#do not burn me at the stake y’all

[wafflinglumos]

Sirius Black character study I guess.

This is will follow canon to the best of my abilities however, screw you Joanne.

(Content warning, mentions of abuse, though vague, idk if I should add a cw but just in case)

Sirius’ childhood and home life; Contrary to popular belief, Sirius wasn’t heinously abused, in fact, we can assume that Walburga did love him, in her own way of course that’s not to say that she was a good mother, but it is something to keep in mind. His home life was bad, yes, but a common misconception I see in this fandom is that Sirius canonically got cruciatus cursed by his own mother, which is in fact not canon. Sirius had a terribly complicated relationship with his mother, he used all those spells on his room to keep it in that order and pristine, yet when he came back to his home years later, he chose to sleep in his parents bedroom. With Walburga’s painting, he tells them to move it, or cover it up, but he doesn’t tell them to destroy it. Sirius and Walburga had a terribly complex relationship, she wasn’t a good mother by any means, but she wasn’t an overly abusive cruel one.

Sirius’ running away and disownment; Another common misconception is that Sirius got disowned then ran away when it’s actually the opposite, he also did not leave because he was getting horrifically abused, that’s not to say his home life wasn’t awful, it was, but he left because of his parents pureblood beliefs and politics in general. Sirius did not get disowned before he ran away, it was after. We also have no proof that he was beaten the night he left, unlike some people try to point at.

Sirius and The Prank: Sirius did not tell Snape about the whomping willow for a good reason, he did not tell Snape about the tree out of fear of being blackmailed, or hurt, or anything else like that, the very simple and easy explanation for The Prank is that Sirius, was an idiotic teenage boy who did not think about the consequences of his actions, or the effects it would’ve had on both parties. I see the common, “oh Sirius would’ve been so lonely and sad and it’s so unfair how his friends isolated him”, when we can safely say that he did not feel remorseful for it, at all. In fact when he’s later talking about it in the shrieking shack, his exact words and justification are,

“It served him right,” he sneered. “Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to … hoping he could get us expelled …”

I could only see Sirius feeling even slightly remorseful for how it caused Remus to feel, but even then, I don’t imagine Remus would’ve brought the issue up all that much. (Which I will get into it you guys want to hear about that :D)

Sirius and arrogance; Sirius’ arrogance has a HUGE part to play in both the marauders and in James and Lily’s deaths, throughout the books we see Sirius and James as the main aggressors in their back and forth bullying with Snape(back and forth from both parties but still). With James and Lily’s death, it was James primarily but Sirius was mentioned that turned down Dumbledore’s offer for him to be the Potters’ secret keeper, insisting that Sirius was the right guy and that he could do it, however Sirius decided that nah that was too obvious, that they’d make “weak talentless” Peter the secret keeper, because no one would expect that, to make this plan even better, they then did not tell Dumbledore of this genius plan, nor Remus because Sirius was so convinced that Remus was the spy, that they just did not feel it was safe to tell him. That is what kept him in Azkaban for so long, theoretically he could’ve broken out anytime he damn pleased but, the guilt of being quite accidentally responsible for Lily and James’ deaths, that is what kept him in there.

Sirius and his loosened grip on his sanity; The man spent twelve years in Azkaban, his sanity definitely had declined by the time he left, we can in fact see this is certain choices that he makes and when he tells Harry “nice one, James”. He wasn’t the best father figure because he was still basically trapped in his twenty one year old mind. We can further point at grief and guilt as another reason for his sanity dwindling, as we know, he felt a good bit responsible for James and Lily’s deaths, add that on top of the grief of losing two of the closest people to him, and bam, you have a guilt ridden twenty one year old to throw into what was basically hell for twelve years.

Anyways that’s the end of my ted talk, I love you Sirius Black.

[captainderyn]

Little mini grumbling because this has been all over several different social media websites but…people know that once something has a content warning/rating it’s their responsibility to either engage with it or not right??

Like..the world isn’t just gonna scrub itself of something you don’t like or want to see?? Is that a new concept now?

It’s so easy to just look at something, go, “nah not for me” and move on. Just because you don’t want to engage with it doesn’t make it a degenerate piece of media/literature/whatever that needs to never exist ever.

[mausuwinasa]

There’s two things I like in my fictional guys:

1. A bit of violence

2. Hopeless romantic

Surely these two traits combined won’t lead to any strange behaviors by them.

[musclesandhammering]

Spn Opinions That’ll Have Me Burned at the Stake Pt. 2: Electric Boogaloo

I’m back and bitchier than ever. For reference, here’s part 1.

• Season 5 wasn’t that great.

• D*stiel isn’t real, it’s a sucky ship, and that confession scene was just the writers pandering to the rabid deancas fans cause they knew they were the only ones still watching the show lol. And they left it ambiguous enough that they could still say it was meant platonically if they needed to.

• I hate how they watered down both angels and demons post-season 5ish.

• I liked Ruby 1.0 better than Ruby 2.0.

• I hate Honey!Cas. They just did that cause they didn’t know where to take his story from there, needed him out of the way, and thought it would be funny. It was insulting.

• Jack should’ve been played by an actual child so everyone’s abuse of him would resonate with the audience for what it was (casual fans are brain dead and need to be spoon fed).

• Victor Henrikson deserved more time on the show.

• I said it in the last post, but Alex is way more interesting than Claire and should’ve been given the lead role in the wayward sisters storyline instead.

• Dean is canonically straight and for Christ sake if you guys wanted bi rep, there’s about a thousand other characters that are strongly coded or implied to be bisexual (including Sam!) but y’all didn’t focus on them because it wasn’t actually about representation, it was about making it more plausible for your dumb fetishised gay ship to actually happen (spoiler: it didn’t).

• Season 3 and Season 6 were some of the best ones, you guys just don’t have any taste.

• Claire is not Castiel’s daughter and saying she is erases Jimmy and insults her, and even Cas himself acknowledged that on the show.

• Castiel is canonically NOT gay and Misha constantly saying he is is annoying and airheaded. He’s been attracted to women IN THE SHOW and he’s not even really male, so calling him a Gay Man is reductive and just plain wrong. Also, it’s veeery sus that- given how bi/pan folks are even more underrepresented than gay people- that one of the rare times where the bi/pan label actually fits a character BETTER in CANON……. the allies and monosexuals adamantly reject it. Hm.

• “Curing” vampires or werewolves or demons shouldn’t have been a thing.

• The Winchesters cause most of the bad shit that happens and then they just force supernatural beings to fix it for them- tell me again how they’re Super Special Heroes.

• It shouldn’t be possible to make angels human by removing their grace, because (unlike demons, werewolves, etc) they were never human to start with. If you drained me of all my blood, I wouldn’t magically transform into another species, I’d fucking die.

• Making Billie go crazy was dumb.

• Rowena was one of the most interesting and charismatic characters on the whole show- they just didn’t know what to do with her character.

• The archangels, Lilith, and Azazel should’ve been the biggest threats on the show. No other knights of hell, no god and his sister, no Cain, nothing like that. Having every villain just get progressively more overpowered made the show unbelievable and repetitive and annoying.

• The kernel sanders king of hell guy was hot.

• Dean is misogynistic as HELL, homophobic, likes racist porn, is a narcissist, pervs on teen girls, & thinks all non-human people should be exterminated… and that is all CANON.

• Most of John Winchester’s abuse is fanon.

• Fans portraying Cas as a smol bby who colours in colouring books and has a bee plushie is so fucking annoying.

• Instead of having so many gigantic cosmic storylines with god and his sister and alternate dimensions and even the angel and demon tablets, they should’ve just scrapped those and made the stein family and the bmol and the alpha vampire storylines way bigger than they were. Less cosmic stuff, more earth-based stuff.

• They ruined Lucifer’s character post-season 5. Before that, he was more sympathetic and reasonable than Michael. After, he was a spoiled child hurting people for fun.

• Everything from season 7 on is garbage. All of it. There’s bits of goodness here and there but overall seasons 7-15 are trash.

• How the fuck are there actual people who are deangirls and hate Sam?? The space where your brain should be is empty, I swear to god.

• If there was gonna be any lgbt rep in the Wayward Sisters group, it should’ve been Jody and Donna instead of Claire and Kaia. Those two were boring as hell and had zero chemistry or build-up, but Jody/Donna had plenty of chemistry and was very believable.

• Meg has the best and most realistic redemption arc of anyone on the show.

• Chuck was not likeable or charismatic enough to carry off as big of a villain arc as they gave him. Also that whole thing was stupid and WAY too Out There.

• All the angels should’ve been aroace. All the demons should’ve been pan.

• I stanned Cole so hard up until he changed his mind about hating Dean. That was disappointing.

• Sam went through the same shitty childhood Dean did (plus Bonus Abuse on top of it) and he didn’t turn out Like That.

• I cannot think of a single person that was asking for a spin-off about the Winchester family, like that has to be the most boring thing.

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter eleven

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

{ prev. } ; { nav } ; { next }

ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, clorinde, navia, furina ⌗ warnings : n/a ⌗ word count: 4.5k

You sip on your tea, but this time the taste runs bland. The brand of the tea bag is embellished in gold, a soft print now dulled by the accidental falls of it into the cup.

A certain blonde seemingly appears by Clorinde’s side, all jolly and gleaming. “You needed me?” she asks, hands reaching to the duelist’s shoulders before shaking her after she shows no response.

Clorinde, expectedly, jolts at this. “Yes, but it’s not simply just for tea.”

Navia shoots you a calculative look before making herself welcome to the vacant seat around the table. “Ah. So you want me to help out your little friend over here.”

You clear your throat into your balled fist. “Precisely. You’d do Clorinde’s little friend a favour, wouldn’t you?” Tossing the tea bags onto the table, they miraculously land on top of one another in piles. The final bag, however, weighs heavier than the normal — because it isn’t a tea bag; it’s a bag stacked to the nines in mora — and you’re offering the Spina di Rosula a wager.

“Solve where it’s sourced, and I'll get you anything you want.” You push the bag further ahead on the table, the cloth almost getting stuck on every groove of the metal patterns. 

Navia raises a sceptic brow and removes her sunglasses in one swift motion. “I’m not one to be swayed by bribes.”

“This isn’t a bribe. It’s a solid business deal,” you bite, crossing your arms.

The Champion Duelist suppresses a snort. “You’re hilarious.”

Safe to say, you aren’t amused. “It’s legit.” The frown that flits across your features comes off as playful, but some part of you burns with tight-knitted desperation. You know your father’s still out there, and that he tried to murder you last night. 

And you know the reason why he didn’t go through with it.

Navia shoots you one last inspecting look before reaching into the pouch. She lays one tea bag onto the table and a notepad that she miraculously conjures from thin air. Without preamble, she pens every detail of the tea bag onto paper, and your effort to catch what she’s writing only falls fruitless when her writing grows even more incoherent by the word.

How is she getting all of this information out of one tea packet? She’s practically sucking it dry.

“So what you’re saying is that this tea brand has something to do with the man from last night?” Clorinde inquires, eyebrow raised in scepticism.

You draw your focused eyes onto Clorinde, acutely aware of the servers coming up from behind her with your entrees. “Yes… But we can’t know for sure until Navia here comes to a solid conclusion.” Truth is: you do know her answer. But to come to one alone would put your life — your identity — at stake. Everyone will find out, and it’s only a matter of time before all the sand hits the floor of the hourglass.

“Wait, wait. Madame, where did you say you got these again?”

You almost giggle to yourself. It’s almost rebellious that you managed to retrieve a hefty sum of these tea bags. But dignity be damned if it meant it got your father behind bars. “The Chief Justice’s office, of course.”

The satisfied smirk only thrives when the two women share concerned looks. Looks of could we get arrested for this? Or I wish I never agreed to this don their strained faces, before you tap the table to regain their attention.

“Now I know what y’all are gonna say —”

Clorinde extends an arm, almost recalling the legal codex as if it were a physical entity. “Monsieur Neuvillette could charge you with theft.”

“Oh, I know. But he won’t.” He wouldn’t dare to.

Navia’s eyes practically shimmer with revelation and she rushes to hush Clorinde. “Don’t worry, this is perfect. If it was found in Neuvillette’s drawers, then… he must’ve known him well. And the sheer amount of these tea bags!”

Your heart practically drops at the flow of words that leave her lips. Neuvillette lied. It wasn’t just any gift. They’ve had countless talks about Archons know what! You almost chastise yourself. Out of everyone, out of any time to trust someone, you chose the wrong time and person: the one entity you swore to yourself to never see face to face with. 

His impartiality, those piercing eyes — they’re tearing you loose at the seams; you’re not as rigid as you were. You’re losing it.

Your brewing rage spills through into any form of physical appendage that your body seems fit. The metal table is the first of your victims; an irrational fist slams against it, blowing all the collected dust under it and its legs to fly upwards into a plume of smoke. The second victim — or should you say second or third victims — are the two people that share a hot, steaming meal of Bulle Sauce Duck Breast. When a ‘How could I be so stupid?’ bursts from you, the only thing steaming around the table is you, and your ears are practically emitting smoke.

“We have our first anomaly.”

