#he deserves it for how much he's done in this campaign alone

[dapperbasil]

Just learned that Tammy's ghoul is 29. He does NOT act 29. He has mid-20s vibes. Live your best life, Trevor. We're rooting for you.

[weirdbeancurd]

Flash Flood Under My Bed- Chapter 1

A Poolverine Fanfic

Thank you guys for being so patient, and sorry it took so long haha. Also gonna tag @icarusredwings (hopefully im not bothering you, but I love your writing and thought you might enjoy)

@thecuntcakeweveallbeenwaitingfor it's finally here yaaaay

Ao3

Logan’s done this whole song and dance before. He knows the melody by heart, the hopeless hope, the enticing push and pull of “will they, won’t they.”            

And time and time again, he falls victim to their alluring display; a moth to a flame. Died, abandoned, betrayed- it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, he stood alone. The only thing he could always count on for company was the bottle. 

“Love” is just a fantasy which preys on the naive, he learns. Logan on the other hand, is perfectly happy (a gross exaggeration) bar hopping ‘til the damn sun explodes.

Then Wade-motherfucking-Wilson waltzes into his life, squeezes past his carefully built walls, and makes himself at home in his heart. This ain’t so bad, he mumbles, half-asleep on the couch, watching tonight’s 6th episode of Jeopardy. Wade’s passed out on his right, and Logan can’t resist tracing his scars with wandering eyes, taking in every little detail as if he could vanish at a moment’s notice. He sees past his brash nature, his poorly timed quips, and his inability to take anything seriously- because Wade is so much more than mouth. Hidden behind a convincing veil of dick jokes and sass, he cares, probably more than Logan deserves.

Love emanates from the way Wade arranges the cabinets for Althea- everything within reach, complete with braille labels. It doesn't stop them from bickering like children, but the sentiment is there. And it's not just Al that gets VIP treatment. A thoughtful gesture here, a subtle reminder there, and Logan feels his core bloom with warmth. The man starts getting handsy with him (in a wholesome, platonic way), noticing how he craves touch without ever voicing it. Their knees brushing together on the couch makes him feel things he can't describe. He tries anyway.

 Adoration, perhaps? No, that can't be right. He's spent so much time alone; he's forgotten what that feels like.

You're just jealous that Wade’s a better man than you'll ever be, he decides.

So Wade himself isn’t a problem, far from it. Though he gets his nerves, Logan begrudgingly admits that he considers Wade-motherfucking-Wilson to be his one and only friend. Now there’s his problem.

The last time he gave friendship a chance, it didn't end well. In fact, it went fucking awful. 

He took out his sorrows on the innocent, slaughtering anyone in his way, and in turn, slaughtering any hope of human and mutant coexistence. The X-Men had worked on building their reputation for years, decades even. Some campaigns were beginning to take off, gaining loyal supporters, few as they were. But Logan threw it all to the wind. They gave him food, shelter, love, a purpose; and how did he repay them? He ruined their life’s work in a single night, irreparably tainted the image of mutants across the globe just because he couldn't handle his own damn grief. He retires his suit. A cloak and scythe would fit him better.

His mere presence is a deadly premonition; he destroys everything he touches, death following in his footsteps, wilting the once green grass. He is salt to the earth: an everlasting threat to life itself. No flora grows in his presence, no friend can live through his innate ability to bring about devastation. So it’s better this way, Logan tells himself. He repeats it, like a prayer. It's better this way. 

 No one is safe, not if they're with him. 

He tries kicking his friend to the metaphorical curb, keeping him at arm's length. Turns out, Wade’s a persistent little bastard. No matter how much he insults, ignores and stabs him, he just keeps coming back. Claims he's like “William Afton,” whoever the hell that is. And god, it’s a dick move, he knows. Wade welcomed him with open arms, saw Logan at his absolute lowest and still said, yes, I want that one. It's everything he's ever wanted-

But happy endings have always been a delusion of his. 

