#but it was just such a breach of trust for the woman and its like... i dont get it !!!!! i dont get it !!!

[heartyearning]

im obsessed with the nick & vanessa lachey cinematic universe because even for reality tv (and i must remind everyone of my expert status here) it's like egregiously bad because like. ok so like i prefer the ultimatum (even tho i have seen every season of love is blind and have only seen 1 szn of the hetero ultimatum + the queer ultimatum which ruled) because at least in terms of a dramaturgical arc it's very clear and doesn't get messy or muddled but love is blind is basically a mini version of the ultimatum and that's . like its so interesting to me how much money netflix pours into the same reality tv concepts over and over again regardless of whether or not it actually adds anything new to the genre. like yeah reality tv is just supposed to brain popcorn and none of it is true or genuine but like there's nuances

[acaptainbyanyothername]

One of my favorite themes Midst is exploring is what it means for a person to become an idol, a symbol. How they and the narrative deal with that is FASCINATING.

Obviously we have Lark. Clara Mire was shoved into her symbol at a very young age— she became the poster child for Caneum, the boogeyman under Trustee’s beds, the universal villain. She has spent her entire life running from that symbol, adopting an alias and jumping from place to place. But her tragedy is that in running from her symbol, she has had to partially become it. Lark is TERRIFYING, and leverages that all the time, against Fuze, Phineas, even Tzila. Lark became dangerous to run from her symbol of Dangerous.

Then we have our buddy Tripotentiary Moc Weepe. Upon his transformation, he becomes the symbol of the Trust. He literally and figuratively makes the Trust translucent to show off its diseased, rotting insides. He is the true Trust, inside and out. No wonder everyone hates him.

Jonas Spahr is forced to be this golden idol— don’t show weakness, put on a media-ready smile, not a hair out of place and it’s showtime. He groomed to be this way like one of Costigan’s plants, and she’s snipped away all of his natural humanities. He is golden and perfect at the cost of his personhood, and it’s killing him.

Contrast that against Phineas Thatch. Phineas tries to become that golden idol, Spahr tries to cull his imperfections, but it doesn’t stick. Phineas is too messy, too human, he can’t become the untouchable symbol. So he’s rejected and abandoned by his idolatristic society.

I think even Hieronymous Loxlee could count as a symbol— if Weepe is the Trust, Harry’s the Breach. Secretive, in disguise, hidden in plain sight. It’s a heavy burden to carry though, causing him to have to make decisions as a symbol rather than as a person. He needs to maintain the Breach above his own personal relationships—drop the moon on Midst if it saves the Breach, even if it dooms his loved ones and his own daughter. He can’t afford to be a person, he has to be the symbol.

But then Midst episode 15: Breach comes and says they’re just people. Lark is just an old woman. Jonas Spahr is just a man. It’s a clash of these various symbols and ideologies and inflated idols but they’re all flesh and blood that can die in an explosion. Anyways

[toto-the-cactus]

Ayo! Finished this damn thing. Hope this is still good. Tell me who we should go find next <333

Tagging some people that have been waiting for this update:

@danart501 @ilikemytittieswithwarmmilk

Summary: As a perpetual, you have been by the Emperor's side for most of your immortality. There's no name for what strange dynamic you both share, but you do trust him and your loyalty eventually pays off over millennia once he fulfills an old promise he made during your first ever encounter.

Pairing: Emperor of Mankind x Perpetual!Reader (Female)

CW: None

Part 1 - Part 2 - ?

The Mother (2)

The pregnancy had been a success and the development was nothing short of fast and strenuous. You should have expected Him to mold your body in a manner that would serve Him better for his wishes and plans to be fulfilled.

His Great Crusade needed to be accomplished and you suddenly became part of the means to that end.

What a dreadful fate. To be nothing but his petri dish.

And so, Horus was born. His little form being held against your chest like the precious treasure that he was, making the sorrow of not having the rest of your children there too be momentarily forgotten by his awaited arrival, cooing and grunting in delight at the warmness of your encompassing heartbeat once he settled at your bosom.

A memory you cherished to the end of time while it had burned itself on your soul to leave a lasting mark. You had cried in joy, hunched over yourself to blanket your newborn with your whole begin and feel him real, psychical, between your arms.

His accelerated growth didn’t deter you enough from enjoying any time with your baby boy, from supporting him during his unforgiving training to reading with each other's company at the main library of the Imperial Palace. All for the sake of letting him be loved by you.

It was a matter that (while not ideal) didn't interest the Emperor much, for his plans were already taking proper form and the ‘gift’ of not taking away your son from you was enough of a blessing that didn’t need to be addressed again.

Even if that notion tasted like ash on your mouth.

Your little boy wasn’t so little anymore and that sometimes worried you, as you knew very well the kind of expectations the Emperor held for Horus; the true born Primarch, a warrior to serve under his Father’s light as a tool despite his own Mother’s unyielding love. You couldn’t help but feel like this was a prelude of some sort of omen.

Most of the days eventually became grey on its core, for your son was now in charge of his Legion, the Luna Wolves, marking his very first start as an official Primarch under the service of his Father… laying you to the sides like you have always been when regarding the Emperor.

Did Horus know how much it hurt his distance? How much it hurt to witness his crave for the approval of a man made god… when you simply wished to read a book of old literature in his company?

You hated being made again this tragic effigy of the woman with the eyes of a dying lamb. You felt forgotten… a ghost from these golden walls.

But the eventual call of Erda served to stray you away from such gloom thoughts. Her psyker powers a breach through your mind’s wall but clear enough for a single sentence to make your heart take a leap out close to your throat.

“I found one of them”

You couldn’t have been faster in your life to get a lunar cruiser ready to reach the needed destination; not even willingly to explain yourself when the Emperor saw you boarding the vessel. But as always, He went and proved to still be an enigma to you thanks to his ever unnatural actions.

“Go along with her… and make sure to protect her and obey her during the travel only” his command was absolute when he addressed four of his Custodes, their impassive disposition only showing the barest of emotion when fulfilling their Emperor’s orders like a gospel, but the specifics of his directive weren’t lost to you: to obey you just this single time. Nothing more, nothing less.

Of course, you weren't ungrateful to his gesture and thanked him deeply for it with a kiss to the palm of his armored hand when he caressed your cheek, but He quickly dismissed the matter. He knew what you were about to do and it wasn't like he Himself hadn’t been picking any possible clues to find the other Primarchs out there that you two wholeheartedly believed to still be alive.

Sometimes you wondered if the Emperor had managed to have a tiny, small part of instinctual fatherhood to be awakened within him after all the time he had spent with Horus. It was a nice thought. A hopeful one, but you knew better than to get your expectations up.

Once settled inside the cruiser, the coordinates were introduced to start the travel to retrieve one of your children.

Erda’s voice still echoing inside your mind when she told you the planet that you needed to search for: Nuceria.

-°-

The sight had been painful.

The worst nightmare a mother could ever expect.

Your arrival had been anything but discret at the revolting planet of Nuceria, having been informed of the life that the elites carried at the expense of the blood and flesh of slaves forced to fight for any resemblance of survival by their supposed masters. The irony wasn’t lost on you, but millenia of serving the Emperor had made you receptive to his ideals and methods. Justifying your own purpose by standing on his side could derive a vulnerability that you weren’t ready to confront. You needed to believe in the Emperor even if he took too far the phrase “Any means justify the end”.

After all, immortality has only made it easier for your troubling love to persevere longer in your stubborn heart and for fickle human lives to become an afterthought. You were well aware that you weren’t any better than Him in the ever present inhumanity you carried. 

When your child had looked at your direction, imposing form towering over your smaller frame and covered in so many slashes and blood, your heart had seized in a painful knot. Those scars were injuries you hadn’t been able to sooth with compassion. You had failed your son and that was something you’ll never forgive yourself.

The only mercy you could offer was to take him away from this wretched place.

Just when you were ready to take a step towards him, you saw his eyes harden and his posture change in defense with squared up shoulders. A warning if you decided to go against him and the thorn inside your chest only bled even more.

The Custodes that had escorted you as per their orders maintained a cold and terrifying disposition, deterring any of the guards surrounding you and your son’s tribe to take a last step. The commotion at the fighting pit had been great but you cared little for these people and their sick sense of entertainment. Fighting was an art of the honorable and the strong; to be used in epic battles to build history and civilizations. Using it as a careless trick was absolutely insulting.

It was beyond you to do this. Against any of the natural ingrained fighting instinct that had saved you for years, but the desperation of a mother overrode any of that to mere dust and motivated you to do the one thing you wished to believe will make your son realize who you were.

“I’ve been dreaming of finding you… for so long. I’m here now, my son”

And you saw it behind his hardened eyes, and you rejoiced in the recesses of your mind. There was a semblance of recognition shining through his stare at the timbre of your voice.

A far away lullaby that accompanied him in his lowest moments.

An step became two, then three and so on until you found yourself right at your child’s side after a few strides, hand gently touching his roughed one until the grip over his twin axe became slack, allowing you to take a better hold in an attempt to convey all the encapsulated emotions that stormed within your soul.

Grief, sadness, frustration, longing, relief… love.

You’ve been waiting for so long.

No one moved beyond you, tugging his huge arm towards you while softly telling him “It’s time to go home”, but those words instead of making him relax in your presence, had the opposite as his stance became once again defensive. At least this time he genuinely looked conflicted on the matter, glancing back at the other slaves that simply stayed behind as mere spectators of the whole encounter, unable to properly react when not just a few moments ago they were ready to lose their lives in the pits.

Ah, you understood.

“I can’t… not without my people…” he seemed to want add more into that sentence, his eyes straying just a little towards a man that looked to be quite tall by mortal standards, covered in too many scars that told stories of his battles in this wretched place but carrying himself with enough dignity to be respected.

This is where you must make a decision that will carry quite the weight. You knew that there was space enough to carry the slaves, not comfortably, but it could be arranged to be a thigh fit. You knew He wouldn’t even have hesitated at the idea of just forcibly taking your son and leaving all these humans to die with their fate already chosen. The Emperor had no time to dwell in the aspects of mercy and compassion, you could acknowledge that very well and that had been the main reason he had kept you long enough around. To remind him about the nostalgia of the humanity he once possessed. He couldn’t provide the proper love Horus and these children dreamed of… so you would carry that responsibility and dry your heart to make sure your precious sons knew they were loved no matter what.