Navia drops her fork into the bowl and scoots closer to the rim of the table to hear you better — or so she makes it out to be. You think it’s just a matter of habit. “And what might that be?”

They won’t know what’s going to hit them. You can already imagine their faces of bewilderment —  and the words likely to blurt out from their mouths.‘No way!’ or ‘That can’t be!

They’re going to know the truth.

Yes way. And that can be.

You lean back in your seat, the front legs teetering off the floor. You are aware any move further backwards could have you landing on your head, but it’s fun. Whatever. “The Iudex of Fontaine.”

“No way,” retorts Navia.

Clorinde slips the hat off from her head and lays it on her lap. “That can’t be.”

You take a generous gulp of your tea until nothing but a drop is spared, and you take in a deep breath. “Well. He did say it was used as a gift — but it’s clear that with the number of the tea bags that he was talking to a business partner.”

After a taut, slow and depressing silence came the obvious qualms. This time, despite all of Navia’s authority to question, Clorinde brought up the question looming over your heads. “So what do we do to get it out of him?” “We use his weakness,” Navia says, nibbling on her thumb. She perks up, and her eyes round as they land on you, a devious look only you are a victim of. With a sink of mood, you realise with dawning horror what that face might entail.

Despite the offer not being said, you discard it with an awfully swift rejection. “No. Not me. Not happening.”

Clorinde’s eyes deepen in confusion and a second, indiscernible thing. “Oh, but he seems so in love with you, it’s the perfect ploy, isn’t it?”

Narrowing your eyes, you kick from under the table. But for someone who’s had worse blows, it does absolutely nothing to sway her. Your eyes shoot a cutting reprimand her way: she’s going to find out!

The only reassurance you gain from her is a stern shake of her head. This woman! Trying to keep up the act, but so inept at hiding the smirk that threatens to pull at her face. You watch her, tracing every movement — every twitch near the corner of her lips, the sparkle of amusement in her eyes. Perhaps a clever retort could wipe that smirk off her face —

“Yes, that’s it! Madame (Name) you have to convince him, seduce him if things get dire —”

Seducing the Chief Justice would be a feeble method. You can picture — almost direct his movements if you did, in fact, advance in such a way; he would stiffen, and this you are sure of it, and the whole ruse would fail, and you would be looped back to square one.  “I don’t think the seducing part is at all necessary, Navia.”

There must be a more rational solution, a subtler approach that does not need to rely on such emotional manipulation (not that it could toy with any of those tuned strings of his). That man is so unmoving, too impartial, that nothing could sway him, or so you think so. You consider every possibility as you sip your now tepid tea, the cogs in your mind turning, in need of oiling.

An idea springs to mind. Fontainians had a way with their tea and what occasions they’d be used for, and every characteristic of this brand points to business — dirty, corrupted business. Now, the question is:

What business was this specific tea used for?

Your train of thought almost collapses when interrupted with three specific entrees being served to your table, along with some directions from you to tell the waiter whose meal is whose. Your vision fogs up from all the steam that appears to dissipate the second the particles meet the morning sun into incorporeal droplets, alike to the tea your father allegedly offered to your now husband.

Navia makes herself welcome to pick at Clorinde’s meal, testing the heat of it on her spoon before recoiling and blowing on it with humorous haste. Clorinde, for her part, is unfazed, merely reacting with a raised brow only by millimetres.

“Ahem. Back to the topic at hand…” Your crossed arms and expression of revolt have them with their forks back where they once sat.

Clorinde finishes chewing a fork of chicken before humming a noise of affirmation. “So,” she starts, eyeing Navia with a sharp glare. “No seduction needed. But I find Navia’s plan to be alright so far. You just need the information out of him; the method of you doing so” — she raises both hands in mock surrender — “completely up to you.”

A scheming glint passes over the Yellow Rose of the Spina di Rosula’s eyes, an array of prospects to the case being served to her hot and fresh. She beams, the blue of her eyes shining brighter against the backdrop of the already blinding sky. 

“I’ll trace where it’s sourced, when and how and when exactly this brand ceased production — if they did, that is — and I’ll check every serial code and every detail under the sun!” Navia loses herself in a tangent of rule of thumb, and to the trained eye it might appear as though it’s by divine intervention, but by the way her hands flail upward at every word and command, you retract your word and think that everyone might just think she’s simply mad.

Slipping away from the heat of conversation, you recall all the observations you’ve made to Neuvillette’s schedule. Not that it was of any consistency, but it had a definite pattern. And with the rising sun peaking over the horizon in sparse beams, you think you could catch him in his office. You muster an attentive nod, hawking down every corner of your plate before making a swift kick of your chair that leaves you space to stand; but it does garner some unwanted looks at the scraping it does on the floor. Not so classy of you now, is it?

You wave at them with a gentle swat of your hand. “Yes, exactly. You keep doing your thing, and I’ll play my part,” you say, though a little quietly, before reaching into your pocket and tossing another bag of mora onto the table.

Clorinde tips her hat backward (you are unsure of when she took the time to put it back on, but the concern passes like an afterthought) to assess the goods. “We certainly can’t have you paying for everything, I’ve got plenty—” Before she can even do so much as reach into her pocket, you stop her with a tut.

“How else am I going to spend my husband’s money?”

Though your office resides not far from his, the wide expanse of the wooden doors that separate yourself from his view is a sight you, fortunately or unfortunately, seldom see. You raise your hand to knock, but it hovers in the air, suspended by the strings of inexplicable anxiety. Cut it out! It’s just an interrogation. Nothing can possibly go wrong if I just keep it together.

Taking in a strained, cold breath, you finally rap your knuckles against the door, a little too quiet for your liking; so you knock again — louder this time.

You cross your arms, tapping your toes against the marble of the floor in anticipation, tugging ont eh cloth of your gloves; but just before the seconds can stretch and you can follow through with your retreat, the door swings open, revealing Neuvillette, ever so unwavering in poise.

He takes a tiny, unnoticeable step back, presumably surprised at your arrival to his office at such an early hour (though, for someone of your schedule, it shouldn’t be anything too shocking).

"To what do I owe the pleasure at such an early hour?" he inquires, his voice laced with something different other than the authority he has in court, and in office. It’s somewhat… meek?

You reach for his shoulder, his expectant eyes following your hands, only for you to touch the cliff of his arm with a curt brush of your fingers. His head tilts in bewilderment, giving you space to enter — and you haven't even spoken a word of command!

“I think it’s better that we take this conversation inside, shall we?” The offer comes out clipped, barely concealing your pent up frustration; this whole thing wouldn't have happened if not for the stupid marriage offer — a matter you tend to forget about nowadays, with all that’s happened.

"I need to speak with you," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. The words come out clipped, barely concealing the storm roiling beneath your calm exterior.

The door closes behind you with a grande click of a lock, the gold plating bathed in the early morning light, with lines of it casting opulent strings of brilliance. With every fibre of your being that tells you that this sight calms you down, it does everything but.

The Chief Justice offers you a seat, pulling it for you, but you shake your head, arms crossed tightly over your chest. He takes no offence to it, however, and takes a seat behind his desk, posture taut with the rigidness he has whenever he awaits a trial.

“I know what you did to that man,” you begin, starting off sharper than you had originally intended, but it seems to be playing out in good faith.

A wrinkle forms in between the Iudex’s eyes, the only sign of concern. “I assure you, my intention to —”

“Spare me your reassurances,” you cut, lazily raising a hand to stop him from speaking further. “If you are to deny what you did, there is no point, because nothing can change my mind.” The stifling crack you heard was unlike any human blow, and you could only tie it to the man in front of you, the man you clearly told to stay out of your way that night.

“If it is what transpired the night ago, then I have many reasons to corroborate why that man was not in anyone’s good graces, not even mine, ma femme.” The further he loses himself into his reasoning, it fans out into a sort of tenderness that you think he doesn’t even realise the pet name slipped out of habit.

Your eyes shoot at him in bewilderment. “What did you just call me?”

“My apologies, it just slipped out — I did not intend for it to come off in such a manner,” he apologises, lips flattened into a line. Some part of you tells itself that you could get used to it, that if you had to make the people buy it, you had to tell yourself — no matter how hard — that you were his wife, as he was your husband. You brush the thought aside with harshness.

“It’s fine. What I was gonna say is —ahem — I remember telling you to stay out of my way. And what do you do? Get in my way.” This time, instead of advancing closer to him with dominance, you take him up on the already expired offer and sit in the seat opposite to him.

You take a teabag from your pocket and hang it in front of him. “You lied, first of all. I know there is a man out there, who was meant to be convicted of his crimes. But guess where he is, out and free!”

His face softens into regret and he visibly wilts at the sight of you. “Madame, please, just let me explain.” “Lucien Moreau.” You test the waters despite knowing the risk a false accusation could hold in court; but your time as lawyer has you cunning with your cards. And given his reaction, you think you’ve just struck gold.

“What?” 

“The man you’ve been in cahoots with since the very beginning: a business meeting, something more than that — oh! Perhaps something illegal.” Your eyes trail along the ceiling in faux pondering, exaggerated features of amazement bordering the line of insanity. 

“And that was the man from the night of the ball, wasn’t it?”

He tenses, undaring in moving. His gaze moves left, right, anywhere if it means he does meet your searing look of fury.

“See, Monsieur, if you’re going to remain silent,” you offer, a look of slyness ghosting over your face, “I’m going to have to see the evidence for myself.”

Neuvillette leans forward, face contorted in a way that suggests his own bargain coming to play. You shut it down with another sudden movement; one that you know he, the revered Chief Justice of Fontaine, cannot refute.

You reach for his hand, feeling for the hem of his glove. He retracts it almost immediately with an accusatory look directed towards you. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Easing into your seat, you bite back a sneer. “Finding evidence. So if you’d just let me take a look at your hand…” There were a plethora of things you presume he could’ve been worried about. Perhaps your theory of him not being human manifested into each of his appendages, which, of course, could mean nothing. Or perhaps his limbs were nothing special and he was simply hiding the bruises on his knuckles from absolutely punching the living daylights out of your father.

He diverts himself of your gaze, muttering a defeated: ‘Alright’.

Fingers begin tracking toward the opening of his glove, before you pull it with a gentle tug. His hand ombres into a vibrant blue, fighting against the warmth of daylight; you try your best to mask your surprise. By some miracle, your theory has rung true. He isn’t human!

You swallow hard, fully removing his glove and let out a sigh of satisfaction at the sight of the blooming purple around his knuckles. The bruising, however ugly, is a mottled blend of many colours — muddied by the blue that radiates from his skin. Tracing the bruises, you hear him draw in a sudden breath.

Well, for one, both your hypotheses are correct, which means you are also wrong in the sense that you assumed it was one or the other.

“That bad, huh?” you start, dropping his hand onto the table. “Should’ve stayed out of my way when I told you to.”

A knock sounds from the other side of the door, a small voice making its way through the slit of the wood. “Monsieur Neuvillette! I have neeeewwss!”

Who in the world?

Neuvillette opens his mouth to either tell her to come in another time or to let her in outright. But you, sly you, have an alternate option.

Unbuttoning the top of your blouse, you ruffle your hair with deliberate carelessness. Rising from your seat, you glide to the other side of the desk, muttering a ‘trust me’ under your breath. You unclip the clasp holding the Chief Justice’s hair in place, his strands cascading like streams down his shoulders. 

Loosening his tie, your fingers brush against his neck, feeling the warm beat of his heart against your hand. You realise, with morbid observation that you could claw his heart out with a pinch, but instead you leave him be.

One final touch.

With a mustering breath, you press your lips against the apple of his cheek, lingering longer than propriety allows. The imprint of your lipstick, a muted mauve, stains his otherwise porcelain, untouched skin.

The warmth of his cheek against your lips, the faint scent of his cologne, God. The things that would’ve happened if you didn’t know any better. 

Nudging Neuvillette on the shoulder, your head tips to the direction of Sedene’s voice, and you hope he catches the tell her to come in! look written all across your face. And that he does.

“Come in,” he bellows, though the command runs a little too sheepish for someone of his standing — but you’re surprised he doesn’t look as dishevelled as you thought he’d be. Well, that is before he starts another one of his coughing fits.

When you turn, you don’t expect to see the absolute spectacle at the foot of the door. Sedene’s paw-like hands are over her eyes, and she’s shaking profusely like a child who’s just seen a ghost. “Oh, Archons! Forget it, forget it!” 

Poor Sedene, she must’ve had absolutely no clue what she’d have to witness coming in here. A sight such as this would leave little to the imagination. How far did you two have at it before intervention? Oh, the possibilities!

She turns, waddling away before someone else comes in. 

A horrifying entity, that is.

“That poor Melusine! She looks as pale as can be,” The woman clad in a blue blazer does not quite catch her attention on the performance both Neuvillette and you have decided to show, and instead, regards the Melusine with imploring eyes.

Monsieur Neuvillette draws back the cloth of his glove into a snug fit before taking a sip out of his glass of water. “She is alright, Lady Furina. Do not let it ail you.”