The Wolverine does not believe himself to be a smart man. A skilled fighter, sure. Stubborn as a mule? Absolutely- but never smart. It's a uniquely cruel fate to have loved and lost, in a world where there is so little love given to people like him. If Logan Howlett was a smart man, he’d take the fucking hint instead of falling for the same old ploy over and over. Whenever he meets someone and feels that terrifying spark of chemistry, he senses danger approaching like an oncoming storm. The air pressure drops, the sky turns red, the clouds loom over his shoulders like a threat. Every instinct is yelling at him to run, take shelter and wait it out. And when rain finally strikes the earth, the thunder is gunshots in his ears, screaming I told you so, you idiot. I told you so.

Like he said in the time ripper, the merc will still have his “world in a photograph;” a world that will keep on turning with or without Logan- because he was never a part of it in the first place. Leaving it behind should be easy. 

 Or it would be if Wade would stop draping himself over his shoulders every time he sits down for breakfast. It's near impossible to ignore him when he's making morning coffee look like a scene from The Notebook, but Logan can't say he minds. It doesn't mean he won't complain about it, though.

“Wade.”

“Mhm?”

“Get the fuck off’a me.”

“No can do, sugartits.”

Asshole, he thinks, leaning into the touch. Wade rests his head atop his, and Logan shivers when his morning voice rumbles through him.

“Soooo, I was thinking-”

“Congratulations.”

“Oh, ha ha,” the merc removes his arms from his shoulders. Logan mourns their loss. “I was thinking about taking another job. A killy-killy-stabby one, of course.”

The gruff man doesn't spare a glance as he raises the mug to his lips.

“And why did you feel like this was something you needed to tell me?” It's not like this is news to him; Wade’s mercenary income is the main reason they aren't living on the streets. He won't let them forget it either, going on and on about being the “breadwinner” of the household. He once referred to Logan as his “caring house wife,” and received three surprise piercings as a result.

“Well, this one's a two man job. Gotta scout out a sketchy abandoned building, but they want someone to go with me to cover more ground. What do you say, peanut?” 

That…actually sounds like a pretty good time. Logan's job search has been uneventful so far (getting hired with zero government paperwork is a bitch), and he's been getting kind of antsy cooped up in the apartment all day. Plus, Wade's making those stupid puppy dog eyes at him.

“Pleeeease? We get to kill anyone we find inside!”

“...Fine. When is it?”

There’s a suspiciously long bout of silence. 

“Wade. When. Is it.”

Said man is looking anywhere but his face, darting his eyes around until he rolls them shut with a sigh.

“It's, uh. It's in an hour.”

“The fuck you mean it's in an hour!?”

“I-ugh! I forgot, okay! I was gonna ask you yesterday, but you fell asleep on the couch at nine, Rip Van Winkle!”

“I'm two hundred years old, you- you know what, fuck you.”

“...”

“...”

“...Does that mean you're coming?”

“...I’ll be ready in ten.”

“Wooo, baby! I knew you'd pull through for me, my sweet mustelid-matey! I could kiss you right now-”

“Don't.”

“Alright.”

He flees to his room, towards the cabinet tucked in the corner. It's covered in a fine layer of dust. He takes the time to brush it off despite the rush they're in, running his fingers over a crack in the wood before sliding it open. Inside lies his suit and cowl, still here after all these years. After most of it was destroyed by the time ripper, he was understandably distraught. Logan thought he hid it well, but Wade must've seen the longing within his walled-off self and decided to take action. A week later, he presented Logan with the suit. It looked exactly like the day he’d first received it, seams clean cut, colors bright as they are ridiculous; he never thought he’d be so happy to see the damn thing again. Apparently the rat bastard knows how to sew. And apparently, the only way to get him to shut up is to be bear hugged by the one and only Wolverine. Neither mention Logan’s misty eyes when they part.

He shakes himself out of his trance, there’s no time to dwell. Emotional constipation wins this round- but only because he’s got a mission to complete. Logan tucks the suit under his arm.

“Wade?!” He calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“How long’s the drive gonna take?”

“Maybe…an hour?”

Oh for fucks sake.

The ride over is mostly uneventful. Despite Wade’s overly-enthusiastic air guitar getting on his nerves, minimal blood was shed during the hour-long trip. Key word: minimal. While singing along to a love song on the radio, Wade had tenderly jokingly rested his hand atop Logan's, startling him and nearly causing him to crash the damn car in the ensuing one-armed slap fight. Unsurprisingly, the man with three steak knives down each sleeve won. 