Your loyalty will always belong to the Emperor, just as much as your body, soul and mind… but you didn’t belong to yourself too anymore… the pittance of individuality you were sure to hold crumbled into dust once you had wished to be the mother of these children and that was something you would proudly carry.

And so, your decision was made.

“Custodes!” you call them, their attention fully on you now and waiting for your command. The grasp over your son’s hand became tighter in an attempt to reassure him once you felt him go tense at your stern tone. He had probably expected the worst and that notion only made something vile twist inside your stomach. “We will be taking the slaves with us too”

There was a beat of uncertainty and you could already guess that this choice would not be well received by the Emperor… but that was something you were willingly to bear over your shoulders like many times you have done in the past.

Things will work out. You can only trust blind hope, but that is enough for now.

You stretch your arm towards his face with some effort, for he is still taller than you, but he lets his head tilt towards you to help a bit and gives you the chance to offer a sweet caress over his cheek. You can feel the rough texture of his messy shave, of the scars, and your heart throbs painfully when you think about all the hardships he had to face.

You couldn’t assure him a better life away from battle, but you could at least give him the solace of a greater future along for his people.

“I’m here now… and I will not abandon you… ever” there had been an edge of something feral in your tone. The side you rarely showed but a reminder of why you had been beside the Emperor this long.

You hoped Horus would be open at the idea of some siblings.

Just messing around with this idea, don't get ya hopes up pls.

Love ya, fellas!

[ariadne-mouse]

Moc Weepe in 3x17 is pitiable and tragic, but Saskia is 10000% correct to read him his fucking rights lmao.

There are too many incredible moments to screencap them all but this is basically the thesis of Moc Weepe. He could choose to stop. The time is riper than it ever has been to for him to ditch the Trust and just stop. But he doesn't. He is choosing not to. And that's on him, not on this sense of self as evil that he has mythologized.

Man really came to the deathbed of the woman he loves (implied by his grief) and made it about himself, even telling her "she deserves better" while not actually following through on that even in the last moments she has! She deserved better than his pity party. What's even sadder is that in the time before his betrayal, Saskia was happy with him and he was helping her in a way she found meaningful - and while he believes she deserves good things, he just couldn't accept that it could be from him. And so he takes from her what he claims to think she deserves. What a contradiction. So sure, he loves her, maybe. But like I said in this previous post, he can't see outside of himself enough for it to matter.

What I do really like is that while from Weepe's perspective, Saskia is both up on a pedestal and sort of a garnish on his story (see: the entire episode of 3x17) that in the overall Midst narrative, Saskia is not a woman who dies just to enrich a man's sad story. She had her own journey, her own convictions, hardships, victories. The one kindness Moc Weepe gives her on her deathbed is the knowledge that her sacrifice worked. Saskia spent all her recent years working against the Trust and ultimately put one of the last nails in its coffin, for what she believed in and the communities she fought to protect. She recognized her own agency and used it for good, knowing the risks, and making the choices anyway. She waits for Moc Weepe in the Cabaret on her deathbed by choice, too, to protect the Breach and the townsfolk and to try one last time to save them. She didn't need two bodies to have twice the spine as the average person. Saskia's story is one of triumph, ultimately, and it is hers.

[quite-right-too]

Do you know what kills me about The Runaway Bride?

The fact that Donna's appearance in the TARDIS happens literally minutes after the Doctor just said his final goodbye. Just imagine it from his perspective.

The woman you love so much that you subconsciously changed your entire anatomy to be perfect for her; all of the characteristics of the ideal partner integrated into you because it's Rose and why wouldn't you want to give the best. You barely get a couple minutes to say goodbye to her, now locked in a parallel universe that you know cannot safely be opened enough to bring her home. You don't even have enough time to say I love you before the breach closes. You're crying and you're grieving, but only for a couple minutes. Just enough time to move the TARDIS into the Time Vortex. Suddenly, this loud ginger woman in a wedding dress impossibly appears in your console room. You just lost your best friend, your partner, your everything. And now you have to get back into action to save humanity again without getting the time to really handle this loss.

Don't even think I forgot the dialogue and even the scenes where we actively see him upset while thinking of Rose. Everything reminds him of her and it's like the universe is trying to rub it into his face.

(Donna grabs a blouse that is hanging over the railing.)  DONNA: I knew it, acting all innocent. I'm not the first, am I? How many women have you abducted?  DOCTOR: That's my friend's.  DONNA: Where is she, then? Popped out for a space walk?  DOCTOR: She's gone.  DONNA: Gone where?  DOCTOR: I lost her.  DONNA: Well, you can hurry up and lose me! How do you mean, lost?  (The Doctor takes the blouse from Donna and throws it through a doorway.)  DOCTOR: Right, Chiswick.

DOCTOR: Trust me.  DONNA: Is that what you said to her? Your friend? The one you lost? Did she trust you?  DOCTOR: Yes, she did. And she is not dead. She is so alive. Now, jump! 

DOCTOR: I spent Christmas Day just over there, the Powell Estate, with this family. My friend, she had this family. Well, they were my-. Still, gone now.  DONNA: Your friend, who was she?  DOCTOR: Question is, what do camouflaged robot mercenaries want with you? And how did you get inside the TARDIS?

What about when Love Don't Roam is being sung by the singer at the reception, and all the Doctor can do is reminisce sadly about him and Rose. Also, Love Don't Roam was written specifically about TenRose canonically so...

DOCTOR: I'll sort it out, Donna. Whatever's been done to you, I'll reverse it. I am not about to lose someone else. 

Or how he decides he's gonna kill a bunch of children because he's hurt and not thinking clearly. He needed Donna to snap him out of it. DOCTOR: My home planet is far away and long since gone. But its name lives on. Gallifrey.  EMPRESS: They murdered the Racnoss!  DOCTOR: I warned you. You did this.  EMPRESS: No! No! Don't! No!  EMPRESS: No! No! My children! No! My children! My children!  DONNA: Doctor! You can stop now!  EMPRESS: My children!  DOCTOR: Come on. Time I got you out. 

DONNA: That friend of yours. What was her name?  DOCTOR: Her name was Rose. 

And let's not forget that in Turn Left, Donna's alternate universe that Rose finds her in shows what would have happened without Donna there. The Doctor actually kills himself because he couldn't stand to be without Rose. HARRIS: The Doctor is dead. Must have happened too fast for him to regenerate. Escort the ambulance back to UNIT base.  (Donna walks on. A blonde woman runs towards her. She speaks as if her top lip is glued to her teeth.)  ROSE: What happened? What did they find? I'm sorry, did they find someone?  DONNA: I don't know. A bloke called the Doctor, or something.  ROSE: Well, where is he?  DONNA: They took him away. He's dead. I'm sorry, did you know him? I mean, they didn't say his name. Could be any doctor.  ROSE: I came so far.  DONNA: It, it could be anyone.  ROSE: What's your name?  DONNA: Donna. And you?  ROSE: Oh, I was just passing by. I shouldn't even be here. This is wrong. It's wrong. This is so wrong.

Just him mourning breaks my heart every time.

[zurdurer]

Stranger ramblings because I am a broken man - this is literally just about the fact dbb and gpt sing each part of this lol

I wrote this half asleep so please excuse any over explaining or whatever, I'm copin w exam season and i needed enough context for it to make sense to whatever unfortunate member of my family i decided to throw it at

Drumbot Brian is cast away, killed by the people he wanted only to help. Called a witch for his abilities and mechanical prowess when he used his machines to revive a priest. His work clashed with the religion of where he had landed and was strictly a last resort to the townsfolk. After saving the priest from breaching the veil of death a mob was gathered, determined to put an end to this man who played God. They fired him into the cold of space using his own machinery.

Brian is benevolent, moral; he does only what he believes to be right. However, he is never allowed full control of his own situation. He was near completely stripped of his humanity by Dr Carmilla, his moral trajectory can be changed at the flip of a literal switch. He only wants to help, he only wants to love and be loved back. He knows that when people learn about that aspect of his mechanism and what he can and will do when the change is made there is a risk of them manipulating it - him - to their benefit.

This is why ‘Stranger’ is so utterly heartbreaking. Of course the story behind it is tragic:

A crane visits a man disguised as a woman and falls in love, they marry and live together happily. Over time though, the crane grows sick as it sells its feathers to support them both. One day everything changes, the man discovers the true nature of the crane. He says he cannot love her any further, that she has to leave, he cannot see through her deception. Heartbroken, it respects his wishes and leaves but as she goes it tells him “You are not worthy of loving a Crane.”

Now, in the song it is Brian and Tim singing the parts of Cranewife and husband; Brian playing the Cranewife. This is incredibly important to who he is as if you look at the folktale and compare it to Brian’s experience there are a great deal of similarities.

Brian wanted only to help the townsfolk with his gifts, the Cranewife only wanted to love and support the man he (it?) loved. Neither want to be alone, in fact: Brian makes a point to never sing or perform by himself, not singing at all during the retelling of his own tale. Both give up parts of themselves, to the severest degree, to help others and yet despite all of this they are rejected and cast off. Something changes. The truth about the Cranewife is discovered just as the extent of Brian’s abilities are and they are looked upon with nothing  but disdain and fear.

Similarly, in ‘The Ignominious Demise of Dr Pilchard’, Drumbot seems particularly upset that their kidnapper hadn’t believed what he told him and accused him of lying. This was likely also to be the case when in ‘The Hanged Man Rusts’ Arthur and Gawain didn’t listen to him. Drumbot is an honest man, he takes it rather strongly when people cannot place trust in him or his word for he knows he is not a liar. He knows when people think they have been lied to they feel threatened, when they feel threatened they often don’t hesitate to hurt him.

When the Cranewife is discovered, it is accused of “spinning falsehoods into gold,” but repeats the phrase, “I meant no deceit”. It didn’t mean to lie, he didn’t want to lie. He was living truly but concealing a secret out of fear for that rejection. Not a misplaced fear though as we learn from the line, “In your place a monster I do see”.

This story is an anecdote, of course, but it sounds almost personal to Brian. As though this is what he himself has lived before or after becoming a mechanism. Even if it is not his own, him singing it feels almost like he is healing from the trauma that haunts him. Afterall, this is one of the last things we hear from him before his death. His death being something I believe to be a sign that he could face himself, his past, and give himself the chance to return to the biting cold that should have taken him aeons before.