The woman, though stunned, doesn’t react nearly as much as Sedene did, and instead, revels in it like the two of you are some sort of magnum opus of hers. Furina’s face contorts into a smug grin — and whether her brashness falls or rises is another one of the ninety-nine other matters you wish to not think of.

“Seems like you guys were having a little fun.” Furina teases, mewling. 

You cast a snarky look to the person that now begins her approach. “We were, wanna join?” 

Brows raised, you amuse yourself with how terrible she is at hiding her surprise. Her eyes scan the room as if to look for some semblance of an escape route, but she visibly wilts when she works out that the only way out is through the way she entered.

Neuvillette warns you with a mild tap to your back; and for obvious reasons, you ignore it. 

“I’ll pass,” she acquiesces, hands raised.

“Pity.” You pout, and this is the first time you think you’ve ever made the Chief Justice sputter in laughter. 

He stands from his chair and snakes a deft hand around your waist, his hold settling comfortably into the dip of your curves. “She clearly jests, Lady Furina.”

“I’m starting to like her. Tell her she’s invited to my tea party tomorrow.”

You mutter an ‘I’m not going’ under your breath, but make it so it is still loud enough for Neuvillette to hear, and his reaction is just as furtive.

Furina tips her head in question. “What was that?” 

You spring into liveliness, your pragmatic smile twitching under the weight of wanting to call her words you could be sent to prison for.  “I just told this little bugger that I would be delighted to go.”

“That’s just what I wanted to hear,” she starts, drawing her finger into one upward swoop before stopping mid-act. “Wait — no. No can do.”

You brush off the realisation that she decided to three party the message of your invitation to her tea party instead of her asking you directly with a more urgent question. “Why not?”

“Well that is exactly what Sedene was going to tell you: we have a meeting with all the factions of Fontaine in a week.”

Tensing up, you unknowingly lose yourself of Neuvillette’s warmth. “What? Wait — I don’t get it. I thought you were doing all the fixing.” “See… That’s kind of the problem,” she says, gritting her teeth embarrassingly, almost shrinking under the gazes of two people whose moods have drastically changed.

Neuvillette takes one shuffle away from you, and you give no time to think of the connotations of the gesture. “Lady Furina, just what did you do?” His eyes weigh into slits, darkening despite the sun being in full view of the office window. 

“That’s something we shall figure out on the day of, hm? Toodles!” She throttles off, not bothering look back as she cups her hands around both the doors and merely misses the amputations of her hands by a meagre few inches.

The silent, yet resounding click of the door spurs you back into motion, and you spin on your heel to Neuvillette, your face slate, showing a (fabricated) disregard for what just happened. 

You turn to look at Neuvillette, and find that he, too, is trying his utmost best to maintain composure; he’s practically trembling with restraint. 

Against your better judgement, you break out into a fit of laughter. And, against your better judgement, you swat his arm.

He freezes for a moment, initially confused, before he gives in and laughs as well, the baritone radiating onto you with the proximity.

“You should— should’ve seen the look on her face when she came in! Oh, God. It was priceless.” you bellow, tripping on your words.

He holds both of your arms to protect you from falling, his laughter a more controlled action in comparison to yours. “I did, but I acted a fool to save face. Can you imagine if I said something about it?”

His hold on you goes unnoticed when you wipe the tears of laughter from your eyes. “I actually can — I think she tried not to talk about that stain on your cheek —” You cut yourself short, stopping before you can slip into a rant. “Ahem. Anyway, I think my job’s done here. If you’d be so kind as to clean up your mess instead of leaving me to pick up the pieces, it’d be greatly appreciated.”

You rotate on your heels, stride interrupted with a hand around your wrist. “Wait. Lucien Moreau. You must have some sort of tie with him, am I correct?” his eyes meet yours, and you find no fragment of ill intent behind that look. But still, it spurs you into a panic.

The world stops on its axis, and everything comes closing in. Surely, he does not know? He doesn’t know. He must not know. It’s his own speculation! Surely. Surely. “Oh, I cannot tell you that.”

a/n: helloooo!! I j watched the new ultra man movie and let me tell you... the amt of fanfic ideas I have for that MANNN. if you happen to be interested do let me know! I cld add you into some taglist haha

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun, @11111112222222sblog @floffytofu

[hopepaigeturner]

Hope's Review of S3: Polin

Right...let the main show begin!

Note: These are my opinions, that does not make them right, nor am I posturing that they are the only opinion. Very up for discussion with y’all as long as it’s respectful.

Note: I do not stand for hate against any actors/actresses or writers. Please, please, do not send hate to them.

As I said in my past post:

I loved moments, far more than the writing.

Penelope:

Nicola Coughlan did so well this season as the lead. 10/10 acting from her. A great female lead who carried a lot of scenes. Also the representation of a plus size girl in the sex scenes was so good.

Penelope’s looks beautifully represented her journey—e.g. her hair, the colours of her dresses.

Penelope’s character arc and growth were the best part of the season hands down. The journey of her confidence so she could face her past, expose herself, step into the light was probs the best writing.

Portia and Penelope storyline. I liked that Portia came to understand her neglect and Penelope understood the similarities between them. I was worried in pt1 that they wouldn’t be able to do this, but thankfully they did.

Penelope and Eloise. Oooh, I loved the slow burn. I liked that it was obvious the longing between the pair of them, so I had no doubt that Eloise would reunite with Pen. I liked the parallel that Colin reconciled with Pen through reading her letters, and Eloise reconciled after reading Old Whistledowns. I also liked that Eloise did apologise to Pen. But whether Pen truly apologised back…a little murkier.

Penelope and Whistledown. I’m a bit mixed about this. I was glad that Pen took some accountability and received some heat from her actions. I am glad that we were shown that Penelope was starting to use her pen to ‘give voice to the voiceless’. I’m not sure a couple speeches really showed true remorse, I've had chats with others and rewatching the scenes she apologises but then counterargues it/justifies it. And the writers definitely shied away from some of the more pricklier parts of Whistledown. But I knew they were going to do that so 🤷🏻‍♀️

The whole Whistledown has always been a bit dodgy for me. Yes, in a patriarchal system, it is a woman making a successful business. But it is also profiting off the misfortune of others, and Penelope has not been kind. It’s not exactly #feminism. @dollypopup has a really good post here about Whistledown being all of Pen's worst qualities and she also has a really good resolution to this.

The decision to have Pen, not Colin, make the plan/decision to reveal Whistledown was a change I welcomed. It allowed Pen to have her moment and take control of her actions.

The decision to keep Whistledown…I’m wondering where the writers will take this going forward for there will be a lot more complications now. Will they show hostility? Will they brush it under the carpet? Will people be ‘fake friends’ to Pen?

Polin:

Same thing again, I loved moments but I was less impressed with the couple’s general arc.

The softness and giggles, and laughter between the two was so sweet to see. I was quite sold on the friendship aspect.

The mirror scene!! Need I say more?

I liked that amongst the Whistledown drama there was never the question about whether the two loved each other. It was never used to heighten stakes. However, the fact that Penelope literally just shouted ‘I love you’ in the face of Colin’s accusations on the street—and that was able to quell the ire in the moment didn’t do it for me.

The violin covers we got? Yellow, You Belong With Me, pov?? LOVED IT.

The wedding scene. Pen’s initial hesitation before Colin nods and encourages her. How they shot the vows. Penelope’s wedding dress. The holding hands. I found it really sweet and romantic.

All their dances? The fact that they love dancing together--swoon

But the writing…

I did like the progression of their friendship to lovers in part 1. I liked the lessons part, as it was basically Colin hyping Pen up, rather than Colin tutoring Pen as I first feared.

But in Part 2, Polin were a little sidelined? I felt that even though Whistledown was hanging over them in the latter part of the season, that the pair spent a lot of time apart. I think it didn't help that the subplots meant we literally had to wait long periods of time before we returned to them.

I’ve been hearing rumours about a lot of scenes, especially steamy scenes, being cut which makes sense because from the amount Nicola and Luke were talking about it I was expecting more. Then again, the ones we got were definitely…spicy. But also, in all honesty, if a production is running short for time and needs to make cuts, the first thing to go will be steamy scenes over dialogue/character scenes. Even if this is Boinkerton.

I cannot believe they cut out Colin's love speech from the book. Like, the classic Bridgerton love speech? His Bridgerton love speech? While I did like the one in the show, they could have easily added the other speech as the sentiment is exactly the same.

But I think the biggest problem with Polin was…

Colin’s lack of character exploration.

So, on we go to the equally most important character this season, even if he felt like the fourth or fifth.

Colin

This is my biggest annoyance. We get all this complexity from Penelope, the journey of self-love and confidence, coming to terms with the past (although not as much as I would have liked). And also, all the development/healing with her family and Eloise. But we barely get anything from Colin.

And yes, this is a romance show that is geared towards women and a wish for complex female characters. But gosh darn it, you need your male romantic lead to be interesting too!!! He’s the main plot of the season!!

We had all this talk about him putting on a mask and needing to just be himself, we had Pen talking about his sensitivity, we had this interesting concept of jealousy around his writing. And yeah, we got a bit of exploration, (more talk rather than showing), but he did not get nearly enough screentime to explore these things in depth. And that’s so annoying. Just because he’s the guy doesn’t mean he shouldn't get a meaningful arc. I also think that is why Polin flagged for me in the second half, because you had a really developed individual and a half-baked one.

When Colin gets to the conclusion about his purpose being Penelope, we only got one prior scene of him on his own to show that he came to that conclusion. Only one?!?!? Why didn't we have a full scene of Penelope exploring with Colin why he was jealous? Or why he felt the need to put up a front? Or why he feels that he must prove himself to be worthy of her?

He's one of the main leads!!!

However, once again I did love moments:

I liked that Colin didn’t beat around the bush. Once he realised he loved Penelope he went straight for it and didn’t dawdle unlike other Bridgerton boys.

I liked that Colin cried at the Whistledown reveal. Also, the whole thing about him being sensitive. I really like that in a show that has a lot of classic masculine tropes they went with that direction. (Even if they didn’t execute it well).

I LOVED Colin putting Portia in her place. YAAAAS.

I really liked that Colin didn’t have to do a big act of love to be worthy of Pen’s love. A lot of traditional male love interests (I’m looking at you Disney Princes) must slay the dragon or swoop in with a grand gesture to be ‘worthy’ of love. I liked that Colin just needed to be himself. I found that refreshing for a male character. Although again, this could have been explored better.

I liked that through reading letters, Colin found a way to reconcile with Penelope, just as Eloise found reconciliation with Penelope through reading Old Whistledowns.

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

Alas, the ghost of my English lit degree comes to haunt my brain once again.

Let me know what you guys think!

[winns-stuff]

LO RANT:

Because why not? I just don’t understand the way that fans think, on one hand we can’t associate or even compare Lore Olympus to the myths because they’ll say “well it’s her retelling she doesn’t have to do things exactly alike” but on the other hand when you’re talking about the story by itself they’ll then try to counter whatever argument against Lore Olympus by saying “this is what they did in the myths!! why are you guys mad at greek mythology??” so which one is it because it’s giving me a headache. I get so tired of seeing the exact same argument from fans it’s so redundant and I mean that in the nicest way possible, I’m sure a lot of you are great people but the things y’all say and do for this comic is insane.

Rachel is adding yet another sex scene and people are rightfully angry. We’re in the climax where the world is basically in an apocalyptic state and the gods are all in danger of having no mortals to worship them and give them any purpose and it’s all because of Persephone, no one is thinking “oh yeah this is the perfect time for intimacy” and if you wanted to give fan service to those who are craving it you should’ve did it in a more calmer setting?? No one is threatening Rachel and telling her that she needs to add these ridiculously high stakes to her comic which prevents her from smoothly writing NSFW of the main couple, she’s literally doing this herself which is one of the reasons why it gets so annoying whenever fans get mad at people for being upset or disappointed. She’s doing this to herself, am I saying harass the woman or cyber bully her? No but that’s not what a lot of these people are doing, in every single webtoon especially one as big as Lore Olympus you’re going to have people who view your content differently or disagree with the way you’ve written things. I’m not trying to encourage the idea of changing your entire story to bend to those people but a large majority of your fandom are starting to have the exact same complaints and it’s clear that your plots are not being fleshed out at all, these people are just asking (no, begging really) for a cohesive story not a masterpiece.

Which brings me to my next point, all of the criticisms and explanations many critics have been sharing are entirely valid. You cannot put a sex scene as a replacement to storytelling, it just never works since it adds virtually nothing to what’s happening. Especially right now when, like I said before, Rachel is starting to spiral the plot into chaos (I’m not being insulting by saying this it’s literally chaos it seems like all of the characters are in trouble) and introducing or welcoming back a lot of intriguing plot stories and characters that many people are excited to see. To make an odd and unnecessary shift to romance in the middle of absolute destruction is crazy, especially when none of it is earned. I’ve said this in my later rants but I’ll say it again because it’s true, the romance between Hades and Persephone has no stakes and it never will it seems since Rachel doesn’t even allow stuff like that to happen. Nothing about their romance keeps you straddled on for the ride or leaves you at the edge of your seat which is why so many people are bored with their dynamic if there even is one to begin with. Slow burns and other romances are all about the payoff that’s what everyone’s here to see, after chapters on chapters of wondering if their love will brave the dangers around them and between them we finally get our question solved with appropriate intimacy.