All in all, a successful journey.

The given address turns out to be an abandoned hospital, a splendid place for two men with fucked up medical trauma to be.

“Huddle up, Wolvie. We gotta discuss our game plan. Says right here that we should split up, but…”

They eye the building with apprehension, neither making a move. It feels like minutes before Wade speaks again.

“You know what? I think it’d be a great idea to explore together. For a thorough search, of course.”

“...Yeah. Lets.”

The two enter through the not-so-automatic doors and pass the front desk. Logan immediately recoils at the smell; the scent of rubbing alcohol seems entertwined with the very soul of this place. The inside’s surprisingly intact, like the staff up and left one night and never came back. Empty syringes peek beneath tissues in the trash, betrayed by the sinister glint of their needles. PSA posters line the halls, preaching the benefits of hand washing though there are none left to hear it. Even the hospital beds are in place, a layer of dust blanketing the sheets. All that’s missing are the patients. Their absence is striking; it almost makes him miss the annoying drone of a dozen heart monitors if only to smother the silence. Every step feeds into his paranoia, and Logan's not alone on the matter. Unease is written in the way Wade keeps making unsubtle glances at him. When Logan asks if he’s alright, the merc answers with a question.

“Pfff, why wouldn’t I be? I’m so alright. Like, unbelievably alright, right now.”

“...Let’s just get a move on.”

 Logan sticks even closer to him after that. Thorough. That’s all he’s being.

It isn't entirely clear what they're supposed to be searching for. Something about intel on a trafficking ring? The request was too vague for his liking, but hey, it pays well. Yet after twenty minutes of slogging through empty rooms with zero leads, Logan is thoroughly bored out of his mind. Likewise, Wade “ADHD Incarnate” Wilson is practically vibrating with pent up energy. He can't help but notice the lack of people to beat up, and Wade says as much.

“Okay, this place is a major snooze fest. And here I was, thinking we’d get to make some minced meat confetti.” He brightens momentarily. “Oh, oooh! I know what we should do-”

“No.”

“-we should play 21 questions!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, I’ll go first! Alright, let's see…”

Logan groans, but the distraction couldn’t have come at a better time, because he’s starting to suspect Wade's catching on to his odd behavior. The man’s got a knack for sniffing out his friends' problems; like a bloodhound, but for daddy issues. Noble as that is, Logan prefers to wallow in misery by his lonesome, thank you very much. 

“Oh, I got one! How about this,” the souring of tone makes his heart drop.

“The fuck’s been up with you lately? Don't think I haven't seen the way you've been avoiding everyone- like the time you snuck out of Laura’s birthday party? Or what about the fact you’ve been ‘too busy’ to join game night five weeks in a row? You’re not even trying to hide it!” 

God-fucking-dammit.

“I don't know what you mean.” He tries keeping his voice steady, but it comes out more as a growl.

“Do you?” Wade tries getting his attention by tugging on his shoulder, only to be violently shrugged off. He takes it in stride, not even pausing his speech. “Because it seems like you know exactly what I mean.”

“Wade, drop it.”

“No, I don't think I will, actually! Because every time I try to peek into your fucked up little mind, you push me away. You're starting to hurt my precious feelings.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.”

“Look, sweetcakes. Honeymuffin. Light of my life, subject of my wettest dreams; I care about you. You know that…right?” His tone teeters on the edge of concern.

“...I can't imagine why you would.”

 In the silence that follows, he senses that he might've said the wrong thing.

“Logan. Look at me.”

He scoffs, if only to hide his growing discomfort. 

“Wha-no. Wade, I am not a goddamn child. I don’t need you to baby me like-”

“Don’t you dare give me that. I'll stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one. This talk’s long overdue, mister.”

“Just leave me alone, dipshit. God, is this why you wanted me to come along? So you could interrogate me? Fuck off.”

“No, dumbass, it's because I genuinely enjoy your company!! Is that so hard to believe?!” Wade takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales.