Not only is it important that Drumbot Brian sang the part of the Cranewife, but also that Gunpowder Tim sang the part of the husband. Tim’s mechanism is his eyes after they got burnt away by a blast strong enough to annihilate the moon. Before this, however, he had been blinded more metaphorically. After the death of his close friend Bertie during the war waged by the Moon Kaiser he fell into a deep bloodlusting rage where quick and mad he carved through the Kaiser’s men. He was eventually captured by the Kaiser which led to the loss of his eyes and the introduction to his new ‘immortal’ life as a mechanism.

From this point on, near every character Tim has played has had some sort of issue with foresight, actual vision or a combination of the two. In ‘Ulysses Dies at Dawn’ he plays Oedipus who is not only blind after gouging out his own eyes but also failed to recognise the identities of his mother and father along with the Olympian’s plans to drive him off world. In ‘High Noon Over Camelot’ he plays Gawain, a hot headed young man with a blind hatred for the Ghouls. In ‘The Bifrost Incident’ he plays Loki whose own mind is hidden from her. In the song ‘Alice’ he plays Major Hare who is likely rather short sighted as he fails to notice a doormouse sat in the teapot he is sharing with opposing Major Hatter.  In ‘Pieces’ he plays Osiris, changed and unreachable after being rebuilt by Isis. In ‘Twisted Threads’ he plays Arachne who cannot see the web Athena has caught her in. This trend persists in ‘Stranger’ where he plays the husband.

The man could not recognise the true nature of the Cranewife until it began to get weaker. When he found what he had thought he loved in a form he described as a “metal demon”, he was blinded by fear and betrayal. Unable to see the person he loved, he couldn’t listen to its begging for him to listen and understand.

Anyway they make me sick and I can't be normal about them :]

[syndrossi]

Imagine an AU where Rhaenyra just ran off with Daemon from the start and set up on Dragonstone. Their first kids end up being twins, and Viserys is stuck trying to figure out if he should be happy that the prophecy kids are part of the bloodline or pissed that their parents got married without asking him. LOL!

An interesting scenario.

Politically, it would be a nightmare. The Faith would consider their marriage invalid, since Daemon is still married to Rhea, so to save face, Viserys would have to pretend that he granted an annulment beforehand, and even then, he's made to look extremely weak if they married in secret rather than in the full view of the realm, as a marriage blessed by the king would.

While I don't think this is Otto's best case scenario, it's a pretty good one for him. Daemon's an oathbreaker who dishonored his first marriage and a heathen for considering a Valyrian marriage (he'd spin it that they wed before the annulment). Rhaenyra's a "harlot" who dishonored herself by making herself Daemon's concubine, likely because she gave him her maidenhead before they "wed". Their children are no better than bastards, really. Why should the realm follow a woman who holds nothing sacred? Vote Aegon!

If Viserys were actually trying to be Jaehaerys rather than merely cosplaying as him, he'd actually exile Daemon (or execute him, or banish him to the Wall) for pulling that kind of move.

It may seem hypocritical, given that Jaehaerys himself ran away to marry Alysanne, but neither of them were married at the time, and Jaehaerys was king, so he was only defying his regents, and since he was near his majority anyway, it was probably viewed as within his rights.

It's enough of a breach of trust that Viserys could even be angered enough to disinherit Rhaenyra himself!

But assuming he doesn't, it's an uphill battle to keep her in place as his accepted heir, one that probably relies on Daemon strong-arming with his dragon. (A tactic that loses its efficacy as Alicent's sons claim dragons of their own, though the twins' own dragons do help out there.)

I don't think it's an unwinnable one, since the twins are very strong contenders for the role of king after Rhaenyra and Rhaegar would do his political maneuvering best to perform damage control for the next two decades for Rhaenyra.

The problem with them being prophecy children is that it really only has bearing on Viserys, who is already mostly on Rhaenyra's side. No one else knows/cares about the prophecy, so it doesn't impact Rhaenyra's or the twins' legitimacy in any way.

[nethhiri]

Siren Charms: Chapter 11

Zoro x Siren!Reader

Warnings: blood, eating people

Raining Mermaids and Flying Fish

As luck would have it, you weren't able to find anything within range of the ship. You returned with an empty stomach. It wasn't like you had to eat every single day. What was worrisome, was that you weren't sure how long you could hold out. Would there be a food source showing up any time soon?

Your worry only increased when you found out Sunny wasn't moving until they could figure out how to get to Fish-Man Island. You had heard of it, but never been there and didn't know how to get there. It had already been a few days. Some of your companions went in a little submarine to search. You could dive deeper than its range, though without a source of fuel, you didn't want to shift more than you had to, especially since you were starting to get hungry. For now, it was manageable. 

You kept to yourself. This was a new situation for you. You had never had to restrain yourself from taking what you wanted. But the namegiver forbade it, so you were doing your best. Even though you stayed as far away from everyone else as possible, your heightened senses could still make out every heartbeat and every scent. It was easier at the moment, given that several crew were on the submarine. You had some relief from the barrage of hyperawareness. 

The green one's scent was particularly overpowering. You thought you would have reprieve since he stayed in the crow's nest for the most part, but being inside did nothing to dampen it. You felt your teeth sharpen in your mouth. You were zoned out of reality, focused in on his pounding heart. The blood in his veins ran hotter and faster than anyone else's, a sure sign he was working out. Your claws raked against the wood you were sitting on impatiently, the wood beginning to splinter under your grip. 

"Hey, E, are you okay?" Nami was concerned about you.

You shook yourself from your predatory state, blinking until your eyes went from yellow back to emerald and your pupils became round. You were careful not to show too much of your teeth when you spoke, "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I said I'm fine," your tone was much sharper than you intended for it to be. You just wanted her to move away from you. "Sorry."

Nami smiled apologetically and returned to what she had been doing. She was an astute woman and could tell what was going on.

The navigator and the sniper had spoken earlier with Luffy about their concerns with your diet, specifically what if you got so hungry you went on a rampage. They had gotten hints of your physical strength, and realized that you could do a lot of damage if you wanted to. Luffy assured them that you wouldn't do anything like that, but the first mate held a tighter grip on his katana at the threat. After all, Luffy could be too trusting.

The submarine returned soon, still no leads on Fish-Man Island. Your attention was grabbed by the presence of something speedily approaching, soon apparent that it was a Sea King when it breached the surface. You were already in an aggressive state, ready to leap into action, but Luffy beat you to it. He punched it so hard that it lost its lunch. Before you could see what it was, you smelled it. Mermaid.

You growled in your throat. Maybe you wouldn't have to wait so long to eat after all. That thing wasn't part of the crew. So it was fair game, right? 

The mermaid fell onto Sanji, and it wasn't a second later that you had tackled her off of him and caged her against the deck, a hand on either side of her head. Her eyes were wide and wild as yours bored into them. Yours flicked to the pulsing thread running down her neck. Mermaids and Fish-men alike had a slightly salty flavor to them. If Luffy hadn't pulled you away, you would have sank your fangs into her and drained her dry.

"Whoa! She doesn't look like a threat, Ether. It's okay." 

You backed off, slipping away as everyone else gathered around the whimpering creature. It was harder this time to shake the aggression off. Still growling, you climbed to the crow's nest, forcing your wings through the small hatch, losing some feathers in the process. Zoro was there working out, as always. He glanced in your direction without any greeting. You could tear him apart and leave, no one would interrupt. You could get away easily. 

But you weren't going to do that. You paced back and forth in an agitated state, huffing and grumbling to yourself instead. Punctuating every grumble was a brusque flap of your wings.

"S'wrong with you?"

"What do you care?" You glared at him. You knew he didn't trust you. He probably just wanted you to leave. You sighed and mumbled, "Fuckin hate mermaids." You pointed to the hatch. 

He pressed a towel to his face to mop the sweat up. "Mermaids, huh?" Zoro raised an eyebrow at you and left without another word.

You don't know how long you had been pacing when you heard explosions outside. Swiftly, you pulled yourself through the top hatch onto the roof. There was a flurry of explosions as the ship was defended, not a single one touching the vessel. Fish with men on their backs were zipping in the sky over the Sunny. They started flying away for some reason. Maybe they gave up? Why wasn't anyone going after them? You were crouched, looking back and forth between the crew and the figures that were getting smaller and smaller.

"Captain!" You made a flap of your outstretched wings. "Let me go! I'll get em'!"

Luffy thought for a moment, scratching his chin, and gave you a thumbs up. "Yeah! Good idea!" 

Finally! I can eat! 

You coiled yourself tightly and catapulted forward. With powerful downstrokes, you were propelled forward with wind whipping through your hair. The shapes before you were no loner getting smaller. You were rapidly approaching them, in fact. Saliva pooled in your mouth in anticipation of catching up. 

Coming from his blind side, you rocketed into one of the men from the side, knocking him from the flying fish. Your teeth tore into the side of his neck and you buried your face in the hot crimson. You could feel it dripping down your neck as you ripped off some of the muscle and swallowed it whole. In this time, you plummeted toward the water. Taking one last big drink and ripping another piece of flesh, you dropped the man, beating your wings down hard to regain altitude. 

Sometimes the chase was more fun than the kill. This was one of those times. You got to unleash your full speed in pursuit of the flying fish, something you hadn't done in some time. You could smell fear rolling off the other two as you trailed them again. It was only a matter of time before you caught up. 

Next

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Oathsworn brainrot: Soma

This doesn't even scratch the surface, and there's 2000 odd words under the cut. This entire AU was built around Soma. I am unwell. As a big supporter of women's wrongs, the fact that in the game's canon, she allegedly managed to piss off the entirety of Mercia within a couple of years of being in England appeals to me greatly. That's a nefarious feat. Her hands are bloody.

The whole Oathsworn premise post is linked here.

The King isn’t a tactful man, and managed to piss off a very powerful nation overseas just a year after his coronation. They’re cunning merchants, and equally as cunning on the battlefield. The Danes are governed by a war council, led by Guthrum Jarl, with formidable politicians and warriors seated beside him.

Guthrum does not like the acting King. But neither side would profit from an all-out war. Your kingdom has money and connections from trade that the Danes (creatively named) didn’t want to compromise. And in terms of prowess in battle, your army didn’t stand a chance. Tensions were high, with neither side willing to escalate things past sanctions, a few shot messengers, minor sieges of neutral territory, and a lot of threats.

Three years ago, the King – bored of current circumstances – acted against the advice of the court and ordered a disproportionately sized infantry unit to attack a very small encampment flying a Dane banner on neutral ground, breaching the peace. He smiled while the council were left to develop one hell of a contingency plan. Thirty men sent to kill three or four Danes, according to the scout.

