. But they didn't give her morning.

I have no idea what their plan is. What I do know is that if it happens, it doesn't make sense. Nettles' story is important, and seeing as the fans have found a way to push her specific arcs unto every character that breathes when Nettles isn't on screen, it's more difficult to replace her in the story. It's a disservice to them both.

Nettles isn't Daemon's daughter 100%. He's a weirdo, but he isn't insane. He'd groom 100 teens, but he wouldn't sleep with his daughter. We know that because he largely ignores them in the show.

Lastly, I do see the Nettles is a bastard of theories as a waste of time. They don't make sense why George would go through all the trouble of her appearance and story just to be like she she great grand child of Aenys through a bastard that ended up on Driftmark. It's odd. But if I had to guess, I could see Aegon the auncrowned potentially, maybe even Jaehaerys or one of his sons. Perhaps a Baratheon. Who knows.

Overall, now we just wait and see. I, for one, won't be tuning in as much if she isn't included. (Rhaena and Baela scenepack folks, you'll have my subscription). They seem to have forgotten Alysanne and Sabitha as well. I do think if she is included, her arc will be different, but that's another thing I just will hold off on until she's announced. And if she isn't, it's been fun. As for Nettles' theories, my personal HC is that if she is a bastard, it's from Jaehaerys onward, and if she is, I hope it's from her mother's side.

[see-arcane]

"a century and a half of him being a cowardly weakling who sometimes cheats" - about Jonathan Harker in one of previous asks I'm sorry, but that's not even true. Jonathan wasn't always some cowardly weakling in media. He wasn't a cowardly weakling in 1970 Count Dracula adaptation or in 1977 BBC adaptation or in that Czechoslovakian 1971  adaptation or in 1953 Turkish one - he was brave and badass in those. And even if you don't like 1992 version, Jonathan was not weakling there either - he was brave, he was badass chasing Dracula across snowy Transylvania with others and even cut his throat, mortally wounding him. It's an exaggeration to claim Jonathan has always been a cowardly weaking in media.

I don't know what specific ask you're referring to and I don't like my odds of sifting through the pile to find the exact quote, but it's a sentiment that's appeared in a few of my rambles before, so I'll take your word that it's floating around somewhere.

First, thank you for bringing up four whole Dracula adaptations where Jonathan Harker is done some justice that have never crossed my radar. The 1970 version has Christopher Lee himself as the Count, so it seems like a promising watch on principle, and I think I vaguely recall the 1977 BBC being mentioned as a hidden gem adaptation that actually brushed closer to the book's canon. The Czechoslovakian and Turkish versions I will trust you on, as my media saturation is drowning in 'murrican schlock. I will even give the 1992 Jonathan credit for letting Keanu have a fraction of Jonathan's character in Coppola's laughably named 1992 fanfiction.

But the thing is, those are five movies. Five whole movies you could point to in a very very very long list of Dracula media. Five where Jonathan is allowed to possess one sliver of his canonical self's character, courage, strength, and ability. I will say the line you picked is one to be rightfully upset about, if only because it isn't right to be angry over 'a century and a half of him being a cowardly weakling.' Fear is part of Jonathan's character.

Jonathan Harker was terrified for his entire stay with the Count. That is in canon. Then he escapes, goes through his magical girl transformation in reaction to Mina being attacked, and winds up beheading the Count. Him starting out afraid is key to his character arc and the catharsis of the climax.

An arc that is--and I will bet money on this--almost entirely gutted even in the four adaptations I wasn't aware of. I know it for a fact in the 1992 film. Keanu was given the same acting directions and script in the movie as you'd give a slice of dry toast or a broom.

Because, as has been the case in far more movies, shows and books with Dracula as a starring role, Jonathan Harker may not necessarily become a coward, but he is always, always gutted. Dracula becomes the dark seducer, now with Coppola's rendition becoming the norm ala 'blaspheming for love,' courtesy of stealing Jonathan's driving passion in the third act. Van Helsing becomes Dracula's badass personal nemesis, courtesy of robbing Jonathan and Mina of that co-owned role.