“I get it,” Logan loudly disagrees, but Wade plows through. “Your brain’s being an asshole and won't let you enjoy basic shit. Been there, done that. So whatever those mean thoughts are saying in your head? Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, I’ve never heard anything more wrong in my life.”

The “mean thoughts” protest at this, trying every trick under the sun to convince Logan otherwise. 

You're a murderer, they say.

“‘But Wade,’ you might be saying. ‘I’m an irredeemable monster!’ Uh, no, shut up. Newsflash asshole, we all fuck up sometimes. Move on and be better. Hell, you already have. At the very least, I haven’t seen you drink actual, fucking rubbing alcohol for a hot minute.”

You'll get him killed, it's only a matter of time, they insist.

“And I swear to god, if you tell me you're ‘fine,’ I will shove you into a meat grinder, and not the fun kind of meat grinder. Everyone needs some TLC, even grumpy old men like you. Your healing journey will be full of the tenderest of care, and I’m gonna be there every step of the way to make it happen. I hate to break it to you, Wolvie, but you’re stuck with me now. I’m like a wart. I’ll grow on ya, and I’m not leaving without a fight.”

Gentleness isn't in your nature, you beast.

“I can't say my merry gang can ever replace all you've lost, but we love you just the same,” his voice pleading. “Come on, peanut. Talk to me. Whatever it is, I’ll listen. I can even get Yukio to make us friendship bracelets. Doesn't get more official than that.”

Logan is struck silent. Under the many layers of self doubt and the war raging in his mind, a new voice wonders-

Would it really be so bad to just let go?

If there's one thing Wades good at, it's eating away at Logan's resolve.

He slips off his mask to flash a modest smile. 

“You gotta forgive yourself, peanut. Because they would absolutely forgive you.” 

His breath hitches sharply, cutting through the silence. 

Would they really?

He wants nothing more but to melt into the comforting embrace he’s offered, to collapse and let someone else take the reins for once. Fat tears threaten to roll down his cheeks. The sobs are fighting their way up his throat and he knows it's only a matter of time before he breaks. Perhaps he can shatter, just this once, and-

Two hands grasp his shoulders in what is meant to be a friendly gesture, but his mind interprets it as anything but. Animalistic terror surges through his body. Deep in thought, he failed to notice Wade approaching. Suddenly, it's a hundred years ago, he's fighting a war he can barely remember, and an enemy is trying to drown him in a river. His stomach feels like it's eating itself and his entire body aches; being on your feet for four days straight will do that to you. The man presses down on his shoulders, dunking his head below the freezing rapids. In his weakness, they gain the upper hand, and Logan gasps for air. He finds none, instead met with water rushing to his lungs. It's cold, too cold. There's frantic splashing, and he can't breathe, and his throat filling with liquid, and so he lashes out-

“Aghh!”

A cry of pain thrusts him back into reality.

“W-Wade?” He blinks. There is no enemy, no river, no war. Just Wade, pinned to the ground by his claws through his throat. He gurgles, grabbing at his wrists to pry him off. Logan feels like he's drowning again.

He forces his hands to work, retracting his claws and immediately putting pressure on the wound- just as the army taught him. 

“Wade! S-shit. I'm sorry, I’m so sorry. I wasn't- I didn't mean it, I swear, please don't-”

The man pushes him away, cradling his neck with one hand. He holds up a single finger with the other, as if asking Logan to wait. Wade eventually makes a noise that sounds like an asthmatic frog and sits up.

“Ugh! God. You got me good there, tiger. As I was saying,” he blanches at the shell-shocked expression on Logan's face.

“Woah, hey heyheyhey! Hold on, Wolvie, it was an accident! I know you didn't mean it, honey badger,” he holds up his hands, palms facing outward like he's placating a wild animal. “Look- see?” He gestures to his throat. “Good as new, no harm done! I’m fine, really.”

But it’s not fine. He’s done it again; once with Marie, and now with Wade. One of these days, he’s going to actually kill someone he loves (I already have, he thinks). 

The question is not if, but when. How long until history repeats itself?

“No, no, I can’t. I-I can’t do this. Not again,” Logan gasps.