One soldier returned, his right leg dragging limply behind him, utterly harrowed. He trembled, wide-eyed and halfway retching as he recounted how the one Dane who survived the ambush sprinted into the swamp with thirty men on her tail. With a single axe, murky water and the darkness of the night, she cut down the infantry. She sliced the sole survivor’s heel and forced him to watch her butchery of the twenty-ninth soldier. Then she escorted him back to her camp. Cleaned and dressed his wound, purely so he’d live to tell the tale.

The court froze with dread as he gave a description of the woman. Specifically at the scar, ragged and deep, cutting through her face from her ear to her nose. That woman was Soma: one of Guthrum’s most trusted councillors, and something of a nightmare to your kingdom’s soldiers.

Your court anticipated full retaliation. However, they were met with diplomacy. Despite the breach of unspoken contract, Guthrum had no intention of returning the gesture, still believing that the price of a war wouldn’t be worth its rewards. He arranged to visit the kingdom with his war council after sending a draft of a new peace treaty, full of mutually beneficial trade outlines, but pending one unfinalised condition.

Soma, looking like Soma does, caught your immediate attention upon the Danes’ arrival. She immediately recognised you as the crown princess without introduction, despite the King’s children also being present. She knew something, and that was unsettling, but she was courteous nonetheless. Her smile was warm, her eyes betraying her calculation. You weren’t completely in the dark yourself, though – the scar was unmistakable. This woman could likely take on all the Kingsguard in the room without the help of her colleagues. Whatever their game was, she was an integral player.

Guthrum said he was content to forgive the King for his misdeeds, and while the phrasing angered his Majesty, the animosity was silenced by the treaty’s very generous terms. The Danes saw profit in an alliance, but needed a reason to believe the King would honour it. After this, Guthrum nodded to you and bowed politely; word of your stride towards free public education had reached their shores, and he found it an admirable goal indeed. No wonder your kingdom spoke fondly of their heir, he remarked.

His caveat to the treaty was simple. Your court, by now, was familiar with the capabilities of Soma. Guthrum had heard of the Oathsworn tradition. Soma was prepared to abandon her port and her seat at his council in favour of swearing the Oath. This way, if the King was to lash out again, she would be within striking distance to take the life of the kingdom’s crown jewel – and your death wouldn’t be painless. The oath would be sworn with him and a noble of your choice present as witnesses, and it would be sworn.

Very few people in the court were aware of the King’s intention to eventually dethrone you, and he was in no position to refuse the treaty. The Danes did not come without reinforcements. He agreed to the terms, signed the papers, and you asked your queen mother to bear witness. She was sickened by the thought of the Oath being sworn under these circumstances, suspecting her husband’s intentions regarding his succession, knowing your life was doubly at risk here. But she agreed, because it wasn't up for negotiation.

That same evening, yourself, Soma, a priest and the two agreed-upon witnesses took to the chapel. She recited the sacred vow, never breaking your gaze. Her tone was steeled, but there was no mistaking her contentment to abandon the tenet, should it be asked of her.

The first attempt on your life occurred a mere month after the Oath ceremony. The assassin concealed the family crest of one of your kingdom’s nobles on a cufflink. He struck when you were checking in with the headmaster of a school you recently built, dealt with swiftly by Soma, who shadowed your public appearances. She was professional – positioning herself between you and the attacker in a suit of armour she had yet to adjust to, incapacitating him. The visit was cut short as she wrapped you in her cloak to mask your identity, leaving the other guards to formally arrest the assassin.

She had an authoritative, no-bullshit attitude about her as she used her newfound influence over the royal guard – a perk of the position given the politics – to organise an inquiry, presenting to the King the engraved cufflink found on the assassin. No doubt, she took pleasure in getting information out of him, but how she handled the inquiry made it clear that your life was paramount, and you took peculiar solace in this. The conspiring noblewoman who sent him was soon tried and punished accordingly. Soma insisted upon standing in as her executioner.

You cursed yourself as your defensive, wary demeanour around her cracked over time. There were other attempts on your life, and she took her role as your Oathsworn seriously, seemingly more so with every new perpetrator. Beyond duty, though, she showed you kindness. And as you learned about one another in your close proximity, you grew fond of each other. A profound respect was building, and it was mutual.

At one point, you both had problematic revelations. You had never felt safer around the woman tasked with taking your life, should the causal circumstance arise. And Soma realised she had no desire to act on that kill order. You made a promise to her: when you were queen, you would grant her deeds to the kingdom’s port, because she had once confessed to you how she mourned that part of her old life, and the gods knew she could bloody run it. She pondered the promise being empty, but dismissed the thought. You listened to her in a moment of vulnerability. This changed things.

A dalliance was inevitable, but this was neither fleeting nor inconsequential. Your affection for one another, your devotion in all its intensity, was a secret well-kept from all eyes, ears and quills.

And it was intense. Fast. Hasty, even. The threat of a sudden awful change loomed over you both, leaving no time for courtship. Butterflies were reserved for the newfound gesture in Soma’s hand on your back as she escorted you through crowds. Her solitary company was filled with dizzying kisses, passionate rendezvous under the moonlight and unbridled laughter.

At first, your mutual desire for physical intimacy was overwhelmed by a sudden anxiety in your closeness. There was the persistent fear that the kill order had been given, and that Soma was waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable before she ended your life. It choked you, frustrated you, but you were honest with her. The first time it happened, Soma assured you that she would sooner cut off her hand than lay a harmful finger on you. She thanked you for your candour, bidding you goodnight with a comforting smile and a chaste kiss to your knuckles. She would not lay with you until you felt safe enough to trust her with your body, and she wanted you to realise this safety on your own. With time, that safety came about. You made love, and confessed that love shortly after.

Your relationship introduced a new variable to the political equation. Until the present, you tried your best not to question any loyalties. Foolish as it were, you were content in the illusion of security.

With his reign coming to an end, though, the King is under pressure to secure the line of succession for himself and his children before he’ll be forced to abdicate. Never having had a penchant for patience, this urgency is beginning to seep into his actions in court. None of the assassination attempts were successful. His co-conspirators are dwindling in their numbers; those who haven’t been convicted of treason are succumbing to fear.

Truthfully, he never anticipated Soma would honour her vow, nevermind with such ferocity. He had hoped one of his carefully organised, bloody fates would befall upon you, and her subsequent execution would bury the evidence of his crime. But she complicated things terribly, and in his frustration, he begins to suggest processions that would put the treaty at risk. Gambling merchandise due to be exported form your kingdom to Guthrum. Proposing a mandatory armistice for all Danes in the kingdom. Inquisitions, the likes. All fortunately talked down by the court, but not without rapidly building concern.

You and Soma begin to see through the cracks. The King isn’t intelligent, but he also isn’t naive enough to accidentally compromise the kingdom’s safety. As your step-siblings begin to look at you through a different gaze, you're forced to navigate court with a pit in your stomach. Conversations with Soma following the string of conspiracies only reinforced the idea that foul play is at work.

Soma caught word some weeks ago that Guthrum’s war council had undergone a few changes of seats, and not all of the new councillors share his ambitions. They seek conquest. She suspects they’re in contact with your King, most likely manipulating him into pushing for political moves that would spiral the kingdom into a war you would certainly lose.

Her fears reside in whether Guthrum could have a change of heart, or if he would be willing to isolate you from the actions of the King with your coronation inbound. There is every possibility that the King could overrule the democracy of the court regarding one of his rash decisions, and the kill order would be given. There would be war, and if she refused to take your life, she’d be an enemy of her people – her family – as well as your own.

Yet when she confides in you, distressed, it’s abundantly clear that Soma doesn’t see a dilemma in all of this. She paces about your quarters and thinks aloud, knowing you’ll always lend your ear and comfort to her. If all negotiations failed, she would rather live as a pariah than betray you. The idea of taking your life is unfathomable.

Amidst a sea of uncertainties, you’re unable to avoid doubt. Those panicky feelings from the early days of your relationship are resurfacing, as much as you want them to stop. Your heart yearns to trust Soma. You hear the truth in her words, the humanity in her voice, but you can’t shake the fear that it’s an elaborate act. Your apprehension hurts her. It wounds you both.

A bitter few days pass by. You’re sick with worry, unable to sleep. Questions of if she’d do it bleed into how she’d do it. Your mind lingers on poison, to the extent where you employ somebody to taste your food and before you so much as touch the plate.

Soma knocks on your bedchamber door one night with a goblet in hand. She lets out a pained breath when you flinch away from it. It’s a sleeping aid, she tells you gently. It’s agonising to watch your health deteriorate under paranoia. You are her heart, after all. As difficult as it is to acknowledge your wavering trust in her, her love for you has not lessened.

You’re exhausted. And scared – not just for your life, but for the future of your kingdom. Apologies flood from your lips as you crumble before her. Soma can’t stop herself from holding you. Tears of her own escape as you sob at the sensation of her embrace, trembling in her arms as your sleep-deprived, anxiety-riddled mind tries desperately to refute that immediate feeling of safety.

It dawns that neither of you have the luxury of certainty in anything but each other.

Tenderly, after a small eternity in each other's arms, Soma asks if she can renew her vow, right here. She wants you to hear her Oath anew, her tenet solemn, devoted, and devoid of political motivation. Fuck the chapel, the priest, the gods. Witness be damned. The only blessing that matters is yours.

You give it to her.