Yes, Jonathan is sometimes remembered, but it's a coin toss as to whether he gets to A) Participate in the narrative beyond filling screen space, B) Be interesting, C) Be faithful (and not a cookie cutter Victorian Man (c) cliche to poor Mina who needs a REAL VAMPIRE MAN, D) Have any of his importance as one half of the protagonist team with Mina acknowledged without handing everything to Van Helsing. You can only ever have one. If you're lucky.

When people think of the Dracula media of today, or last decade, or the decade before that, and before that, who besides people who have actually read the book would think Jonathan Harker matters as a character? As the guy who opens and closes the story? As the guy who spent two months in captivity with Dracula, as the only person to have actual dialogue with him beyond a single villain rant? As the guy who did not just scratch Dracula's throat, but actively sent him running for his unlife in Piccadilly and ultimately chopped his head off?

The most he's gotten in recent years are the scraps that Moffat tossed him in his latest self insert OCified take on Dracula in his 2020 series, if we ignore the massive middle finger of a send off he gets in the first episode. Or we could look at the 2013 series' lovely depiction of Jonathan (now a jealous prick) and Lucy (an unfulfilled lesbian) having angry-cheating sex about Mina not being into them. Or 2022's The Invitation, featuring Count Ken Doll and his helpers, the elderly Harkers who are also his minions who attack and offer up an innocent girl to his Bride-cult. Or the 1999-2007 comic series of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by Alan 'lol Jonathan Harker is a milksop' Moore, who wrote Mina has his own personal SA fetish stand-in while Jonathan is mercifully off-screen, having ditched Mina because he thought her vampire bite scars were ugly. Or we could give Anno Dracula a read and see Kim Newman's special warm welcome and farewell to the Harkers within the first few pages.

Or we could go back to the beginning. All the way to Tod Browning and F.W. Murnau.

Browning's Dracula of 1931 is, like Coppola's 1992 flick, one of, if not the most immediately recognized version of Dracula there is in cinema. Its climax features Jonathan Harker prancing around a crypt looking for Mina while Van Helsing stakes the Count. (I am being literal. The man is practically skipping. I know, I know, film acting wasn't at its peak back then, but come on.)

Murnau and the very definitely for sure not Dracula with its serial numbers filed off 1922 film, Nosferatu, has Orlok being appropriately menacing and weird at the Jonathan Harker stand-in of 'Thomas Hutter,' who is theatrically terrified--but at least one half of an earnestly loving couple with Mina Ellen Hutter!--and then gets sent away by Ellen on a ruse so she can die tricking Orlok into his death by sunrise.

Jonathan Harker mincing uselessly around while Van Helsing gets the work done.

Jonathan Harker quailing and afraid, contributing nothing to the Count's (or doppelganger thereof) destruction.

Jonathan Harker, however effete or earnest or able, loses the girl to the dark dramatic seducer.

This was the foundation people were given for this character well before anyone bothered to pick up the book. And much of that audience didn't bother. Same for the generations to follow. There's a reason the Dracula Daily wave has surprised, enthralled, and enraged so many new readers who thought that 126+ years of multiple mediums had to be working from some bedrock of comparison in the book, only to find how much had been erased or warped out of recognition.

I would be here all day if I threw myself into all the comic book adaptations. All the spinoff novels. The entire filmography and its neighboring heap of TV series. Even I'm not dedicated enough to comb through every single page and scene just to be reminded of how routinely snubbed or bastardized this character--and, honestly, the whole cast--is as time marches on and the writers and directors behind new Dracula media become increasingly detached from the actual content of the novel, relying only on pop culture osmosis and Wiki pages for Coppola's movie.

Anyway. I suppose it isn't perfectly fair to say Jonathan Harker has been portrayed as a coward through the century and a quarter of Dracula film, TV, and print in every single depiction.

But there is enough saturation in the trends of contemporary media that any crumbs the 20th century offered to him are drowned out to the point that we need a microscope to find them. And even if we're not talking contemporary?