He tugs on his hair, trying to ground himself. The air’s too thin; he can't breathe. He tries sheathing and unsheathing his claws, but that only reminds him of the carnage he's committed. Wade’s saying something; he doesn't hear what. 

“Just go away. Just go!” And then it dawns on him; if he leaves, Wade will follow. The dumbass can’t recognize a lost cause when he sees one. Logan needs to prove how utterly repulsive he is, needs to show him that he isn’t worth the effort. The words that leave his mouth feel like retching up shards of glass.

“I…I never wanted to be a part of your freak show, anyways.”

Wade straightens.

“You don’t mean that.” 

He doesn't. God, he doesn't.

“I do. And you know what? I should’ve stayed in my own damn universe and drank my sorrows away. At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to your sorry ass- at least then I wouldn’t have had the misfortune of meeting you! Seriously, do you ever shut the fuck up?” 

 Logan basks in the fire he spits, imagining he’s talking to the mirror, because Wade doesn’t deserve it, and because he doesn’t deserve Wade. Hostility is an old friend of his. He falls back on its familiarity, revels in its security. How could he have hoped for this to end any differently? I told you so, you idiot, I told you so.

“It’s a miracle your friends haven't left your ass behind. But just you wait, bub. Just you fucking wait. You’ll end up alone again, because of your frankly insufferable personality- and because it's what you fucking deserve! So for the sake of everyone around you, I pray they find a cure for immortality.”

He decides he hates the unstoppable force that is Wade-motherfucking-Wilson. He hates Wade’s selflessness, he hates how easy it is to relate to him, he hates his stupid fucking smile- and he absolutely despises how Wade believes in second chances. 

“-So just, just stay the fuck away from me, dammit!” 

Logan barely registers he’s been backing towards the door, unconsciously trying to leave. It’s become a habit. 

The second he steps into the next room, the door slams shut.

“Wh-”

Logan stares as Wade presses himself up to the glass portion, frantically jiggling the handle. He ultimately gives up on that approach and reaches for his katanas, but a metal plate erupts from the floor and seals him off. It's a total lockdown- they’ve been separated. 

“Wade? Wade?!” Only his echo responds. 

He unsheaths his claws to brute-force his way in. Each strike is accompanied by the hellish sound of metal on metal, but he’s barely made a dent despite his best efforts. Adamantium, he mutters. Fuckers must've reinforced it with the shit. 

Logan suspects an ambush, immediately confirmed by the not-so subtle chatter of about a dozen guards huddled by the room’s only exit. One of them tosses a black disk through the doorway. Whatever it is, it's not a grenade, and it's too far away to do any real damage if it did go off. Attention straying from the strange device, he stretches his senses to listen for their approach. They’re quiet for the most part, save for someone fiddling with a controller of sorts. Odd, he has time to think, right before his head explodes with agony.

His sensitive hearing is assaulted by electric screeching. It hurts, and boy, is it loud. It feels like steak knives are being shoved down his ear canals, and he can’t help but slam his hands over them, folding at the waist. Logan yelps when the sound intensifies. Sharp pain pricks his neck and he snaps his attention to the source. While he was distracted, a man dressed from head to toe in tactical gear rushed him, wielding a sharp-looking rifle that he cocks to shoot again. The noise isn’t affecting him; either those helmets are noise-canceling, or humans can’t hear this frequency. To the detriment of his eardrums, Logan pries his own hands away from his head to sidestep the shot and launch himself at his attacker. His head screams with pain even as his body sings with satisfaction at the kill, blades skewering the other man. He has no time to gather his bearings, a dozen more men storming the room. 

The mutant shreds through a couple, squinting in pain, before he spots the source of that awful screeching. The innocent disk he once ignored lies on the ground, LED flashing radioactive green. Bingo. Logan grabs a rifle from the next agent he kills, chucking it (with a little more force than necessary) at the device. It shatters upon impact, drawing a sigh of relief. The torment over, he stabs one man through the heart, using his body as a projectile to knock out another. The action throws him unexpectedly off balance. Huh. Logan brushes the thought aside, whipping around to grapple with an agent who'd almost gotten the jump on him. He shoves them back, the other reaching for their gun, and actually manages to pistol whip the wolverine. Must be getting rusty, he thinks, returning the gesture with a friendly impaling. 