[joeloverture]

as a woman, what’s the appeal to being degraded? i think i’m into it but my fear is men inherently hate women so how can you trust they don’t have an internalized hatred of women and misogyny that they’re trying to mask and hide from women in order to be in a relationship or get laid? /gen

okay hi darling non!! im really happy you asked this question. its something i think of often and had a former special interest in (the psychology of kink)

first of all i want to say that what you enjoy in literature or having solo time thinking about doesn’t have to equate to wanting to involve that in your legitimate sexual endeavors. you can be turned on by it, but be it for trust issues, relationship with the patriarchy, whatever reason, not want to involve it in your sex life. and that’s a perfectly healthy way to live with it, too!

if you think you’re into it, my advice is to embrace it for now. read fics with the degradation tag, maybe take a glance at some blogs or articles describing submissive women in bdsm — and of course, if any of this makes you uncomfortable, maybe it isn’t for you after all! and if you do enjoy it, there’s no need to jump the gun and integrate it into your sexual practice.

but on a more psychological level, with a trusted partner bdsm can be a way to unpack anxieties and fears about the real world. it’s why certain people are into cnc, why certain people like even the most, to others, debasing and upsetting kinks (think of woc into raceplay)

we don’t choose what we are into, but oftentimes, it can be a reflection of not our desires but our trepidation.

it may be because of near universal messages surrounding ideas that sex should be shameful, or because of a desperation to give up control in an already chaotic world. it can even build up intimacy to show new sides of yourself to your partner.

for me personally, it’s because of a tumultuous childhood — it’s reassuring to have someone call me all sorts of filthy things, smack my ass, fuck me hard, and then still want me. to be marked and bruised and aching while my dom cleans me up, runs me a bath, brings me a snack, and sets up a movie is my ideal night. that they can see me that way, even inflict it upon me, and come out of it seeing me as a person worth admiring still. i love love love pain play as well, and this i attribute to my chronic pain history. it’s nice to having a stinging pain in a more erogenous zone instead of aching everywhere else.

humiliation is inarguably my biggest kink, and i had anxieties for a long time about how to breach this. as do many newbies who know they love bdsm but have formerly only had vanilla sex.

at the moment, i have a dom. things with him are so much better than they’ve been with others, primarily because we have a deeply rooted understanding of each other.

and we have a certain philosophy when it comes to kinks that don’t belong anywhere outside of the bedroom. i am, fundamentally, in control. not him. he may be feigning control and slapping me around, but don’t get it twisted; the leader of this shared endeavor is me. he can read my body language. he knows the sweet spots — to compare my body to goldilocks, he knows what’s just right. he can test these boundaries, but the goal is never and should never be to have your submissive safe word! if i safe word or check in, then i safe word or check in.

it also helps that there are decades old photos of him at womens marches with his sister, he’s always there for my activism, his ex (who only left him because she learned she’s a lesbian!) wife is the most supportive person ever and has nothing bad to say about him. he even put me in touch with her early on in our time together because it was his first time with someone not sharing the first digit of his age and he wanted me comfortable. he’s the most reassuring person that could be there for me to experience all of this with, things that i would be much more precautious about with others. it’s about finding someone you can let your guard down with.

it is a dynamic that flows between us with equal give and take. while it may appear he is domineering over me, based on how he treats me outside of sex, i know that he sees me as more than just sex. we are not lifestyle d/s, meaning we contain my submission to the bedroom. frankly, i am much more outspoken than he is, so our dynamic is fairly innocuous i think. (of course, as any dom should, he cares about my wellbeing. he doesn’t do some practices other doms do like punish me for not taking care of myself. we work on that in different ways.)

is he still a man? yes! does he want to dom me and does he get hard by seeing me humiliated? very much yes. in his own words, transcribed from when i called him about this ask today, “i cherish the power that you do give me. it helps that you want it so much. i like seeing you squirm and i like being able to give you something that sustains you. it’s a lot about wanting to protect you, you know that right?” when i asked him how long he’d fantasized about domination, he replied, “longer than you’ve been alive. some men in these spaces want to play dom because they see women as lesser. i want to actually dom because i see your desires as legitimate, just as legitimate as mine. you want to scream, and i want to make you scream; it’s a fair exchange, yes?” he went on to jest at me for five minutes about how much harder i come when he’s mean to me. he’s such a dick /pos

d/s is based on the willingness of the submissive, and in this way, i have more power than him. he’s hyper aware of this. i can leave this arrangement at any time should it no longer satisfy me or make me uncomfortable. that’s part of why i feel so safe handing over power.

this got pretty long but i wanted to encapsulate what you can do about this, how others feel about it, and my experience with it. please feel free to ask me anything else you might wonder. it’s a nuanced topic, something people don’t talk about too in depth a lot of the time.

i haven’t really brought up my dom on here before, but first time for everything! i love talking about him, and i think our connection is special.

happy trails, non!

edit: im not the authority on this and do not want to present myself as such! kink experts are out there, as well as people who discuss kink and the correlation (or lack of, depending on the study) to misogyny. this is just my experience and perceptions. i figured id say this outright for the record :)

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

Ep. 13 "Into the Breach" Review

This was another fantastic episode that packs so much into its 25 minute runtime. Seriously, the finale better be like an hour. I feel like there's so much we have to address, yet so little time. My faith in you doesn't waver Jennifer; you've guided us through thick and thin. I will say that Rampart is surprisingly a really fun character to revisit and I enjoy watching him interact with the Batch. This man doesn't learn, but he's funny now so I give him kudos for entertainment purposes. I loved the dark atmosphere as the finale draws nearer and near. This is the end of the Bad Batch. We know it and they know it.

As usual, spoilers below:

MAMA ECHO RETURNS!!! After so long, he graces us with his appearance and he serves. I loved everything from his action sequences to his sass. Watching him sneak around the Imperial ship, rolling off of crates and working his magic was awesome to watch. That's why he's the Arc Trooper. And boy was he funny too. If it were possible, Rampart would've definitely be set on fire. Between being told he was being demoted to being denied the title of "sir," Rampart was demolished by Echo. It's just so good to see Echo again. I love him so much for his kind heart, quips, and awesome action sequences. The writers delivered!

Rampart, Rampart, Rampart... what will we do with you? He certainly hasn't changed and probably never will. But honestly, I kinda hope he doesn't. Sometimes, people are just aholes who do the right things for the wrong reasons. Rampart provides an interesting moral perspective. And he's still hot. Seeing him cleaned up in the uniform didn't help either. I'm a simple woman guys. He's also hilarious and I love it. Rampart's ego is so big that he unintentionally comes across as whiny and comical. Going forward, I seriously wonder what they'll do with him because he's going to Tantiss. Will he get dropped off? Sell the Batch out? Die in the battle that is to come? Next week will tell. I'm glad he was brought back though. He did his job as a villain well. Now, we get to see him in different situations and it's fun.

Omega, my sweet bean, hang in there. This episode does so well in establishing just how much she's grown over the past few seasons. Omega's always been resourceful and clever. Seeing her scheme to escape the Vault was exciting. You can also see the influence her brothers, particularly Hunter, have had on her. Omega's become more confident and mature. She's a leader in every sense of the word. The other kids look to her for guidance as she plans an escape. I also want to give the other kids a huge hug; I can't imagine what it must be like for them. It's one of the darkest things we've ever seen in Star Wars. Also, Emerie and Scalder rivalry definitely is gonna end with Emerie's true motivations being discovered. Scalder's not gonna let her allow Omega to slip away.

And seeing the boys strip their armor of all their color... that was legitimately heartbreaking to watch. I see it as a symbol of finality. There is no going back once they get to Tantiss. Hunter's "negative" just cements that. The last 5 minutes of the episode were so tense as the boys hitched a ride. As a my discord friend put it, "all roads lead to Tantiss."

There were a lot of smaller moments I enjoyed too. Wrecker was pretty funny this episode. Crosshair and Hunter voicing their trust in Echo was sweet. It furthers just how much the Batch truly trust and know each other. It's that implicit trust that makes me love their dynamic so much.

Anyways, that's all for now. We're truly in the endgame guys. After so long, we've finally made it to Tantiss. All that's left is to get Omega, the children, and escape which is so much easier said than done. I'm so scared yet excited for what's to come. See y'all next week!

[charles-leclerizz]

Hello hello.

Tuning in for a "not-so-normal" post. because it's deeply necessary.

F1 has never beeen inclusive for women- and it's disgraceful.

For female fans- it's always assumed that we're in it for the hot men and not the machinery or talent. let me say this, it's okay if you're here from dts, for the hot drivers or something that isn't "legacy" it's okay, because exposure is exposure, and you're a real fan. And half the time, drivers aren't seen, only their eyes and their helmet's are, so that point is null and void because women who watch the races, aren't there for the covered up racers, theyr'e there to watch a sport that brings them joy, just like anyone else.

And it isn't harming anyone is it? watch the race, watch the thirst traps, watch the media posts. it's okay, calm down. just like insane male fan-boys, girls are allowed in this space.

Fans have always, and will always make up this industry, and trying to remove more than 40% of fans that are women. Is really just shooting yourself in the foot, isn't it? stay respectful, and you're welcome here. [stay respectful being a main point, if you're being a creep and being hateful, i don't think you should be here.]

For female workers in the entire F1 industry- The whole christian horner incident is despicable, it is one of the worst handled breaches of rights that i have ever seen. And i've been in a k-pop fandom. Trust that i know. The transparency is spotty, it's breeding chaos, its creating an unnsafe environment for all women. Chr*stian H*rnshit needs to fucking sit down, cause everytime he denies something, there is 500 tonnes of evidence against him. That isn't behaviour of a innocent man. That's behaviour of a mysoginist who's created a horrible environment.

The whole ssituation has blown up, for no reason, and now, the poor victim [it still hasn't been officially confirmed yet. but i believe he's guilty] has been cut off from her job. A real woman, with a real livelihood and a real life to support, has been blacked out and excluded from a main pillar in her life. it's not funny. it's damaging.

And mind you, if this was a man, in the paddock, a mechanic. hell just a male there wouldv'e been riots. pitchforks, fire, flare guns, strikes. Lord knows.

And finally, the drivers-

i.am.remourseful.

I am worried. I am scared.

It is worrying, frankly, how many drivers abstain from commenting, when they have some of the biggest platforms here and when they do, it's called "distracting"? That all they want to do, "is drive"?

I'm sorry, you don't just drive you are influential, you are role models, you are internet sensations and personalities.

Don't insulult the 38% of women in the workforce of your fucking job, and that statistic is just of management in the official formula one sector, totalled, it's more than half. So for men like, daniel ricciardo and valterri bottas to say such dismissive and hurtful things, it's really showing that we're going one step forward and 3 steps back.

And now- because of the blatant disregard, "blame game" playing and ignorance, that has occured. Every.single.woman who has been and will be involed with this sport is cautious, petrified and on gaurd for her livelihood; her job.

And if any man, or any person has any issue with what i have said. Please. you're invited to calmly state your reasons [which i might not answer or delete if they are stupid] and we can finally, fucking finally, have a singular, opoen conversation which has one goal in mind. The support and protection of women in formula one.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

La Dama Sin Cara (18+)

Part 7 of Ghosts and Mirages

Warning: STRONG mentions of blood/gore/violence! Heavy angst, use of guns/knives. Breach of trust, trust issues, jealousy, mentions of suicide, suicide letters. HEAVY smut, choking, aggressive sex, radio sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex, minor knife play, mirror sex, slight bondage, possessive kinks.

!Please Beware! This part contains multiple chapters, with their own unique summaries, tags/warnings!