I think it's telling that the examples you gave, bar what I can't not read as a hell of a stretch with 90's Keanu, form a list of four examples out of 126 years' worth of media.

[seospicybin]

ON TOUR PREVIEW.

UNPLUGGED.

PART III OF ON TOUR SERIES.

Hyunjin x reader x Felix.

Synopsis: Your best friend, Felix, is in a rock band and he takes you to join him on tour as the band’s photographer. On the road, you learn how to deal with his bandmate, Hyunjin, who’s not very welcoming of you.

Preview under the cut!

...

There's a knock on the door, it must be Lou coming back from putting his best friend to sleep. You open the door without looking and walk back to the desk, "I'll be working all night. You can have the bed," you tell him.

You hear no answer but the sound of the door being closed behind you.

A while later, someone else replies to you, "You don't have to worry, he'll be sleeping in my room tonight."

Who did you let in just now? You know who it is but you refuse to believe that you're right. You take a deep breath before bracing yourself to the grand reveal, that it's him, Hyunjin.

"What are you doing here?" You have the right to be defensive, considering that it's your room, the only private space you have and he came here uninvited.

"I want to talk to you," he calmly replies.

You get up from your chair as he's coming closer and leans against the headrest of the chair.

"About what?"

"About us," he shortly replies.

Your heart starts beating so fast and you don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it, you clear your throat before speaking again.

"I don't think we have something to talk about," you hope he didn't hear how your voice quivers at the end of the sentence.

"Oh, we do," he says while still walking towards you even though he's close enough that you have to start looking up to look at him due to the height difference.

You're not in the mood for his unfriendly words and glares, "We can talk some other time—"

"I want you to know that I have nothing between me and that girl," he says, sharing information that you don't even ask in the first place.

You hold your hands up to stop him from continuing and furtherly thinking that you want to know the truth.

"No, I don't care. I don't want to know," you tell him as best as you can without having to be rude because that's his thing, not yours.

He takes another step closer, eliminating the gap between your bodies and leaving mere inches for you to breathe. How can you think if you can see his beautiful face this close that you can see the tiny mole under his left eye? How can you force your brain to work it's busy playing the recollection of that night in the back of your head, haunting you with how soft his lips feel against yours.

"I want you to know. I want you..." he emphasizes the word you with an intense stare, "to care. I want you to be jealous," he insists his narrative on you and wanted it to be true.

That sounds just so absurd coming from him and it's making you burst into laughter. The most careful and reserved person you ever come across said that. You feel bad to let him know that you could be anything but jealous. In terms of look, yeah, you're jealous that she's much prettier than you but jealous because she's with him...

"I am not jealous," you tell him with a scoff, but that doesn't sound convincing, that sounded like you're offended instead.

"Why should I be jealous? I-I'm—" You lose track of what you're going to say to him. You wince at how you make yourself look like a fool in front of him.

"Our kiss... did you manage to forget it?" He cuts you off with a question that you don't have the answer to.

Slightly tipping his head, Hyunjin leans a little closer to the side of your head you can feel his breath fanning your cheek.

Needing something to hold on to, you grip the edge of the chair behind your back, tightly.

"Why do you care so much whether I forgot about it or not?" Your voice is shaky and small.

He slyly smiles and it looks good on him as if he knows it would scramble your brain, making it hard for you to stay focused. In other words, he knows he's winning.

"If you forgot about it then..." he puts his hand under your chin and angles your head, forcing you to look at him right in the eyes.

"I just have to remind you again," he softly speaks as it takes everything in him to try not to kiss you from the moment he laid your eyes on you.

Now that he leans in closer than before and you can feel his warm breath brushing your lips. As much as you don't want to be reminded, you close your eyes in anticipation of what's coming at you.

As your lips collide in a rapturous, spellbinding kiss that takes your breath away but at the same time, breathes life into you.

Hyunjin kisses you tenderly, savoring the taste that he craves so much. He kisses you slowly because that's how he should treat a beautiful thing.

And a beautiful thing is always fragile. 

...

Full fic will be posted tomorrow!