By the time he’s mauled his way through eleven guards, he realizes all too late that something’s very wrong. His breathing is labored, posture slumped. A couple of the men got some pretty good hits on him, for god's sake. The last one standing proves to be particularly hard to take down, not because he's a skilled combatant, no, but because the room won't stop fucking spinning. He’s struggling to keep his claws extended, so he opts for the less dignified approach. The Wolverine grips his opponent's shoulders and tears out their jugular with bloodied teeth, winning him the fight. Needless to say, Logan doesn't exactly feel like a winner right now.

He nearly collapses before their body hits the floor, steadying himself on a lab bench. He’s taking in as much air as his lungs can handle, greedily, like a drowning man. Feeling a strange stiffness in his neck, he reaches for the source- and pulls out… a syringe? His nausea thickens, barely able to keep both knees from buckling. He turns the item between shaking fingers. The barrel is short, containing a brightly colored serum that's nearly depleted. On one end is a neon-yellow tuft of downy. Fuck. He wasn't shot with a gun; he’s been shot with a tranquilizer gun. 

Logan grunts and chucks it somewhere. Whatever that stuff was, its creator accounted for their victim having a heightened metabolism. He's being targeted. Double fuck.

It’s a battle to keep his eyes open, using the wall to take most of his weight as he stumbles along. It occurs to him that he has no idea where he’s headed. Higher brain function has officially left the building.

Eventually the drugs run their course and he crumples, tipping onto the tile with a metallic clunk. 

The next moments are but a blur in his mind. It could’ve been seconds or days; both seem just as likely in his delirious state. Logan feels himself being dragged across the tile, blinking his eyes open to a different scene each time. At first, he’s on the floor. Then he’s staring at the ceiling. Next, he’s being hauled up. If he was coherent, he’d pity the poor soul trying to lift his five-hundred pound adamantium-infused dumbass up the stairs, but he doesn't feel capable of anything but groaning at the moment. His brain feels like jello. He hates jello. It’s too sweet, and the cold hurts his teeth, and- what was he talking about again? Oh, right. He’s being kidnapped or something.

The man awakens to the chilling sensation of cold steel pressed against his bare back. He recognizes it instantly; he’s laying on an operation table. His mind flickers through dozens of encounters with needles and scalpels, gloved hands poking and prodding him like a science experiment. Logan tries to yank at his unrestrained limbs, but it’s as if they’re deadbolted to the table. The sedative must still be in full effect. It sure feels like it- his mind is full of static and the air is thick like tar. 

His eyes frantically search for an exit, but he can barely lift his head. The corners of the room appear shrouded in darkness, like an unnerving vignette. He lets his head fall back onto the table with a loud clang. Ow. That did not help his headache.

A flash of white consumes his vision. Now that really didn't help his headache. Fluorescent lights bore into his skull, piercing his eyelids. He can barely make out the silhouettes of faces hovering over him, squinting at the man in front. His vision is just beginning to focus when he’s grabbed roughly by the jaw. There are hands on him; his wrist, his chest, his face, everywhere. He only manages a flinch, muscles hardly putting up a fight. The gloved digits turn his head with smooth, practiced motion, but pay no heed to his discomfort, forcing his neck at odd angles. It takes a moment for him to spot the man’s face mask and put two and two together: he’s being inspected.

His heart races at the thought, and the scientist catches the way Logan’s eyes widen. He starts his observations, not caring if his assistant can keep up with his rapid-fire remarks.

“Healing factor is greatly reduced. Pupils are reactive to light. Subject appears semi-lucid, but its movement is still severely impaired by the injection.”

It. They called him an it.

“F-Fuck off.”

“Ah. So it speaks.”

He gives a defiant grunt. 

“How succinct. I’d expect nothing less from a dirty animal.” Logan bares his teeth, showing off his impressive canines. In hindsight, that probably didn’t do much to dispel the “dirty animal” allegations. The man rolls his eyes, turning to his paperwork.

“Subject displays signs of aggression. Reprogramming may be necessary.”