Lore Olympus as a whole rarely wants to develop actual relationships in real time, it only skips to “the good bits” while completely ignoring the fact that the entire bonding experience between your ships and your fans rely heavily on us actually witnessing their chemistry/bond and being shown why they should be together, not being told by forces outside of the relationship.

All in all the potential sex scene is just terrible timing on Rachel’s part and it should’ve been done while literally nothing was happening to avoid all of the backlash that it’s getting now.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 69 - Eat Your Heart Out, Van Helsing

You and Gandrel have a chat.

On AO3.

The gur looks haggard. Bags under his eyes and a tired slump to his shoulders. But there’s a light in his eyes that tells you physical exhaustion ain’t gonna be an issue for him right now.

You lift your hands, “Whoa, whoa, hold on!”

The clearing is small. The brown horse is saddled and bridled. But there’s something else over its muzzle. A bag. It’s ears flick to y’all, but it otherwise seems unbothered. You wonder if there’s herbs or something in that bag to mask the smell of all the blood.

There are no visible injuries on the dead deer.

And lying next to that, flat on his back, is Astarion. Blood coats his front, from mouth to groin. It bubbles up around that horrific stake buried in his chest. He ain’t breathing, ain’t moving. Head tilted slightly back, but his eyes are on you, bugging out. His mouth moves but no sound comes out.

“What the fuck, Gandrel?” you say all soft.

“Easy now,” he says. “He’s not any deader than usual, and he’ll remain that way. His kind are quite difficult to kill, after all. It seems you knew my quarry after all.”

You lied to his face. Protected Astarion from him. But also protected him from Astarion.

“I was trying to avoid a fight. He ain’t hurting nobody out here. I mean, unless we’re already fighting them.”

“I have no idea what he or any of you are doing out here,” Gandrel says. “Nor is it my business. That lies in Baldur’s Gate.” He eyeballs you, and the ghost of a wry grin tugs at his lips. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to turn away and let me finish my hunt?”

Astarion is soaked in blood. And you’re pretty sure it’s all his. You seen people shit-scared; you seen people in Faerun as they fucking died. That is the level of terror staring out through the elf’s eyes. His fingers give the barest twitch and he manages a wet, rasping sound.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to let him go?” you say. “We can pay more than whoever sent you.”

Probably. Taking donations from all the others. Y’all could make a down payment, at least.

“Pay?” Gandrel says. He seems actually startled. Then he turns to look at Astarion and lets out a bark of laughter. “I see. No, my friend, I’m not here on account of pay. My mission lies much closer to home”

A wet, clicking sound, this time. New blood bubbles outta Astarion’s mouth. Must be shoving the last of the air in his unmoving lungs up his throat just to try. The adrenaline burns through you, hands all numb, skin gone icy.

“What’s with him? Why can’t he move?”

The crossbow doesn’t even twitch. “Are you not familiar with vampires? You seemed knowledgeable about the hag.”

Above, the crow coughs her hideous laughter. Fucking witches.

Gandrel follows your gaze. Nods, and there’s that tiredness in his eyes again. “I seems you angered her enough she accepted my terms.”

She should be fucking dead. That’s why ain’t nobody should mess with fucking witches. Then the rest of what he said catches up. Gandrel went for help to find Astarion. That crow flutters, cocks its head with that eyeball still in its beak.

It’s…it’s been following y’all. The whole time. The hag spying on y’all. That night with Astarion in the woods, when you woke up after that disastrous talk when you got your soul stuck in a jar, after the goblin camp massacre. She’s been watching.

“You been following us,” you say.

“Indeed.” You study him again. Brown hair tied back in a partial tail. Beard tidy and waxed to a point, framed by kind, brown eyes—

One brown eye. The other pale, glazed over like a cataract. The same color as that eye in the beak of a bird.

“You’ve been difficult to catch up to,” Gandrel continues. “I only managed it this morning with a hard trek through that storm. I thought it would take longer to corner my quarry alone, but he is a vampire spawn, and they’re greedy, wretched things. He took the poisoned deer quite readily.”

Fuck. Fuck. He ain’t been eating for days. Not since the goblin camp, you think. He’s half-starved, running on fumes. He ain’t never said nothing about eating already-dead things—memories of a putrid rat and congealed blood sticking in his throat, and you’d avoid that for the rest of your life, too. It’s too easy to imagine him coming up on that deer. Slow. Maybe shaking. Clearly weak—either too old or too sick, and it’s perfect predator bait. White hunters and park rangers used to bait meat to slaughter wolves and coyotes (and then wondered why the woods started pulling back for grasslands cause there were too many goddamn deer to feed so they started stripping saplings).

Wasn’t enough to kill Astarion outright. Wasn’t meant to. Just slow him down, make him sick enough for Gandrel to get close enough with that stake.

You find the gur watching you. Something like sympathy softening his mis-matched eyes. “You truly know nothing of his ilk, do you?”

Ilk huh? Lotta meaning packed into that word. “I ain’t from here.”

“How lucky you are, then, to live free of such monsters. A stake through the heart—”

You wince.

“—paralyzes him. I have safer methods, but that will do until I can put some distance between this trail and the Gate.”

Jesus, if you hadn’t had to pee when you did, if you’d slept through the night…

“Why, then?” you say. “If nobody’s paying you?”

He hunts monsters; gave up a fucking eyeball. Astarion is a vampire. Maybe that’s all the justification he needs. Maybe it’s some bullshit pride thing. An honor thing. Or maybe monsters is just that bad—Astarion ain’t a peach on the best of days.

Then the skin around Gandrel’s eyes tightens, and his lips go thin when he says, “He stole our children.”

You don’t hear him right. That damn dirt potion. The words don’t make no sense, even as the meaning stabs you in the heart.

Mother and the Pastor came for you, hiding underneath Grandpa’s kitchen table. Grandpa—sly, laughing Grandpa—crying as he wrung the paper in his hands. Court documents. Because she was your mother (White woman) so she had more claim over you. And the Pastor came from money, so the Nation would have a hard time fighting courts and others had done it before only to be painted as drunk, druggies, sluts and poor, poor dirty Indians. You can’t leave an innocent child with those people. They deserve better.

Kill the Indian.

Save the man.

Steal the children and dress them proper and cut their hair and beat their mother tongues outta them. Not as much to your Nation as to others, but them others? Oh. Whole generations killed on purpose. Deliberately. Meant to bleed an entire people off the face of the earth.

Grandpa cried so hard he shook as he held you that last time.

“Wh,” you start. Swallow through sand. “What?”

“He and his fellow spawn, led by the vampire lord Cazador Szarr. They came in the night four tenday ago. They stole our children. All but the twin babes too young to leave their mother’s sling. My elder sent me and several others when we heard whispers one had escaped his master’s control. I will return Astarion to my people so we can question him.”

It’s one of the most sadistic forms of genocide. Literally stealing away the future. Killing them outright—disease, abuse—or changing them so much the person, the culture, came back as something else. Something strange. Altered forever. The soul gone, the language erased.

“Why?” you say. You mean, “Why your people” but your mouth don’t wanna work.

Astarion has stopped trying to speak. He just stares at you, silent and unmoving. He looks like a corpse.

“His master’s orders,” Gandrel says. “Beyond that, Szarr is a vampire lord. He needs no reason for cruelty. So he sent his spawn, who cannot disobey their lord.”

“But…but why go after Astarion? Why not that fuckface who sent him?”

In his position, drowning in the kind of rage you only catch echoes of, you already know why.

“Because we cannot reach him,” Gandrel says. “Not yet.”

You close your eyes.

The world is not just. Not unless someone is already rich and powerful. Everybody else lives under a different set of rules. And when one of them high and mighty fucks lashes out and hurts somebody, when the other somebodies know they can’t ever touch the one who did it?

They settle for a scapegoat. A crony. A lesser member of the high and mighty. Somebody they can reach. Somebody they can hurt.

“This creature,” Gandrel says. “This spawn can tell us how to get to his master.”

Two hundred years as a slave. A puppet. You saw how Astarion watched everything in that swamp after y’all left Gandrel behind. The way he peered into the dark beyond camp for nights afterward.

You’ve tasted that prey terror yourself.

“He’ll probably just tell you all that if you let him,” you say. Glance to Astarion’s wide, scared eyes. “I suspect he wants that fucker dead just as bad as you.”

But Gandrel shakes his head. “I cannot risk that. Nor can I turn down this opportunity.”

That word don’t make no sense. Getting information’d be as easy as pulling that godawful stake out. You’d bet all your Faerun possessions that Astarion would leap at the chance to sick a band of vengeful monster hunters on that fuckface.

Gandrel, apparently, clocks your confusion. “Vampires are elusive monsters. They hide in the shadows, use manipulation or compulsion to coerce others to do their bidding.”

And the man gives you such a soft look. You nearly snarl at him.

“It’s a rare thing to capture one. Even a spawn. My people can learn much from him. Use this chance so we may better protect the defenseless. Prevent anyone else’s children from being snatched in the night.”

He’s right. That shining line in your head knows it. A chance to study the enemy, learn how they work, see how they operate.

Take them apart.

They have a right to their anger. And it’s logical to learn more, to do better, in order to stop it.

But he’s going to torture Astarion probably to death.

“I want to help you,” you say, and can’t look away even as Astarion manages another horrible sound. “But you don’t got to take him. We’ll help you, Gandrel. All of us, in any way we can. Please.”

Pity. That’s what he’s looking at you with. The anger in you bares its teeth even as your skin crawls.

“You’ve made your decision, then,” he says. Sighs. “It’s not entirely your fault. They are masters of deception. I don’t know what he promised you—”

“He didn’t and he’s been a bitch the whole time.”

But your attempt to bleed off some of the tension fails.

“Or what he’s done to ensnare you,” Gandrel continues.

The devil tempts you. Calls to sinners. Especially women, who are evil by nature. Too soft, too female. Too weak to hold morals and too easily corrupted for anyone to trust. They have no judgment, no logic, you cannot help your base instincts—

“Don’t you fucking presume I ain’t making my own goddamn choices,” you say.

Gandrel gives you a small smile. “You’re a brave one. Loyal and caring, too. I suspect that’s exactly why he targeted you.”

The weakest link, the lamed gazelle. That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, you shouldn’t let it, but all them suspicions come roaring back. He bit you cause he knows you got no connections, hit you up cause you’re the most desperate out here.

And you’re pretty good at holding a blank expression, but Gandrel is perceptive as fuck. He gives you a sad smile. “I won’t force this choice upon you, friend.”

And his fingers moves on the crossbow trigger.

“No Gandrel wait—”

A chunk. Something green flashes—

You wake to cool dirt and choking. Try to lift up, but you cannot move. The panic bites deep and you twist, try to thrash, and manage to turn your head enough to blow dirt and pine needles away enough to suck in a gasp.

Torchlight flickers. You’re face down in the woods. Your muscles fucking shake. It don’t hurt, but you can’t stop it. Fingers twitch. Arms seize and release. Feet kick around in the detritus of dead tree needles.

A dragging sound and a grunt. You got to turn the other way. Barely manage, whole body shuddering like your thighs did after that first run with Lae’zel. More clumsy and flopping than a newborn foal.

Gandrel drags Astarion by the armpits. Heaves the man a few steps closer to the horse. Astarion’s head flops uselessly at the movement. Lolls to the side as Gandrel stops to take a few breaths, and the elf’s gaze lands on you. Man’s half-crazed. He knows once Gandrel gets him on that horse, he’s looking at death by torture.

He stole their children.

He’s been a puppet for two hundred years.

He’s a murderous cunt.

He’s saved your ass at least three times by now.

He threw you away.

And now he’s being dragged off.

His laugh is bitchy and he’s mean. He teases you and makes sure you know what species you’re looking at. He keeps your secrets and cuts your heart out and holds your wounds closed and doesn’t talk to you and tries to fuck Lae’zel and seeks you out after he got rejected to watch you fucking cry and he don’t tell a soul about it or make fun of you.

“Guh,” you say.

Gandrel huffs. Looks to you. “Don’t worry. The toxin should wear off shortly. You may be numb or experience trembling on and off for several days, but it should fade entirely.”

This bitch poisoned you. It’s almost fitting.

“Wa,” you say. And yeah, it’s real hard to talk when your lungs keep shuddering and gasping like you’re hyperventilating after getting kicked in the chest by a horse.

“Take it easy, friend. These woods are dangerous, even without a vampire on the loose. Drawing attention to yourself by shouting for your companions could draw something else to you. I’d advise you to save your strength until you can get up.”

You pant. Blow more dirt from your nose. Another wave of the tremors rips through you and your head kinda flops around. Lands you face down right as your lungs suck in and you inhale in a mouthful of dirt.

The gag reflex kicks in. You make awful sounds. Can’t breathe, fuck fuck air. Which just feeds into itself and you gag and retch again. Whole body heaves and your eyes water and you just want air. Just need to inhale—

A sound. A crunch next to you. Hands grab your shoulder and Gandrel rolls you onto your side. You meet his gaze for a second, your eyes watering, face smeared with dirt and spit.