Summary: Trust was everything to him, just as it was to you. You trusted him as much as you adored him to not hurt you, those were your own words. He trusted you to not actively seek out that pain, believing he was keeping you physically safe. You should’ve known better then to be too curious.

Additional Summary: Will take place into leading mission into Las Almas, where you learn the cultures of Mexico and its hidden vipers, alongside your new teammates, as well as discovering the consequences of your own actions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mirage? You listening?"

"What? Yeah, I am."

"Right. So, they're estimating we'll be arriving aroun' 0200, hopefully we'll be back before mornin, y'know?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah," Soap slowed his words, staring at your bowed head, your gaze lingering down along your plate in front of you. "An' if you were listenin' to me, you'd agree that I'm a better shot than you."

"In your dreams." You looked back at him while stabbing your fork into your food, smirking just a bit at his cheeky grin.

“Christ, eat woman. Or I’ll force feed ya myself.” He muttered while bringing his spoon down towards his tray, watching you roll your eyes before shoving food in your mouth.

The two of you found each other during dinner time, taking up residence at one of the vacant tables by the entrance. Usually, Gaz would join the both of you, but his current mission with Price had him in Amsterdam, but you weren't saying you enjoyed Soap's company any less if he wasn't here regardless.

With the raging lines entering the mess hall dimming down significantly, you could eat more comfortably with your mask off, sitting in a way where anyone would at least see the normal side of your face upon first glance without doing unnecessary double takes.

Everyone stares, it's the human's natural curiosity. Even you were victim to it, but it didn't make you feel any better regardless of how many times you've tried to ignore it.

"So," You brought your knuckle over your lips. "You want me to be completely oblivious if he asks me?"

"I'm just sayin' if he asks, pretend you don't know nothing. That's all."

Soap watched your head nod, smiling a bit before losing focus once more. You looked like you had an awful lot on your mind lately, and he wasn't too sure why. Maybe it was just for the mission the two of you were assigned to tonight, wondering if you were planning on getting in a few hours of sleep before the trip.

The silence made him a little weary, clicking his tongue purposefully loud to break you from your thoughts.

"Christ, for a woman like you, I'd imagine you'd pay better attention to your superiors."

"A woman like me?" You huffed as your head rose again, reaching your left hand over for your drink. "Elaborate, please. I'm dying to know what you mean by that."

"Oh, y'know, a woman like you." He gestured at you with his spoon, swallowing his food before continuing. "Yer strong, smart, got bigger bollocks than any other man I've met thus far."

"Easy there, Ghost might get jealous." You snickered a little, watching him smirk. "Eh, Simon ain't around to glare at me for it, think I'm in the clear."

You giggled again, setting your cup down beside you. "You're sweet John, but you're just being nice."

"I'm bein' serious, learn to take a damn compliment every once in a while." His brow firmed, making your gaze grow a bit firmer towards the Scotsman.

"What you've been through to get here now, an' everything that's happened in between, I need to admit, I admire you, lass. You're still standin' an' still smilin', that takes strong guts."

You reached for your drink again, lowering your gaze for a moment down into the liquid in your cup. Your mind raced with various thoughts, not really expecting a talk to from Soap like this of all times like now, of all places.

"Hey," John spoke up to gain back your attention, watching your eyes nervously glance up back at him. "Hope I didn't make you nervous, it's just... I don't know, you've changed is all. Just wanted to remind you of the strong woman I see now. The one who looks like she'll kick me under the table if I say another word."

Change? You almost snorted into your cup, catching the thin streams of liquid that rolled down the sides of your lips.

"Jesus, John." Reaching for the napkin he held out to you with a loud chuckle, you cleaned your mouth before composing yourself, showing him a slight smile after that minorly embarrassing outburst.

After composing yourself, your eyes trailed down towards his casually rested forearm on the table. You reached your hand out to rest against the back of his large palm.

As sweet as he was trying to be, a small part of you deep in your mind wanted to refuse his words. Compliments like these were flattering, sure, but you were just you. Despite what's happened, you were just as much of a soldier as anyone else.

Still, you couldn't deny the warmth that spread throughout your chest from his words.

"You don't have to say those things, John. I appreciate it though. Thanks."

"Aye." John smiled a little more, glancing down at your hand, his gaze following as you removed it.

"Is he starin' at me?" He suddenly asked in a low mutter.

"Who?"

"Ghost." He states, making you raise a brow. Ghost?

Your eyes flicked upwards towards the exit, spotting none other than the tall, ever so familiar man standing in the vacant entryway behind Soap.

His posture was stiff, his shoulder pressed against the left side of the wall he leaned against. His broad arms were crossed, his head tilted downwards as he glared at Soap with hard, narrowed eyes at the display, almost making the whites of his eyes look nonexistent from the black paint shadowing his lids.

Maybe he heard every word Mactavish said, or maybe he came and saw the moment your hand settled on his. Regardless, he stood there like a bouncer at a nightclub, glaring down at someone who tried entering with a fake ID.

"No. He isn't." You chose to say, meeting John's gaze with your attempt at a serious expression.

"You're a terrible liar, lass." John squinted his eyes at you, watching your corners of your lips diligently try to refrain from smiling.

"Check." You flicked your head upwards, watching him turn his head to look over his shoulder.

Just like you expected, he was gone. As if he was never there.

The relieved look on John's face right after left you trying to use every facial muscle you could to stop smiling.

"Coulda swore he was there." John chuckled just a bit, proceeding to smirk at you again. "You looked like you had hearts in your eyes when you looked up."

"Oh, fuck off," You giggled, picking your abandoned fork off your tray.

"You sure he didn't come by to view his most favorite Seargent?" You tilted your head, watching his hand freeze. His brows fiercely furrowed, looking at you with an intense look of confusion.

"Who? Me?" He pointed at himself.

"Duh. Who else?"

"N-no," He chuckled, proceeding to shake his head. "No, lass. Don't get any ideas."

"Are you blushing??" You smiled more, starting to laugh when he shook his head again, a faint flush kissing his cheeks. "John! That's cute!"

"Christ, enough!" He barks at you, unable to hide a smile as you laughed again, joining in with you when you head tilted back in amusement.

"Forget everythin' I said. You didn't change a bit, kid."

"So, who exactly is it again?"

"Major Hassan. Long story short, the Ambassador I was sent to oversee get executed during a meeting with the Russians a few months back, this is his second in command."

"So, he's got all this army together and upgraded in less than three months?"

"It has been three months, but you're correct."

You asked questions you already knew the answers to, all for the sake of putting up the minor facade to keep Ghost from questioning otherwise. That was the plan, supposedly he had no idea that you and Soap were getting assigned under his command to go tonight.

You found him in his office after dinner, busying himself with his work. His office space was quite similar to Price's, but more... plain. Bland.

Price's office had a bit more character, which was a fancy way of saying he had a lot more clutter during the time you spent with him, mostly due to the fact he was always busy with the paperwork. That was part of being a Captain after all, it wasn't all just leading soldiers into battle.

Ghost's office was neater, no clutter of any kind laying around along his desk or overflowing the filing cabinets. All the offices that you've seen looked the same; limited space, bare bones walls, all sealed in by a single door.

When you came in after knocking, Ghost glared at you like nothing more than a recruit, an unknowing fly invading his personal space. In a matter of seconds, upon recognizing your pretty face once you pulled down your mask, his hardened, cold gaze melted just a bit.

You two spoke for a short while, the man attempting to continue his work, but eventually set down his long-forgotten pen. His eyes followed you as you mindlessly paced around his office, not really finding much to look at to keep yourself visually occupied.

You set Ghost's mug of lukewarm tea down on his desk after nursing on it while he spoke, exhaling a little bit while crossing your arms. "Wow, looks like you got your work cut out for you then." You paced away from his desk a bit, bringing your thumbnail to your mouth. "Capture mission, right?"

"Right," Ghost nodded once, watching you from where he sat in his chair. He didn't have spare chairs. He wasn't keen on visitors in his office in the first place.

“C’mere.”

“What?” You turned your head to look at him.

He glared at you, raising his settled hand from his lap to beckon you over with two fingers.

“I said, come here.”

Lowering your hand, you came closer, walking around the edge of his desk to stop in front of him as he turned his chair to face you.

"Why're you here?" He asked, watching you avoid your gaze for a split second before shrugging. "Just wanted to come see you."

"Did you now?" His large hands settled along your waist, instinctively making you take a step closer. "Sure it wasn't for somethin' else?"

Your hands settled along his shoulders, watching his head tilt to look you firmly in the eye. Small height differences like these never mattered, with eyes like his, piercing cold blue on a shade of pink tinted white canvases, he always looked stern, even if he didn’t intend to be. Or maybe it was just his mask doing a very, very good job.

"Tell me, love." He says, giving your waist a minor, semi-warning squeeze.

You leaned closer, keeping eye contact while settling your forehead over his. Being this close left you taking in his natural scent, his sharp, spicy musk mixed with a hint of generic aftershave from this morning, scents that had no business being so comforting, but they were his.

"Are you still jealous over John?" You confessed.

“Which one?” He gruffly questions.

“The one you stared down earlier,” You retorted, huffing a bit.

"What're you jealous over? What did we leave out last time? Hmm?" You leaned your head down to the side, pressing a kiss against his covered jaw before bringing your head back.

"Nothin," He mutters, giving your hips another additional squeeze, his palms slowly lowering down the sides of your thighs.

“Are you jealous because we laugh a lot? Is it cause Soap makes me laugh?"

He didn't look all too pleased with your choice of words. You tilted your head a bit, thinking of something else to say.

“Try it." You then proposed. "Make me laugh."

"You serious?" His brows either furrowed or raised in surprise.

You looked at him with said seriousness while nodding, giving him a bit of a shrug. "Tell me a joke.”

Ghost blinked, finding himself caught a bit off guard by your words. Tell you a joke? What an interesting request.

"Alright." He lowered his arms, folding his hands together in his lap while sitting forward.

“You’re aware that the terms ‘I’m sorry’ an’ ‘I apologize’ are the same thing, right?” He starts off, watching your face contort while thinking.

“Yeah,” you nodded slowly.

“Right. Well, not at a funeral it isn’t.”

You blinked. Ghost blinked right back at you, watching for any sign of... something. Anything.

Your lips started to curl, turning your head to the side as your cheeks puffed. A small snort left your mouth, followed by a growing giggle as the dam quickly fell apart.