He’s a monster hunter, hunting a monster that stole a people’s children. He came back to keep you from choking to death.

You cannot let him take Astarion, and most of the choking was real. But not all of it.

Your body is a numb, seizing mess. Fine motor control is gone. All you can manage is a single shove. One, single roll.

You hit his shins. All your mass keeps going. He tries to stumble back, get clear, but there’s too much of you and it happens too quick.

He falls.

Something cracks.

The clearing goes silent, save for your shuddering, heaving gags.

Then Gandrel moans. Shifts.

He fell on a rock. Cracked his head. Much better than you expected. His chin lifts and the side of his head is smeared in red. Your body ain’t under your control—arms flop like dead meat as you writhe along the ground, in the dirt, stones and sticks digging into your flesh.

Gandrel moans again. One hand comes up, waves around the side of his head before flopping down. Head injuries are serious things. They don’t actually, conveniently and cleanly, knock people out like hitting a restart button on a computer. Best case, he’s got a bruise and a cut scalp. Worst case, it’s a traumatic brain injury and his brain swells up and he dies.

But between all that, he’s got a chance to wake up and hurt you. Kill you. Get Astarion on that horse and disappear into the night.

You cannot let that happen. You can’t.

You continue to flop and shimmy your way along his body. Not for Astarion—he’s too far away and you can’t grab that stake like this. Not for the knife glittering in the torchlight that Gandrel must’a dropped.

The man tries to sit up. Collapses again. And you’re level with his chest. Just below his chin. He’s knows he’s hurt, knows something bad is going to happen.

Your hands are useless. Feet useless. You got nothing as you sort of flop over him. He’s warm beneath you, smells clean, the fresh air clinging to his clothes.

“Sor,” you manage as one of his hands comes up to bat weakly at you. This man who came back to help you, to keep you from choking on the dirt.

He’s kind, when he can be.

You can’t think about that. Can’t let that man and his sad smile exist. You shove that down. Down and down into the deep and the dark. Take all of that, all the could-be’s and walk them down rickety, wooden steps that squeal beneath you. Walk it along loaded shelves, over to the back wall where you can chain it tight amongst evaporated milk and canned peaches.

And then you walk yourself back. Lower them creaking doors. Lower, lower, until they clack down onto the frame. Until you slip that chain through the handles and click down the great, big padlock to keep them shut. Keep them down there, screaming in the dark.

You find Gandrel’s neck.

You start chewing.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[mortalmab]

I’m not done talking about Beware of Chicken, actually. This book has a thruple that is only subtext by the skin of its fucking teeth and only subtext if you have no critical reading skills (character A referring to character B as his wife while character D tells character A and C to have a nice time on their date. A making a comment about ‘it’s nice to come home after visiting other hen’s coops’ and then realizes it sounds like he went and sleep around while B and C turn to ‘give him the gimlet eye’)

Like, the only reason I call it subtext and not just textual is because the text does not explicitly state that the three of them are in a romantic relationship and I know how the reading comprehension on this webbed site is.

And yet there are no jealousy arcs, no double dealing, none of that bullshit. Just wholesome polyamory.

Then it has another thruple explicitly stated in a flashback where we get this one ancient emperor’s whole life story from his POV.

And to FURTHER make my poly little heart beat in paroxysms of joy, the main character (Jin) has the best most badass wonderful wife (Meiling)…and Meimei will not stop flirting with the cultivator woman (Xiulan) who is repeatedly described as the most beautiful woman anyone has ever seen. Like “You are always welcome in our bed, Xiulan,” and “I’ll get you in my bed one day!” And just a constant tease and flirt while Jin just sighs and allows random strangers to think Xiulan is his wife so they don’t treat her like a piece of ass - which leads to his own wife getting mistaken for the maid and she never gets mad about this, just eggs them on. She is GUNNING for this poly triad or at LEAST to have a second partner herself.

Meanwhile, Xiulan is SO ace-coded (to me). Possibly also aro-coded, but I’m not gonna stake my life on it. She just rolls her eyes at Meimei or she and Jin team up to tease Meimei, and then she snuggles with her in the bath while they take an opportunity to ogle Jin together. This is the slowest of slow burns and if something isn’t canonized I’m eat my phone. Everyone who meets them (who knows Meimei is the wife) assumes Xiulan is his concubine - even her own father!

I do not often see this much positive poly representation in such a wholesome book and I squeal every time it happens. There is so much more but I want y’all to read it yourselves.

[the0retically]

The Suckening thoughts-#6 Meet Your Maker:

Spoilers below but my god that was a cool episode

- The intros get crazier and crazier and I love it

- Part 2?? Oh!! Goodness I have no idea how many episodes there will be of this and I’m so Scared because they all said it emotionally destroyed them

- …why are they spending this long on this intro,,,,please

- GOD THE MUSIC SLAPS SO MUCH NATHAN HANOVER THANK YOU FOR MAKING AN AMAZING SCORE

- GREFGORE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CHARLIE PLEASE

- Emizel’s “I HAVE QUESTIONS!” makes me So sad

- “Arthur do you see Grefgore anywhere?” SHILOOOOOOO :((((((

- “Arthur please just wait for like 45 minutes” “….is there a pet store nearby” PLEASE??

- SIBLING BONDING EXERCISE!!

- God why are they going back in????

- Ok yeah cat emizel, he has claws

- This is a nightmare what the hell, but good! Go get Grefgore!

- SHILO?? GO WITH YOUR BROTHER

- They’re just redoing it??????? Y’all pleaseeeeee…Charlie’s just like “yeah this will be Exactly the same!!”

- “What is another life for Grefgore!” Shilo I love you, thank god you’re going to try and get him

- And god emizel is Alone what the hell

- And they had to leave Condi alone goodness

- NO! THATS THE QUESTION HE WANTS ANSWERED?? brooooooo

- Ok that entire exchange made me so sad, he lost when him and the demons got their hideout, sure he was able to get Grefgore back (LETS GOOOOOOOOO!!!!!) but he Still does not have an answer to why he was abandoned and Shilo got to stay :((((( emizel buddy :(((

- Rip Arthur Petco is closed

- BIZLY IS SO HAPPY ABOUT GREFGORE BEING BACK!

- ……….weird digital glitching?? Excuse me?

- Also god why is Shilo’s aura mortal

- Awwwwwww shilo goes to hug grefgore!!

- “Can vampires regrow their heads?” “……………….what?” Oh god Grizz please don’t cut grefgore’s head off

- “Permission to hug you back my prince?” “Of course!” “Big day for grefgore!” PLEASE :)))

- “You still have many hours for the night” “is that true?” “….yeah?? No! You caught me in one of my DM lies!” iconic exchange

- Oh my god what is happening with this poor nurse, just let her go!!

- Oh god now this has become a sitcom bit what is happening, shilo is just concerned for this woman’s life but emizel and Arthur are trying to get her to get Vanya’s schedule

- :( Arthur telling the boys they don’t have to come with is Very sad

- “If Grefgore is truly a burden to you then I shall go get blood” GREFGORE NO YOURE NOT A BURDEN

- No vents? Damn rip

- Thank god no Arthur frenzy

- LAZARUS????? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

- He’s in the toilet???

- Oh a little family reunion!

- ……….why is this sus, is that really Lazarus?

- WHY IS HE PUSHING A PHEASANT THROUGH THE TOILET PORTAL?

- Charlie’s curse as a DM is just making insane animal noises

- …..is shilo allergic to birds?? Why is he sneezing bizly please let him enjoy the bird

- “Well it is what it is!” LAZARUS PLEASE

- The chaos of the twins to the seriousness of Arthur is Such a juxtaposition

- Oh…Arthur killed his family, god this is heartbreaking

- “Why did you use me?” “Because it was the most effective way” GOD PLEASE

- God props to Charlie and Grizz for this whole interaction, I love this

- OH STAKE RIGHT THROUGH HER HEART

- Arthur popping off, it’s incredibly sad but good for you! Burn her!!!!!! She’s the reason your family is dead, kill her!!!!

- Arthur I love you I’m so sorry your life has been this tragic

- EMIZEL DID NOT ANSWER AND SAY “YELLOW?”

- Jonny???? Oh god, why is there a hit on the demons??

- Thank god soda isn’t there! Please Charlie say soda isn’t there

- HA GRIZZ REALIZING THAT EMIZEL FORGOT THE GANG WAS SO GOOD

- But emizel remembers Theo at least!! That’s good!

- SHILO IS GETTING THE OLD PEOPLE TO BEAT UP EMIZELS SIRE????? IM CRYING OH MY GOD

- What???? Metal???? What is up with this vampire

- Please tell me emizel isn’t going to die again

- Why did they leave Grefgore behind???

- “YOU SHOULD’VE JUST LET ME SUCK YOU MAN!” “WELL I’M SORRY I SUCKED BACK!” ????????

- SHILO RALLY THE OLD PEOPLE!!!!!

- Charlie is that old man Earl????

- EMIZEL IS DEAD AGAIN??????

- “The Wylan twins send their regards” ??????? HUH??

- Shilo is just a sweet boy :( but GET OUT OF THERE

- SHILO GETS HIT TOO?

- “Next session is going to be the adventures of Arthur and Grefgore!”

- Shilo please get out of there

- GOOD RUN!! GET OUT OF THERE

- SHILO PLEASE YOU CANNOT DIE

- WHAT THE HELL

- TAKE GOD FOR REFLEXIVE HEALING

- MINUS FIVE TO EVERY ROLL??

- HE MADE IT! HE SACRIFICED THE OLD PEOPLE HES BLEEDING OUT BUT HES OK!!

- EMIZEL HI??

- Get out of the sun my boy!!

- Oh,,,,,,,oh no?? He has no arms or legs oh my god, he’s tied to a chair and his mouth is sewn shut????

- HORROR HORROR HORROR

- CHARLIE WHAT THE FUCK

- WHAT THE HELL??

- I don’t know why this encounter with the twins and emizel is the most terrified I’ve been with Charlie dming, holy shit

- WAIT EDWARD TWILIGHT?????? WHAT THE FUCK?????

- Emizel I love you, biting off your own tongue to spit at them is amazing he’s so iconic

- Viv and Vex,,,,,interesting

- GOD EMIZEL I LOVE YOU YOURE BADASS

- 7! God please don’t lose more I’m getting scared

- BUT GOD A GREAT EPISODE

[lurkingshan]

Step by Step Episode 11 (OF DOOM)

Warning: I really, really did not like this episode. If you’re trying to keep positive vibes you should scroll on by, friends! 

Welp. I told a few friends last week that my biggest disappointment would be if, after missing the mark on the emotional payoff of the slow burn and speed running the relationship, the show chose to break them up and do a time jump rather than staying with them in the present time and working through the conflicts they set up. And here we are! I wish I’d been wrong about where this was heading. Shouts to @waitmyturtles and @neuroticbookworm for holding me down while this show fell apart on me, I’ve been all in a tizzy about it, because I really loved it for awhile there.

This episode, yet again, felt like a disjointed mess. After last week’s cliffhanger, the idea of Pat resigning to get away from the predatory office gossip fell away within a few quick scenes. Instead the tension disappeared as the plot brought them into a bubble with only their most supportive colleagues and we swerved into a retread of the Put nonsense and a new plot about Jeng and Pat fighting to save the digital marketing team via the power of Put’s quasi-celebrity and Instagram likes. Or something. I honestly couldn’t tell you the details of what they were trying to accomplish, I was too distracted by my incredulity to pay close attention to this very sudden fake problem that they were obviously going to conquer (that, my friends, is what we call conflict with no stakes). Meanwhile, the show suddenly wants me to care about Jaab and Jen again - enough to devote a big portion of the penultimate episode’s runtime to them, what a choice - after doing fuck all with that plot for six weeks. It’s a no from me. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, because soon enough we’re time skipping again! After resolving the work challenge subplot we speed past another three months of Pat and Jeng’s relationship without addressing any of their issues, and I guess I’m supposed to be at peace with being a full nine months into their relationship with no onscreen emotional advancement? But I gotta be honest, y’all. I am not. You just don’t do this with a slow burn romance narrative. You can’t spend 80% of your runtime building to something that you have no intention of paying off, and no amount of thinking about what else this show is trying to say is going to convince me they did proper justice to the relationship. I already broke down why I didn’t think the episode 10 culmination got us there, and nothing that happened in this episode changed my opinion.

And all of this is leading to yet another time jump - two entire years this time - after the big reveal that Jeng doesn’t believe in Pat at all and literally bought his success, Evil Daddy knew it all along and waited for a choice moment to deploy the info for maximum damage while twirling his villain mustache, and Pat is finally quitting for real and dumping Jeng for good measure.

And ya know what? GOOD FOR PAT. I was completely on his side in this decision. If there’s one bright spot in this episode (other than Chot, always Chot) it’s Pat getting himself together enough to realize he deserves better than the bullshit he’s been getting from Put and Jeng and walking on out. So Jeng and Pat are now broken up, but I never got invested in their relationship in the first place, because we barely saw it, let alone got the chance to live in and feel it. I wasn’t even upset while watching this breakup scene - it left me emotionally indifferent. Which is maybe the worst thing I can say about a dramatic climax in a story.

I guess next week we’ll meet Jeng and Pat again two years in the future and get some kind of happy ending. I’m gonna stick around for the finale and cross my fingers that we get all the epilogue fluff we have definitely earned, but sadly, this show has lost me.

[zora-salazar-daily]

Not a daily Zora but I wanted it to be said.

I know some of y’all literally want me skinned and burned at the stake because you think I’m mischaracterizing Zora or making stuff for her that’s “out of character.” However, I’ve put way too much thought into these headcanons and ideas for here, and honestly, sometimes it’s just me projecting because I find so much comfort and relatability in Zora, I think she’d do some similar things to me, and it’s just really comfy and validating. Sorry if that’s upsetting, that’s not my intention at all, and any “mischaracterization” is me just overthinking small details, taking certain lines too seriously, or just looking for comfort and validation.

And I know joking about my mischaracterization can be funny and such, but sometimes it does hurt my very fragile feelings, especially when people actually get really aggressive about it?! I’ve honestly just gotten brave enough to really talk and post about her again, so if my post isn’t your cup of tea, please just scroll past or even block.

Please don’t skin me Epithet nation, I’m begging, I’m super duper sorry.

I didn’t want to make a post like this and look like a snowflake begging for y’all to go easy on me, but I had someone DM me recently some ✨not very nice things✨ about a certain Zora drawing, and I’ve probably been unreasonably upset about it the last few days, but-

Yeah-

Please let me live :’)

[0lk0s]

#BEING A BITCH IS NOT A CRIME

something that gets me is when acotar girlies say they understand nesta is traumatised but that doesn’t excuse how she treats her loved ones blah blah blah.

now tell me please what exactly is so terrible about her behaviour? no go ahead because y’all are the same freaks that are willing to defend men even though they’re murderers, abusers, rapists, etc but the moment a woman is spiteful mean bitch, y’all ready to burn her on a stake👁️👄👁️

do we see where lies the issue? and yes they can swear on their dead mothers that it’s not because of misogyny but it is! they have double-standards and it’s time they confront their internalised misogyny!!!

[restinslices]

Crows As Vampires

Idk why I chose that gif-. Anyway I have had no inspiration or motivation to do anything. The mental illness is hitting. I am on my knees begging y’all to let me have this😭. No one’s born a vampire cause I don’t think vampires should be able to reproduce and in this universe how you’re changed determines what kind of vampire you are. I’ll explain later.

Kaz Brekker 

Kaz has screwed over plenty of people in his life. That's how life is as a criminal and he was damn good at it. Almost an expert. 

Almost being the keyword 

Kaz screwed over the wrong person. Unbeknownst to him, this person was actually a witch. The witch cursed him to have these symptoms we would call “vampirism”

Immortality so he would watch everyone he loves die. A lust for blood since he was a leech that led others like a lamb to a slaughter. Burning in the sun so he could stay a rat in the shadows. Ect. Ect. 

This would've been terrible for anyone else, but this is Kaz Brekker we're talking about. 

Also this isn't how nature works. Things can't be only good or only bad so nature gave him a few perks. 

All it took was some practicing and getting used to then boom, he was living his best life. 

He doesn't need the cane anymore, but he keeps it to trick others. 

Genuinely thinks the witch that cursed him is the dumbest person ever because all the weaknesses he can get around. The sun? He doesn't go outside much and can have others do shit for him. Holy water? Does this man look like he goes to church? A wooden stake? What are the chances? Garlic? He prefers onion powder-

He's a traditional vampire so blood tastes good no matter what. I don't know if he'd go hunting himself though. He'd probably have another Crow bring him something, like bringing the homie Wendy's if you just got some. 

Best part of vampirism is probably the animal control. It's the perfect distraction and this man is nuts so he'd probably have a rat jump on somebody with a phobia. 

I'd say hypnosis but I feel like Kaz enjoys the thrill he gets from outsmarting everyone. Hypnosis would be so boring to him. It'd only be used if he absolutely needed to. 

I think the part of vampirism he'd struggle with the most would be the feeding though. Not out of guilt but too many dead bodies make people raise a brow and that would affect business. 

Kaz would prefer feeding on people who don't really have anyone. I know you're thinking “duh! That's so obvious! Who wouldn't?”. Jesper. More on him later though. 

Kaz wants to go after opponents but knows that'll stir too much shit up. 

I wanna say he refuses to feed on kids ‘cause it'd remind him of him and Jordie but this is the same man who threatened a little girl and said he'd kill all her dogs just to make sure she wouldn't snitch. And when Wylan was like “that's not ok” he was like “I could've killed her and made it look like an accident”, so idk. Man is deranged. 

Kaz has red eyes because… uhhh… I want him to. 

I think vampires should have another face when they feed and his gotta be the scariest. This is The Bastard of The Barrel we're talking about here. You gotta feel fear in your veins. 

Overall, he's enjoying vampirism. Big mistake giving this man powers. 

Inej Ghafa

Inej would get turned when she's at the Menagerie 

One of the regulars came in but he was off. He was way more jumpy and sensitive to things. Inej knocked something over and instead of annoyance, he seemed to be in pain. Like his ears hurt. 

She didn't say anything though. Tante Heleen would kill her. 

Suddenly the man attacked her and bit her. She screamed but he covered her mouth with his hand. Inej did the only thing she could think of and bit his hand hard, drawing blood. The man was in pain and after a short fight, he snapped her neck and killed her. 

Weirdly though, Inej woke up after some time. It made no sense to anyone. Not to the other girls, Tante Heleen, the doctor, anyone. Inej should've been dead. Instead all she did was crack her neck and describe the guy who did it. 

The next day Kaz Brekker came and she introduced herself. The day after that, she no longer worked for Tante Heleen. 

Turns out the vampire who attacked her was a newborn. He had some of the vampire strengths, like advanced speed and strength but he also still had human qualities. Like human skin, instead of the impenetrable skin older vampires have. Kaz was hunting him down because his uncontrolled killings were causing a ruckus, that's when he met Inej and noticed something was off about her. She smelt like death.  

Inej turned instead of dying because when she bit him, it drew blood and she ended up swallowing it. Drinking a vampire's blood then dying was another way to be turned. 

Because she was terrified when it all happened, as a vampire blood tastes better if it's from someone scared. The more scared they are, the better. If she drinks normal blood, it tastes fine but it doesn't make her as strong or taste as good as blood from someone frightened. 

Inej doesn't really like going out of her way to scare the shit outta someone. Don't get me wrong, Inej ain't no punk but she sees it as “I'm scaring people for my own benefit? No thanks”. 

During her newborn stage, Inej was not fucking with it at all. There were benefits but she hated the idea of murder. The only reason she started drinking is because she was starving and Kaz threw a random person in the room. When she snapped out of it, she was horrified and she was angry because Kaz knew what he was doing. 

So she attempted to run away but the problem was the hunger obviously didn't stop. One day she saw a man she knew frequented the Menagerie. A man who was extremely abusive and had cut and injured the girls plenty of times. Again, she got angry. So angry she stalked and killed him. 

A lightbulb went off. She didn't wanna scare innocent people but abusers? They weren't innocent. So that's who she targeted. Oh and obviously she returned to the Crow Club. 

Only problem with abusers is unfortunately they have money and people looking at them so she can't go after a lot of them which leaves her back to drinking regular human blood. Sometimes she drinks from animals or steals blood bags. 

Best part of vampirism is how nimble she is. Sure she was a great acrobat before but her speed and agility change is the best to her. She could do so much more without worrying about forever losing her legs in a stupid accident. 

She's called a spider for a reason. 

I don't even think she'd care for the other powers. Yeah they're there and she'll use them but she's not too concerned. 

Worst part I think is the feeding but not for the same reasons as Kaz. Inej has a guilty conscience and she's also religious. I think the fact that she has to take innocent lives (when she can't get to bad people) would make her feel cursed. Like the Saints were against her or didn't hear her prayers anymore. How could she claim her heart belonged to them when her heart didn't even beat anymore? She was sinning often. It's not like killing on a job, that's when your back's against the wall. She's literally killing for her own selfish needs. 

It'd take her a while to come to terms that she's killing for survival and she never asked to become a vampire in the first place. 

Once she comes to terms with that I honestly don't see her using her powers for straight nonsense. She uses them to get jobs done and feeds when she has to. She's probably the one bringing Kaz take out when he's too lazy. 

Idk why but I feel like she'd have purple eyes. I don't have a reason. Just roll with me. 

Overall, she'd have conflicting feelings. The first couple years would be rough but she'd learn to embrace it. 

Jesper Fahey

Jesper is my favorite Crow and my favorite in the entire show but my poor babe is not all the way there sometimes. He's not dumb by any means but ya know, sometimes he's in a silly goofy mood. 

Jesper was turned when he was in college. Keep in mind, my boy was only there for what? A WEEK?

He lost at a game of cards and instead of beating him they were like “there's this book that a dead witch supposedly wrote. There's a ritual and everything, you gotta do it or pay me”. 

Jesper was like “bet, I ain't no hoe” (probably not with those words) and did the stupid ritual which consisted of blood, rain water and some chanting and nothing happened, much to the disappointment of his college pals and him. The ritual was supposed to give him powers or something. Too bad. 

Something weird started happening. Jesper was a funny guy and liked socializing but he swore he started feeling more energy course through him when he made everyone laugh. And when he walked outside, the sun burned. It left a mark and everything. 

He started skipping classes to avoid the sun and the kids he knew were too busy to constantly visit him. Since he was alone for a couple days, he felt incredibly hungry. 

One late night he was walking to get food when a lady fell hard. Jesper, being nice, ran over to help. That's when he noticed the smell of blood and it smelt amazing. Long story short, he ended up attacking her. When he realized what happened, he took a closer look at that book. He realized they didn't inform him about the negative side effects. And sure, he somewhat got it. What were the chances of it working? But since they made him do that instead of paying up, they knew there could've been a possibility of everything going left. 

He had no idea what was happening and ended up leaving college. Not only was he out of money (that's why he was so glad he wouldn't have to pay) but he worried about who else he would attack. He ended up working for gangs and as we know, Kaz found him. 

They ended up finding out that Jesper was special. Jesper was always the main focus in a crowd so when he became a vampire, that ability turned him into an emotional vampire. He didn't have to hunt people down and feed the old fashioned way. He could feed on people by absorbing their emotions when they felt a strong emotion, such as happiness. It made him feel amazing but it made them feel drained and depending on how much he took, they could faint. 

Now he could always just bite people but absorbing emotions is bigger. 

Best part of vampirism is hypnosis. If he's well fed and feeling strong, he can just hypnotize his gambling opponent into letting him win. 

Worst part is probably the sunlight. Jesper likes nighttime, don't get me wrong, but the fact that he's limited to only moving around at night is nuts to him. Since he shouldn't be doing it, he wants to do it more.

Jesper has to be reeled in by Kaz when it comes to feeding cause Jesper honestly will go after anyone. The more challenging, the more fun. He has to constantly be reminded that the more challenging, the more chance of being caught.  

He also reminds him that he doesn't have to bite people to feed but Jesper sometimes just likes the rush. 

Probably makes a bunch of vampire puns and Kaz is tired of his shit. 

He'd be even more on edge when it comes to his dad. It'd be even more of a reason to never see him again. He would only think about it when he 100% had his hunger under control. 

Idk what eye color he'd have tbh

Overall likes being a vampire but the side effects are there. 

Nina Zenik

After Nina took Parem, things didn't look good. It was obvious to everyone that Nina was dying. 

Nina was in the know when it came to vampires. She honestly didn't care and didn't have any interest at first. But as she sat there slowly dying, she wondered what life would've been like if she asked to be bit. 

The Saints seem to be listening because Inej walked in and said she wanted to help her. Nina knew how she'd help. 

Inej was getting closer and Nina couldn't help but feel nervous. Suddenly though, she saw Matthias. Inej simply made her think she was Matthias, but Nina was so delirious that she actually thought it was him. She thought of their life together so far and what they could have in the future. Her thoughts started to slip towards something more lustful and that's when “Matthias” shoved “his” bloodied arm at her. She drank it then her neck was quickly broken. 

She awoke soon after, beginning her new life. 

Nina is a sexual vampire, meaning blood tastes the best when it's someone experiencing feelings of lust or orgasming. 

Matthias experiences lust for Nina and has said she can drink from him but she doesn't trust herself. She's worried she got him out of Hellgate only to kill him later on. 

Instead she flirts with unsuspecting men and women. No sex obviously and they don't taste as good as they could but just that little bit of lust adds something to their blood. 

Best part of vampirism would be immortality. She's living forever with her family and doesn't have to worry about getting sick or dying again. 

Immortality is also the worst part. Matthias has always said he has no interest in being a vampire and the thought of him dying makes her think she should've let herself die on the boat (until she changes him against his will but moving on-)

Probably targets men and women with low level jobs. Like the people who guard doors of some building, rich people go to. Or fishermen. People whose disappearance can just be chalked up to them being irresponsible. 