Ghost simply continued to stare at you, watching the way your eyes closed as you tilted your head back, your arms falling out of their crossed position. It wasn't a loud bellow, nor was it really an overexaggerated chuckle. It was an honest laugh, your honest laugh, and he could tell was genuine.

That was more than enough to make his heart flutter.

"Christ Simon, not bad." You smiled through your words, "Didn’t know you were hiding some jokes in that head of yours.”

"You'd be scared to find what goes on in it." He sat back in his seat just a bit. "We all have our fair share of secrets to hide, kid."

“Oh, sure. I have a ton of secrets in my fluffy diaries.” You mused, settling your arm comfortably behind his shoulders, pressing your thumb along a strain of muscles that had his eyelids slowly lowering in delight.

"On a side note, I don't like keeping secrets from people I care about." Your voice was soft, as if you were speaking to yourself. Convincing yourself that you would never do such a thing.

His gaze lingered on your face, his hidden lips turning downwards for just a minor second or two.

"That a promise, sweetheart?" He questions you, glancing at you as you reached for the mug once again.

“Of course.” You smile at him before taking another sip of his tea, watching his eyes slowly soften with your answer, though something was a little off about the way he looked at you. You couldn't exactly place your finger towards how.

Releasing your hold on him, you took a step back until you leaned comfortably against his desk, cradling his mug in your hands.

“That can't be comfortable.”

“It feels fine to me.” You adjusted your footing, running your palm along the edge of his desk. “It's quite sturdy.”

He hummed a bit, proceeding to offer his left hand towards you. You rested your palm against his, smiling a little when his thumb brushed along the back of your hand.

“Get off.” He gave your hand a firm tug.

“Make me." You stated, determined to stay where you were.

“My office isn’t the place for that.” His eyes hardened at your choice of words.

“Offices are boring," You rolled your eyes, setting the now empty mug down. "I bet you if I walked in here in a coat with nothing under it, you’d change your mind.”

A hidden brow rose at your sudden, peculiarly interesting choice of words. “You suggestin' that I’m missing a coat rack in here?”

“You have any I can borrow? Coats, I mean.”

“Got a gray one. You could borrow that, if you get off my bloody desk.”

"Again, Mr. Riley. Make me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enjoy the chapter so far? Enjoy the rest of these (smutty) chapters on my Ao3!

Read here as well on my Wattpad!

[songbird-and-her-fos]

How to join the Sarafan

The Sarafan Fortress was a symbol, a beacon of hope and safety in the vampire-infested land of Nosgoth. But even with all of its symbolic meaning, it was still a fortress like any other, and its tight security could be breached by a sufficiently clever intruder.

Sultana was busy dusting off and polishing the many decorative spears lining the hallways, as she did every day. Trusting in the power of the Sarafan to keep her safe, she only stopped to consider that something may be wrong when she heard yelling from the courtyard. She stopped what she had been doing and strained to listen, but couldn‘t make out anything specific. In moments like these, she missed her vampiric senses. Oh well, she figured, returning to work. The Sarafan certainly would handle whatever was going on.

She didn't get much farther, though; two of her fellow maids came sprinting towards her, skirts lifted high enough to make running possible, and certainly high enough to scandalize the more dutiful of the warrior priests.

“Sultana!”, one of them yelled, face pale. “What are you still doing here?! Haven't you heard? A vampire has somehow gotten past the guards! Quick, we have to hide!”

“Gotten past the… but how..?”

The other maid was about to answer, when a nearby door to yet another hallway creaked open, and the first thing Sultana saw were the red glowing eyes she remembered oh so well.

The next few seconds felt like they stretched out into an eternity. Sultana found herself grabbing the other maids and pulling them behind her, causing both of them to topple over each other, while the vampire got ready to pounce. Then she reached for a nearby spear; the very one she had been polishing. It felt heavy and foreign in her hands, but she luckily didn‘t need to master it right now. She just needed to hold it steady enough.

Her enemy was already mid jump when he realized what was happening; a look of shock twisted what might have been a decently handsome face into a grimace and froze it in place when the spear pierced through clothing, flesh and muscle. The force of the impact made Sultana lose her footing, and she found herself on the floor, the now motionless vampire almost landing on top of her.

Just in that moment, the clatter of armor announced the arrival of the inquisitors, led by Lord Raziel.

“What happened here?”, he demanded to know, an annoyed sneer on his boyish face.

Sultana opened her mouth to respond, but her voice failed. She could barely look at him; her attention was too fixated on the vampire. He looked emaciated and unkempt, with matted brown hair and torn, dirty clothing.

A vampire. She had killed a vampire; one of her own kind. She had pierced his heart, and now he was…

“Isn't that the one that escaped from the nest we smoked out the other day?”, Lord Zephon commented.

Lord Raziel stepped closer for a better look. “It is!” His lips twisted into a venomous smirk. “So this devil snuck into the very heart of the brotherhood to avenge its brood? How very touching.”

Family. He had wanted to get justice for his family, and she…

“You there! Maid!”

She managed to tear her eyes away from her victim, but did not look at the inquisitor directly. “M'lord?”

Raziel sauntered over to her, his eyes glued to her hands, which were still clutching the spear, though they were slippery with blood and sweat by now.

“Spears like this one are meant to be wielded by those chosen to purge Nosgoth from vampires. They are holy weapons.” She did not see the slap coming; she just suddenly felt his cold gauntlet connect with her cheek, and her mouth filled with the taste of blood. Then he grabbed her face so roughly it felt like her jaw might break under the pressure. “They are not meant to be wielded by servants. Have I made myself clear?”

“Raziel!” Lord Turel stepped closer and forced Lord Raziel to let go of her. “Is this what you believe the brotherhood stands for? Abusing an innocent woman for defending herself?!”

“And saving two others in the process, as well”, Lord Melchiah added, giving Sultana a small, appreciative smile and nod. “The moment we start putting objects over the lives we are sworn to protect, we have truly lost our way.”

Lord Raziel glared at his brethren, obviously very unhappy with being scolded like this. But then his eyes wandered over to her, and an unsettling glint appeared in them. “Fine. If you believe that this servant girl would be worthy of using our sacred weapons, then we might as well have her finish what she started. You there!” He now pointed at the other two maids. “Prepare a pyre in the courtyard. And you…” He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to her feet.”...are coming with me.”

The courtyard was cold, dark and empty at this time of day; only a few torches cast dancing shadows across the small bit of greenery. Sultana watches numbly as her fellow maids carried piles upon piles of firewood and kindling into the yard, until Lord Raziel signaled for them to stop. Then he gave Sultana a mocking look. “This is your big moment, little maid. Prove that you can do what must be done, and I will forgive your little indiscretion.”

She looked down to the vampire at her feet, and her stomach coiled with nausea. She bent down, wrapping her arms around his waist, internally begging for forgiveness, and tried to lift him. He was heavy, despite his almost skeletal frame, so she could only drag him towards the pile. Her arms were shaking when she tried to lift him higher, and she almost lost her balance. A pair of strong hands steadied her and helped with lifting the body.

“You don‘t have to do this”, Rahab said gently, voice low so Lord Raziel would not hear. “I will light the pyre for you.”

“No”, she replied, her voice betraying the tears she was so adamantly holding back. “I owe it to him.” She didn't mean Lord Raziel, but Rahab didn't have to know that.

She had killed this vampire, who had just lost everything. She had taken the one last thing he had left: his very life. She owed it to him to make sure that the prayer silently spoken when his remains were given to the flames would not be condemning his existence, and would instead be asking for forgiveness, and wishing for him to be reborn in a kinder world.

She took the torch from Lord Raziel's hand and stepped closer again, bowing her head in respect as she lit the pyre.

She searched her memories for the prayers she had learned from the Melchiahim, but the words she used to speak so reverently, standing beside her cousins, escaped her guilt-ridden mind. Maybe this just wasn‘t the right time for learned prayers, anyway.

So with her head still lowered, the fringe of her hair concealing her burning eyes, she spoke a few simple words.

“May this truly be the last of your pain.

May you be reunited with the souls of your family before you are reborn into this world.

May your next life be a happy and peaceful one, in which you never suffer hunger or fear.”

She stepped back, turning around and whispering in a rough voice:”It is done.”

“Indeed it is!”, Lord Raziel said patronisingly. “Though it is not customary for us to weep over these devils.”

“Don't you think that you have tormented her enough for today?”, Rahab asked sharply, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Of course she is not weeping for this devil. She is obviously still in shock from its attack, and has most likely never killed anything bigger than a roach!”

“I believe that my biggest kill until today was a rat”, Sultana responded, trying to cover up her emotional turmoil with humor. “Which wasn’t far off from this vampire in size, and just as bloodthirsty.”

Lord Raziel burst out laughing and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. You’ll make a fine addition to our ranks.”

Her faked smile faded again. “I beg your pardon?”

“The first kill is considered an inofficial initiation of sorts”, Lord Turel explained calmly, the rare hint of a smile on his face. “The choice is yours, in the end, but with today’s events, you have already proven that you are capable of killing vampires. If you wish to rise from your station as a servant and become a noble warrior-priestess of the Sarafan, your official joining would be but a formality at this point. Pillars know that we are always in need of worthy new initiates.”

She looked up at the faces of the inquisitors, finding expectant gazes lingering on her. The she half turned to the burning vampire behind her. Her hands tensed into fists, then relaxed again. Would she be able to do this again? To kill a vampire?

She had killed before; mostly humans. It had never bothered her after the first time, seeing it as some intrinsic part of the natural order of the Nosgoth she had been sired into. But this was different. Vampires were her people. Though maybe, just maybe, she could use such a position to help a few of them escape; offer mercy where there usually was none.

“Will I have to shave my head, like the sorceresses?”

She would, in fact, have to shave her head.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Gambling man

When Nie Huaisang all but dragged him out of his bed and away from his sappy, romantic K-drama marathon, Wei Wuxian had expected to be taken to some cafe, bar, night club or something down-to-earth like that - not the highest end casino in town in a limo that Nie Huaisang definitely shouldn't have been able to afford. Not after his older brother cut off his allowance due to his abysmal grades, that is.

"A-Sang, how did you even pay for this? Did you start selling drugs or something?"

Huaisang opened his fan in offense. He had dressed in his fanciest clothes and looked every bit as elegant as he did androgynous. "I'd never step on Xue Yang's turf like that, and he's my best dealer anyway, it would be a breach of trust."

Before Wei Wuxian could say anything (since when was Huaisang buying drugs, let alone from Xue Yang of all people? There was no way he didn't know of the massive scandal that broke out at their university over him), Huaisang continued, "And anyway, I only spent half of my allowance on this, it was a bargain!"