Being a vampire is kinda in the middle for her. Not great but not terrible. Sometimes she wants to go outside during the day and can't. Sometimes she wants to eat something like garlic bread and can't. Sometimes she wants to wear silver jewelry and can't. It can be a real pain. 

When Matthias is human she treats him like he's delicate, because compared to her, he is. They arm wrestle and he's down for the count. 

The stereotype is that vampires sleep in a coffin but with how big Matthias is? Yeah, no. They'll just sleep in a dark room. 

Nina doesn't exactly want kids, but with Matthias she wouldn't mind them. Now they can't have them at all though and that choice being taken away isn't fun. Honestly any choice now taken away rubs her the wrong way. 

I feel like her eyes would also be red like Kaz. 

Overall is half and half about vampirism. 

Matthias Helvar 

As we all know, Matthias ends up dying in Crooked Kingdom. He didn't want it to happen, but he accepted it. He knew this would be the end. 

Imagine his surprise when he woke up months later. 

Turns out Nina wanted to turn Matthias into a vampire but acted too late. She ended up finding a witch who was willing to do a ritual to return his spirit to his body. Side effects would be symptoms of vampirism. 

As you can imagine, Matthias was very unhappy. Nina didn't have the excuse of “oh I panicked”. No. She found a witch and instead of asking for her future to be told, she whipped out his corpse. 

As a vampire Matthias is a soul vampire. When he feeds it decreases the lifespan of his victim, sometimes even killing them. As he gets older he learns he doesn't even have to bite his victims, but he does have to be close to them. 

It'd probably take years before he forgave Nina. Matthias, like Inej, is religious and thinks Djel can't hear him anymore because of what's happened. 

For awhile he can't see a positive to this situation. When he comes around to it and starts accepting it though, I think he'd enjoy that he's strong enough to continuously help people. 

Negative is everything for a while. Especially the fact he can't be near any holy items. Also immortality. Human lives are supposed to end, now his can't end without it being extremely painful. 

Feeding wouldn't be easy for him either. Not biting them allows him to disconnect but he still knows what he's doing and that's hard for him.

He eventually would forgive Nina but would never forget what happened. 

His eyes would remain blue but it'd be a lighter and more glowy (?) blue

Doesn't wanna participate in any vampire stereotypes. No coffin, no dark colors, none of that. 

His feeding is the most discrete. Jesper's could be too but we know him. Matthias just kind of hangs around and feeds until he's full enough. 

Matthias also drinks the souls of animals. It doesn't feed him as quickly or make him as strong but he was already a big and strong guy. 

Overall is not having a good time. I think it would take years for him to accept his new life. After that, he's not exactly happy. He's just accepted it is what it is. 

Wylan Van Eck

Wylan had a terrible relationship with his father, we know that. What everyone didn't know was that the family was holding a huge secret; Jan Van Eck was a vampire. He was turned after Alys became pregnant and thought things were great. Now he could be an asshole forever 

Van Eck noticed how much better he felt so he thought if he bit Wylan, he'd be cursed of his dyslexia and could read. 

He was wrong. Dyslexia isn't a physical injury so nothing happened. This made him angry and ended up leading him to hire people to kill Wylan on the boat to Ketterdam. As we know, Wylan escaped. Van Eck was sure he'd die because of lack of food or be exposed and killed. Either was good to him. 

Wylan didn't die though. Wylan had only been a vampire for a month so his control over his thirst was terrible. He didn't wanna hurt people so he tried to stay away and hunt animals. 

Not hurting people was easier said than done though. Ketterdam is full of people and jobs require you being around people. As you can imagine, there were a few slip ups. 

Kaz recruited him not only to make bombs but also because Inej caught him feeding on someone. He just didn't notice she was there. 

Once Wylan has his thirst under control, he prefers blood bags instead of actually hunting and hurting people. 

He isn't sure what his favorite part of vampirism is since the things he loves doing (chemistry and music) don't require any vampire things. He likes telepathy once he knows how to block his own thoughts from people. It's efficient being able to “whisper” to other people and Wylan is a bit nosey. When you're gonna live forever, you're gonna wanna hear drama. 

I think his least favorite part wouldn't be a specific part of vampirism. He'd just hate how he used to be. Whenever he thinks about how little control he had, it'd scare him. It shows how much of a monster he can be and he doesn't want that. 

I wanna give everyone red eyes but I'll say his are orange or yellow. Why? Idk. 

The type of vampire that legit forgets he's a vampire. Inej is like “want me to bring you back something to eat?” and he's like “oh sure. I heard this new spot just opened-”. 

Probably was gonna walk outside for a casual walk and another Crow had to grab him by the collar and pull him inside. 

“What's wrong?” “Wylan. The sun.” “What about it?.... oh”

This isn't me saying he's dumb, he just genuinely forgets. His mind is on other stuff all the time. 

Vampires become his hyper fixation and he starts saying random ass myths about vampires at all hours 

“Did you know people used to believe that you could trick a vampire by throwing things like rice at it? Supposedly it'd be compelled to count them all” “It’s 2am Wylan. Enough is enough”

Overall I don't think he has a strong opinion on being a vampire. Having his little family makes enjoying this new life easier. 

idk why this in particular finally gave me inspiration, but FINALLY my mind isn’t completely blank.

[captain-mj]

I'm here to formally beg for more price x graves. I'm talking toe-curling, unholy, depraved smut, go wild MJ

Y’all remember this blurb? Alright, I’m expanding on it

~~~~

Price looked at Graves, glaring. He was in his bed, legs slightly spread, hat off. Pissed didn’t begin to cover the emotion he was feeling at the time. Graves was standing in front of him, avoiding his eye carefully. He shuffled back and forth but didn’t speak as Price lit one of his cigars. 

“You’re on thin ice with pretty much everyone right now. You understand that right? I’ve had to convince Laswell and half the goddamn government to not burn you at the stake.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you mouth off in front of them. Really? You thought that was the best idea?”

“I thought the idea presented was... lacking.” Graves finally met his gaze, still being a fucking brat. 

“Your fucking job is to listen to me right now. I’m trying to drag your reputation out of the mud.” Price was so frustrated. He had experience with people like Graves. Hell, Ghost and Soap both were documented criminals. Not just war crimes either. And he had handpicked them to be on his team. It was a difficult process, but he had done it before, but Graves seemed determined to just be a fucking brat and...

Price narrowed his eyes at him, looking him over. Down his body before slowly drifting back to his face. 

Graves blushed when he noticed, but he didn’t look away. He swallowed hard and...

“Are you trying to make me angry?” Price almost smiled. That was interesting. Not completely new, but he hadn’t expected it from Graves. 

“Why would I do that?” Graves mumbled. “Stupid idea, isn’t it?” 

Price stood up immediately. He was suddenly very glad he did this in his bedroom instead of his office. “You know, commander, its funny. Thanks to the Shadows, you certainly had a little power trip, huh?” He stood over him, using the height difference to his advantage. “Got used to being in control?” He stood just close enough that Graves had to tilt his head to look up at him.

“I am a self made man after all.”

“Ah. That’s right.” He grabbed him by his hair and spoke softly. “Do you want this? Do you want me to put you back in your place?”

Graves flushed more, mouth opening slightly. “You... You can’t talk to me like that.” He sounded so unsure. 

Price leaned forward, gently putting his hand around his throat. Graves leaned into it and his eyes fluttered shut. “Is this what you want? Someone to put you back in your place?”

Graves kept his eyes closed, but he nodded this time. 

Price smiled. “I need words, love.”

“Yes, sir. I want this.” Graves said softly, opening his eyes to look at Price’s lips. 

“Good. Just tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good, now undress.” 

Graves followed the order with shaking hands. 

“So long with everything under your control. When was the last time you listened to someone else’s orders?” Price watched him, enjoying every inch of skin he showed. Graves hesitated at his underwear, looking up at him. Price just nodded and those joined the rest of the clothes. He watched as Graves folded them up neatly and set them on the dresser. His hands went to cover himself but Price tsked at him and he quickly put them by his sides. 

Graves started to turn red under Price’s scrutiny, watching the smoke from the cigar. He shivered slightly.

“Cold?’

“No, sir.” Graves spoke softly, all the normal bravado just gone from his voice. 

“Nervous?” Price cooed. 

Graves turned a brighter shade of red. “Are you just going to stand there? Or are you actually going to put me in my place?” Price knew the game now. Graves could try all he wanted, but Price wouldn’t take the bait.

He moved closer, cupping his face with his thumb tracing the scar. 

“You’re really pretty when you’re quiet.” 

Graves scoffed at him. “Fuck you.” 

Price picked him up by his waist. Rather easily honestly. He tossed him onto the bed. 

Graves gasped and looked up at him. “Could you go throw me around this whole time?” 

“You’re pretty light. It’s really not that hard.” Price smiled at him, grabbing his legs and pulling him closer so their hips were flush together, Price still fully dressed.. Graves looked up at him with a healthy amount of fear and arousal. “Do you like that?”

Graves quickly looked away, nodding. His legs trembled slightly in his hands and Price had him wrap them around his waist. He blew smoke in Graves’s face and heard him whine. 

Price laughed and carefully pushed two fingers into his mouth. Graves started to suck on them immediately. His tongue swirled one and then the other, getting them both wet. He pulled them away and carefully pushed one of them into him. He whistled.

“Jesus, you’re tight.” Price pushed his finger in deeper, getting another whine from him.

“Would’ve prepped myself if I knew I’d actually get you in bed with me.” Graves said softly. “Didn’t realize it would be so easy.” 

Price shoved another finger into him, enjoying the sharp cry he got in return. “Says the person who practically threw themselves at me. If I asked you to beg, you would.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Graves snapped at him, even while he pushed himself back on his fingers. He said it as if he was naked in Price’s bed.

“You know, I could just do this all night. Take it real, real slow. I’m sure you’d take it to. You’ll take any attention you can get from me.” Graves turned a darker red and Price realized he fucking had him. “That’s it huh? Do you get hard when I yell at you? Do you think about it late at night while you’re doing this to yourself?” He scissored his fingers, pleased with how sensitive Graves was. He gasped and his hips canted up, trying to get more. 

“From now on, you’re going to listen and I’m going to take you in here and do whatever I want to you.” 

Graves tried to respond and Price dug his fingers right into his prostate, making him choke on the words.

“You’re going to learn eventually that I’m your captain. I control what you do. I own you.” He managed to get Graves to whimper with just his fingers, crooking them and pressing in. “Understood?”

Graves nodded helplessly, body arching. 

“Words, sweetheart.” Price noticed him short-circuit at the nickname. Watched him melt into a puddle.

“Understood, sir.” His accent was thick. Price recognized it a little better, something distinctly southern US. It was endearing. 

“You like being my sweetheart, huh?” Graves whimpered at the words, staring at Price’s uniform and biting his lip. He nodded slowly and reached down, grabbing at his belt. He looked up, eyes wide and pleading. Price felt all the blood from his brain go straight to his cock. He reached down and unbuckled it before pushing his pants down. 

“Aren’t you going to take the rest off? What if it gets stained?” 

“I can clean it. Plus, I think you like me in my uniform.” Price patted his thigh condescendingly. 

Graves flushed more and looked away. 

Slowly, Price pushed into him, groaning softly. He leaned down, kissing him forcefully. Graves opened his mouth immediately, deepening the kiss. 

“Fuck, you’re a lot bigger than I was expecting.” Graves whimpered out. Price kissed down his neck, thrusting in slowly. He was so incredibly tight around him, letting out the smallest little whimpers as Price stretched him out. Once he bottomed out, he had to take a second to collect himself. 

“You okay?” Price checked in, not wanting to hurt him too badly.

“’M fine. Keep going.” Graves wrapped his arms around him, moaning loudly when he started to move. Price quickly covered his mouth, not wanting the whole base to know. He started to thrust into him, but Graves kept whimpering, nails digging into his back.

Price pulled back and went through his drawers until he found the gag. He tied it around his head and started to fuck him harder. The pressure on his cock was fucking fantastic.

“Tap twice if you need me to stop alright?”

Graves nodded and Price’s put both hands on either side of his head, fucking into him hard. Graves grabbed his wrists and wrapped his legs around him again. Price found his prostate and luckily the gag kept him muffled. He started to slam into it, watching him tear up. 

“There you go. Should keep you gagged all the time.”

Graves glared at him, but it wasn’t very effective. He bit around the gag and reached up to mess with Price’s hair. He tugged it experimentally and Price growled at him. 

Graves smirked (kinda) and did it again. Price proceeded to shove his legs almost to his chest, folding him in half, and fucking him harder. The new angle seemed to do something for Graves because he let go of his hair to grab his shoulders desperately. Harsh sobs were wrenched out of him, but all Price could really focus on was how it felt to finally put him back in his place. The fact that he got to fuck him was a very, very good perk though. 

Price felt Graves’s tensing underneath him, but he didn’t signal he needed to stop, so he kept going. Graves felt like a livewire underneath him. Strong muscles all coiled right underneath his skin. He tried to guide one of Price’s hands to his cock, but he ignored it and pinned both his hands above his head so he couldn’t touch himself either. 

Graves whined and tears ran down his face. Price panted softly, wishing he could take a picture. Or keep him like this all the time. 

“You either come like this or not at all.” Price ordered. “You can do that, right?” 

Graves sobbed and nodded desperately, clenching around him. The flush was growing again. And Price couldn’t let him keep walking around completely unmarked. He forced him to tilt his head and sucked a harsh hickey right under his jaw. 

Price felt Graves somehow tense more before he came, clenching hard around him as his body went taut. Price fucked him through it, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin of his shoulder as he came in him. 

Price grabbed Graves’s face hard. “There you go. Finally learned your place huh?”

Graves whimpered around the gag.

“Good boy. One more round should make sure you don’t forget too quickly.” Price smiled at him, gently running his fingers along his chest. 

Graves whimpered harder and shook his head. Price looked at him, giving him a moment to tap out, but Graves didn’t, just relaxed to submit himself to more. 

Price kissed along his neck, giving them both a small reprieve. He made more marks around the bite and he hoped it would last a while. 

Graves leaned his head back and moaned softly. 

“Still so loud. Gonna have to get a better gag.” Price kissed his cheek, rolling his hips. Graves whimpered, still sensitive. 

He started slow because he wanted to draw this part out. Wanted to make Graves mewl like a fucking kitten. 

“Think you can be a bit more quiet now?”

Graves nodded so Price took the gag out, kissing him again now that he could. They kept kissing as Price rolled his hips and gently thrust in, making Graves whimper and whine. 

Graves bit gently into Price’s bottom lip. He visibly softened when Price looked at him and he pulled him close. 

Price eventually started to stroke him, making sure he finished first. He finished inside him again and pulled out slowly. 

“Feel better, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir.” 

[direwombat]

a possessive kiss that is meant to stake a claim . + Sybille and Jacob?

another installment of me chipping my way through the prompts in my askbox. have a late-game katc moment where the gang (guns for hire) find out that syb's a peggie now :)

2.2k

It isn’t uncommon for Sybille to disappear for days on end. 

She’s a private person who values her alone time, and considering how much she’s done for the county since Joseph declared the Reaping, Grace is willing to grant her privacy. Without her, John would still be terrorizing the Holland Valley, and Faith — or, Rachel, as she’s going by nowadays — would still be infecting everyone’s minds with Bliss. Without Sybille, the Resistance wouldn’t have been able to organize in the way that they have. 

Without her, they’d still be fighting for survival, rather than making the organized efforts in dethroning Joseph Seed from his reign of terror. She stepped up when no one else would and became the leader the county needed. 

The poor woman has been to Hell and back more times than Grace cares to count. The woman works herself to the bone and barely sleeps. If she decides she needs some time to disconnect and get some rest, Grace isn’t going to stop her. 

Even machines break down if they’re not taken care of properly. 

But, after going a week without hearing from her, Grace starts getting antsy, and after another few days of radio silence, she decides to take matters into her own hands. 

She has a map of the Whitetails spread out over the table of one of the booths at the 8-Bit, desperately trying to get Nick, Hurk and Sharky to fucking pay attention. Last she heard, Sybille was in the Whitetails, which means that odds are she’s being held prisoner at the Veterans Center. And that means doing recon is essential. 

Jacob Seed is fucking smart. They can’t just go in guns blazing if they want to rescue her. 

“You know who’d be real good help here is Boomer,” Sharky says. “That guy could sniff out every Peggie in a ten mile radius! Locks onto Peggie B-O like a fuckin’ missile.” His grin falters and his heavy brow furrows as he frowns. “Where is he, anyways? I ain’t seen him around in a while.” 

“Might’ve gotten captured along with Syb,” Hurk says thoughtfully. “She said that John was gonna send ‘im up north before she freed ‘im, right?”

Nick groans in dismay. “Shit, Jacob better not be turnin’ him into one of the Judges. I don’t think I got the heart to kill old Boomie if he attacked me, y’know?”

“All the more reason for you all to focus,” Grace grits through her teeth. “Now, can we please —”

“Hey, y’all?” Adelaide calls from where she stands behind the bar, fixing herself her third cocktail of the hour. “I ain’t gonna say you’ll all want to see this, but, uh… I think y’all should.” 

“What is it, Mama?” Hurk asks. 

“I don’t — I can’t…” It’s the first time Grace has ever heard the woman at a loss for words. She’s usually so easy to joke -- the more serious the situation the more inappropriate the comment -- but when Grace locks eyes with her, all she sees is fear. “Just come look at the TV.” 

Grace’s stomach drops. 

Ever since the Cult took over, nothing good has been playing on TV anywhere in the county. Most days it's just broadcasts of Joseph’s sermons interspersed with other programs that are blatant Cult propaganda — cult song sing-alongs and storytimes led by the former-Faith, John’s alleged “self-help” programs, and, perhaps the only useful things that play between segments: Jacob’s five-minute survivalist tips. But every now and then, the Cult puts out something new. Something that looks more at home in a horror film than it does on public television. 

The broadcast of Deputy Pratt, ankle deep in water, tied to a chair, sobbing and pleading for his life will forever be burned into Grace’s memory. 

She and the boys slip out of the booth and all cautiously approach the television resting on the bartop. The video quality is poor — dark and fuzzy — but when she makes out the figure on the screen, she claps a hand over her mouth. 

“Shit,” she breathes. 

At the same time Nick cries out, “Jesus Christ!”

Standing, at attention, before the red-and-black version of the Peggie flag and dressed in the garb of the Chosen is the Deputy. She stares into the camera, her face calm and expressionless. No fear or anger; she remains stoic as the soldier she is. 

The camera zooms in for a moment and then back out, focusing on her face before the voice of Jacob Seed sounds from offscreen. “State your name for the record.”

“Sybille Marie La Roux,” she answers. 

Jacob steps forward, just enough so that only one of his broad shoulders is in frame. “Do you, Sybille Marie La Roux, solemnly swear to support and defend the Project at Eden’s Gate against all enemies, both foreign and domestic?”

The words ring bizarrely familiar in Grace’s mind, and it takes her a moment to recognize them as a bastardized version of the Army’s Oath of Commissioned Officers. Her breath hitches and dread roils in her gut. It twinges painfully when Sybille answers with a firm, “Yes, sir.” 

“Do you swear to bear true Faith and Allegiance in the Father and the Project?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bullshit,” Nick hisses under his breath. Bullshit, she’s swearing this oath of her own free will. Surely, Jacob did something to coerce her into this. 

But what if he didn’t? What if she is joining the Cult of her own volition?

Grace’s jaw clenches so tight that her ears ache. 

“And do you swear to well and faithfully discharge the duties asked of you by the Father and your Commander?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Jacob steps further into frame, completely obscuring Sybille from view. There’s the distinctive sound of a knife being unsheathed and Grace catches the red flash of its handle as he appears to lift one of Sybille’s hands and presses the blade against the soft flesh of her forearm. “Then in the name of the Father, I appoint you Judge, Jury, and Executioner of Eden’s Gate.” He wipes the knife against his jeans and slips it back into its sheath, and lifts his hand to draw something on the woman’s forehead. “May you act as God’s Divine Wrath and enact His judgment against our adversaries.” 

“Yes, sir.”

He leans down to pick something up and then moves to circle behind her, revealing the red cross he drew on her forehead. It matches the blood that stains the faces of the wolves he’s tortured into submission. Leaning down, his lips brush the shell of her ear and he eyes the camera with a sadistic smirk. 

Even where she stands, miles away from the Whitetails, Grace barely suppresses a shudder. It may be a video recording, yet she still feels like he can see them through the screen. 

“Praise be to the Father,” he says, low and breathy, with the intimacy of a lover.

Sybille lifts her hand to her forehead in salute. “Praise be to the Father,” she repeats. 

What happens next stuns everyone into utter silence. 

As Sybille’s hand falls back down to rest by her side, Jacob is wrapping a hand around to cradle her jaw and tilt her head up and towards him. It’s so quiet that Grace nearly misses it, but he mutters a quiet, “Good girl,” before leaning down to capture Sybille’s lips in a devouring, open-mouthed kiss. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans back against him, allowing his tongue to plunge hungrily into her mouth. Small, whimpering moans are pulled from her every time their lips move. As she tilts her head back to give Jacob easier access, the red scarf wrapped around her neck slips, revealing a band of leather wrapped around her throat. 

A sharp gasp flies from Adelaide’s lips and she covers her mouth and nose with both hands, muffling the quiet “Oh no…” as her eyes go wide. Nick’s face goes red. Whether it’s in anger or second-hand embarrassment, Grace isn’t sure, and both Hurk and Sharky’s mouths hang agape, absolutely dumbfounded. 

The Chosen uniform, the collar, the kiss — Jacob might as well be fucking her on camera. Not only has Sybille pledged her allegiance to the Cult, but she’s allowed herself to be claimed by one of the most ruthless men Grace has had the displeasure of meeting. 

When they part, Sybille’s lips are swollen and her eyes are glassy. Jacob’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back and holding her against him. Her head leans back and she melts into him,, seeming to forget that the camera is still there. 

But Jacob doesn’t. Piercing blue eyes focus back on the lens to address those watching. “Let it be known to all who stand in opposition to the Project: the Sword of Justice will be swift and merciless.” Everyone lets out a horrified gasp when he lifts Eli’s head — severed from his body — into frame by the hair. “Your sins will be weighed and judged. Those deemed worthy, those deemed willing to repent, will be spared. Those who aren’t…” he trails off, lips quirking smugly upwards as he glances at the decapitated head in his hand, “...will be set free.” His gaze snaps back to the camera. “This is the will of the Father.”

The video cuts out, replaced by static before it begins to loop. 

Adelaide turns the TV off, and all those gathered stare at the blank screen in horrified silence. 

Sharky is the one brave enough  to shatter it. “W…we’re gonna help her, right?” he asks, looking to the rest of the group with round, pleading eyes. 

“She’s gotta be brainwashed,” Nick says shakily. The flush of his face has given way to a sickly green. “The conditioning…there’s gotta be a way to deprogram her,” he says before tacking on an uncertain, “Isn’t there?” 

Adelaide’s brows knit together, and she looks to the boys apologetically. “Sugar, I ain’t so sure there’s anythin’ we can do.” 

“Why not?” Sharky asks. His voice is small, almost childlike. 

Grace’s stomach churns. “Because she’s exactly where she wants to be,” she says grimly. 

“What — how…?” Nick stammers. 

Adelaide taps at her throat. “The collar, honey,” she explains. “Y’all’ve met her. You think she’d be wearin’ that if she didn’t want to? You think she’d let him do that to her on camera if she weren’t at least a little into it?”

A wave of disgust washes through Grace. To think that the woman who helped her defend her Pops’ grave and saved Falls End — the woman she looked up to as a leader and commander — is now Jacob Seed’s pet. 

“I’ll be damned,” Adelaide sighs. “The military kink I kinda expected, but I ain’t ever woulda pegged her as a sub.” She knocks back the martini she’d been holding in her hand and grimaces again. “Guess we know why we ain’t heard from her or Eli in a while.” 

“Fuck,” Nick hisses. “Shit.” He drags his hand over his face and rubs at his beard. “How — how the hell did we miss this?” 

Grace sighs wearily and leans over the bar, pulling up the first drink her hand touches. Unscrewing the cap, she doesn’t bother with a glass and drinks whiskey straight from the bottle. 

At first she thought the delegation of missions was just Sybille being a good leader. It’s impossible for her to do everything, and, at the time, it made sense to have teams attacking outposts and doing what they could while Sybille was elsewhere in the county. But then she thinks about how much time Sybille had spent in the Whitetails — how whenever she disappeared for days at a time, it was always when she was up north. How she was always so irritable, almost volatile, whenever Grace had asked about how her “solo-missions” went whenever she returned. 

It’s easier to spot the red flags in retrospect. Hindsight is a bitch like that.

Sybille always played things close to her chest, hiding problems until they couldn’t be hidden anymore. Ever since the night she dug herself out of her own grave and struck Joey during Burke and Virgil’s funeral, Grace has known that something was wrong with Sybille. But she always assumed that they were close enough — that she was trusted enough — that she would confide in her if something was weighing on her shoulders. 

And maybe that’s Grace’s fault. Maybe she should have pressed harder or checked in more often. 

Not that it matters anymore. They all missed the writing on the wall, and while Eli was the first to bear the consequences, he certainly won’t be the last. 

The county’s greatest hope has turned into its biggest nightmare, and now they need to figure out how to fight it. 

Abruptly, the door to the 8-Bit swings open with enough force that it bashes against the wall. They all whip around, pulling their sidearms from their holsters.

Stumbling through the door is a man dressed in Peggie garb. His hair and beard blend into one dark, tangled mass around his face, and his bright green eyes are bloodshot and wild. Wheaty leans against him, his arm wrapped around the Peggie’s shoulders, while his other hand is pressed against his abdomen. Blood oozes between his fingers and he’s barely clinging to consciousness. 

“My name is Augustine La Roux,” the Peggie says, looking to all of them with fearful desperation. “I need your help.”