"A-Sang, half of your allowance is like 400$."

"Exactly! So cheap! Plus, we can't just show up to the Cloud Recesses in a taxi or something, it's bad taste and we're not poor!"

Wei Wuxian sent him a pointed look. "We are, though. I mean, I am."

A shrug. "Yeah but at least you're finally no contact with that terrible woman! And you have me! I'm also poor but not as poor as you - no offense."

"None taken, it's the truth. But since we're both basically broke, why are we going to a casino?"

Huaisang waved his fan closed. "To get rich, of course! Like hell am I going to live off 800$ every month! That's not even enough for makeup, do you know how much some good foundation costs nowadays?!"

"Uhh, no, not really..."

The fan was pointed so close in his face that Wei Wuxian felt Nie Huaisang might poke his eyes out with it. "Of course not, you people with good skin just don't get it! Da-Ge didn't even want to hear it! And all because old teacher Lan has it out for me!"

"He doesn't, A-Sang, you just only showed up to his class once and slept through it... never turned in an assignment, never showed up for the exam-"

"Who wakes up at 6 am to attend his lectures?"

"Me, Lan Zhan-"

"Okay, let me rephrase that: who in their right mind wakes up at 6 am to attend his lectures?"

The limo stopped in front of the large, lit up establishment. It looked every bit as luxurious and grandiose at night as it did during the day, white marble and light blue accents, the family crest serving as the logo on its large glass doors.

"What if we lose the money we do have?"

"Ridiculous! I never lose! Especially not when I'm wearing my tightest pair of pants. Have a little faith in me, A-Ying, I've been doing this for a long time! Come on in, and try to look as if you belong here!"

Wei Wuxian ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it. "And how do I even do that?"

Huaisang opened his fan and undid the front two buttons of his silk shirt. "I don't know, just be self-centered and entitled I guess."

"So like Jin Zixuan."

"Exactly like Jin Zixuan!"

---

Nie Huaisang hadn't been kidding, he really was a pro - of course, he was surprisingly skilled playing all sorts of games, from the roulette to blackjack and poker, but if he just so happened to have a losing hand, he knew how to bat his eyelashes or wiggle his assets enough to still win something in the end.

"Men are easiest to distract." Huaisang instructed as he pocketed yet another win to claim at the exit. "Women are a bit more... subtle, and we're not in a position to play the long game right now. Anyway, you try it too, your ass is fatter than mine."

"Let's get a drink first, I'm too sober for this."

But just as they're about to order, Wei Wuxian noticed Nie Huaisang paling, as if he'd just seen a ghost (or their monthly expenses).

"What is- Lan Zhan?!"

Stone-faced, academic extraordinaire, rule-enthusiast Lan Wangji was just... standing there, glaring Nie Huaisang down. And he looked so good doing it, in a white suit so perfectly tailored on his body, and a loose side ponytail styled in such an elegant, subtle manner, a white ribbon woven through the-

"A-Ying, you're staring." Huaisang whispered in his ear as he hid behind him. "But he's staring too. I told you the tight shirt was a good idea."

Snapping out of it, Wei Wuxian let out an awkward laugh. "Uh, what a surprise to meet you here, Lan Zhan, I never took you as a gambling guy."

Nie Huaisang sighed in Wei Wuxian's ear. "His family literally owns the place, how do you not know?"

With a half mouth, Wei Wuxian replied, "I don't frequent the casino world like you rich people, I have a retail job!"

"Wei Ying. What brings you here?"

"Oh just..." he felt Huaisang glare at him subtly, "...just curious, I guess? I've always been good at poker and stuff and I was bored on this Saturday night so I decided to just... drop by!"

"Mn. Have you been successful?"

"Oh, I haven't really played yet... I'm, uh, trying to get used to the... atmosphere..."

"I could accompany you if you wish."

"I-"

"HE DOES!" Nie Huaisang all but shouted, emerging from Wei Wuxian's back and pushing him ever so slightly towards Lan Wangji. "He does want your company. More than you know. But, say, Wangji-xiong, is-is your brother here tonight?"

Lan Wangji gave Huaisang a long, judgemental stare. "Yes."

"Is my brother also with him?"

"Obviously."

You could see the cold sweat form on Nie Huaisang's temples, a wide, pleading smile on his lips. "Say, why don't you go ahead and spend some quality time with A-Ying and you pretend you never saw me?"

Wei Wuxian turned slightly towards Nie Huaisang, and whispered. "Why do I feel like I'm being traded right now?"

"You are." Huaisang whispered back. "Now be a good war prize so Da-Ge doesn't behead me and I'll give you half my winnings, alright?"

Lan Wangji didn't seem to react, but he did place a very respectful hand on Wei Wuxian's lower back, pointedly refusing to look at Nie Huaisang. "Follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"The VIP."

"The VIP?!"

"Mn. I do not like playing with an audience."

"Playing cards, right?"

"..."

"Lan Zhan, that's what we'll play, right?"

"Mn."

Nie Huaisang sighed, relieved, and downed both his and Wei Wuxian's drink in one go. Then, he reapplied his Chanel lipstick and sashayed towards one of the poker tables, where he had already seen someone checking him out from afar.

He had severely miscalculated when he saw who else was among the players.

"Ah, Wen-guniang... fancy meeting you here... haha..."

Wen Qing shot him a bored look. "Drop the act, Nie Huaisang, it's embarrassing."

He clicked his fan closed and sighed. "You're really going to leave me penniless, aren't you?"

"I've already shaken Jin Zixun off half his fortune, I'll go easy on you."

"Delightful."

---

(By the end of the night, Nie Huaisang managed to win some 5K back after a debilitating loss to Wen Qing, but at least Da-Ge never found out he'd been gambling a few rooms away from him. As the saying goes, a win is a win.

Anyway, Wei Wuxian didn't come home that night, but Nie Huaisang had expected that. After all, it was high time he and Lan Wangji confessed their feelings and fucked about it - it was getting insufferable to see them both pine like some cliche romcom.

Nie Huaisang would be more than happy to take the credit for finally pushing them in the right direction (AKA towards each other and a private room), and if it just so happened to have saved his ass in the process - well, that was just his quick wit at work.

Serves you right, old teacher Lan, I'm not as much of an idiot as you think I am!)

[invinciblerodent]

Where was Tristan during the events of Inquisition? Did he ever see the Breach? Did the smaller rifts effect him in anyway?

Ooh, fun! Love this! Storytime! (man, I'd love to have the cc so I could put a header with his actual face here to break up the wall of text. I'll just put in his BG3 mockup, lol.)

(i hope in veilguard we'll get a wheel for the eye color selection because man, this is way too red. he looks far too much like a vampire.)

I don't know if the game is gonna contradict me on any of this and there are some kinks to work out still lol, but I don't think he saw the Breach- definitely not in person at least.

I like to think that, around the time of the divine conclave, he was somewhere in the north of Orlais, just about a day's travel south of Perendale. (Near the Nevarran border, not terribly far from Weisshaupt or Kal-Sharok.)

I haven't gone that far into this thought yet, but my little idea so far is that he had been traveling as a recruiter and sort of a quasi-assistant to his mentor/friend, Warden-Lieutenant Iselva (an Orlesian city-born elf mage and spirit healer). It was around the time they were about to reach the border that they both started hearing the false Calling, but it was only she who chose to heed it.

I imagine Tristan to be kind of caught at that weird halfway-point between having a death wish, and clinging with white-knuckled fists to life, which makes him kind of reckless and prone to making stupid decisions (which is why he even chose to take up arms at Ostagar to begin with), but he's also scrappy, and very much driven to survive by any means necessary (which was the reason he could cheat death in the first place).

He's not the type to bow his head and submit to the Taint, possibly not even once his time truly does come. If he is to hear his Calling (which, with how close he already is to death and how the whole undeath of everything might affect the progression of the Taint, could take days or decades, there's no knowing), he would still want to drag it out for as long as possible, stave it off while he still feels he has a Purpose, whatever that may be. On top of that, he was at that point never told what the Calling would do beyond being an annoyance, why he'd head to the Deep Roads when it starts, and, at the time, he was also barely in his thirties- though nothing about him is entirely normal, he still felt it unusual, suspicious for someone so young to be hearing it.

But Iselva was an older woman by then, a respected and high-ranking acolyte well past her 30th year in the Order. She knew all too well what would happen if they delayed too long, and was adamant that while the both of them starting to hear it at roughly the same time was odd, it was not unheard of (they had spent most of the last decade very close after all, sleeping in the same tent, sometimes in the same bedroll for warmth), and that they should pivot, head towards Kal-Sharok, both head into the Deep Roads at the first opportunity, and die with dignity, as a Warden should.

They got into a horrible fight one night, their worst ever. She insisted, he refused-- she pulled rank, he took offense, and the whole exchange ended with her calling him a stubborn fool, and the two of them parting ways: with him continuing towards Weisshaupt, and her towards Kal-Sharok.

That was the last he's ever heard from her, and though the circumstances of her leaving did tarnish her memory somewhat, he's mourned her as she deserved: as a comrade in arms, a leader, a teacher, and a trusted, beloved friend.

The road to Weisshaupt was slow going without her guidance, and he got lost on the way multiple times, so even though the fake Calling had stopped only about two or three weeks later (iirc! I'll need to check the timeline on this), word of what happened in the Western Approach reached Weisshaupt shortly before he did. Until then, he had assumed that its end marked Iselva's death- now he knows the truth, and knows that she was just another victim in this whole mess.

I like to imagine that somewhere in the Anderfels, there is still a small rock with her name, and the date "9:41" carved crudely into it, nestled between the protruding roots of a tree.

...... and as i'm proofreading myself, it seems that I totally forgot the smaller rifts lol- I don't think he ever was close enough to one to actually feel it, but had he gotten close to one, I think he would have felt an uncomfortable pull of the Fade. And, if he happened to be, say, close to death or unconscious near one, I suspect he could have gotten possessed.

I don't really think of Purpose as a fully realized presence like Justice, it doesn't live in him, but it more just kinda hovers at the edges of his consciousness. Its influence is subtle and unfocused, and if Tristan does wind up dying or losing consciousness in an unfortunate spot where the Veil is thin, it might be able to reach through.

I like to imagine that this is the reason why Tristan suffers from insomnia, and once asleep, has troubles staying that way: being too close to the Fade just... makes him feel like there are ants in his eyes, lol.