The word makes him freeze. The Wolverine’s been robbed of enough memories to know the process well.

He tries to control his trembling, but his weakness betrays him. 

The doctor looks absolutely delighted at his reaction.

“Oohoh. So the beast can feel fear!” He goads. “And here I thought you were just an emotionless killer.”

“Look, bub. I don't know what you want, but you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Oh no, I know exactly who I'm talking to. Murderer.”

“I didn't do shi-” He jumps when they slam their hands on the operating table, fists landing inches from his head.

“I know your kind. Violent, uncontrollable, dangerous- every one of you.”

“...We’re not like that.” and then a smaller, quieter, “I-I’m not like that.”

He scoffs, a stiff grin holding back his frustrations like a dam. 

“And that’s where you’re wrong. Turns out your kind is stupid, too.”

“Well, what have we ever done to you?”

The dam breaks.

“What have mutants done? You-you things killed my FUCKING brother!” His eyes are full of emotion, nothing like the distant, well-spoken professional he awoke to. Anguish churns in his gut, hatred oozes through his clenched teeth. 

“We were colleagues, working on a project we'd dreamed of for years. It would've revolutionized the pharmaceutical industry. We would’ve been set for life. But then one of you mutant freaks escaped containment. That bastard could breathe fire. It burned him to the fucking ground.”

Logan feels sick. He remembers the smell of burnt flesh, remembers how it stuck with him. 

“He was my best friend, practically family. And I watched him scream out my name before he took his final, soot-filled, dying breath!” He gets up in Logan's face, shoving a shaking finger at him. 

“I grew up with that man. I was in the room when his first son was born. And I was the one who had to tell his child that his father is dead.”

Logan bites his tongue. He feels like a kid again, who knows the best chance at avoiding his old man’s wrath is to shut the hell up.

They settle after a bit, taking a moment to breathe and adjust their glasses.

“...I appear to have lost my composure. Apologies, I didn't mean to stoop to your level.” Nevermind, fuck this guy. Time to poke the bear.

“What's your brother’s level, huh? Six feet under?” It was a low blow, but Logan still revels in the snarl it evokes. And then his scowl grows into a grin. Cold fear washes over him. Logan has the feeling he's going to regret ever opening his mouth.

“You know, word around the block is that you’re not from here.”

He knows where this is going. He tries to turn his head away but jumps when the doctor grabs his chin and yanks it back. The hand lingers, grasping his jaw firm enough to bruise.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Logan stubbornly avoids his eyes. The mutant flinches when he reveals a familiar instrument: a scalpel. He doesn't have time to ponder its significance before the doctor plunges it into his thigh. Now, he’d be the first to tell you that his pain tolerance is pretty high. It’s got to be, when you’ve been fighting tooth and nail for over two centuries. But this, this is a whole different beast. There's something about the artificial light flooding his vision, the iron grip on his chin and the chilling steel of the operating table that unsettles him to his very core. While he doubts the drug cocktail is helping, the real kicker is the horrors of his own mind- those, he can’t escape. 

The terror of past procedures makes itself known through shaking hands and muscles taut like tightrope. The sedative limits his movement like a set of leather straps, and he panics when his limbs don’t feel like his own. It’s an assault on the senses, amplifying them to the point where even the smallest touch burns like he's being branded with a red-hot iron. It feels too much like adamantium flooding his body. Logan barely holds back a whimper, nearly biting off his tongue when the pain claws up his thigh. 

It’s all too much and there's no end in sight. Who knows if Wade is even looking for him. 

“I said, look at me when I’m talking to you, brute.” 

He does as he’s told.

“Good. As I was saying, you have quite the reputation back home.” 

Shut up shut up shutupshutup-

“It’s a long story, I’m sure you remember. My intel was frustratingly vague, but If I'm not mistaken, you fled to a bar, tail between your legs, and came back to a massacre. They burned everyone you ever loved to the ground.” His voice is rife with sadistic glee.

“Good riddance, I say; the only good mutant is a dead mutant. Really, I should be thanking you for aiding in their demise.” 

Logan feels himself slipping into the past, trying to resist the pull, but he knows it's futile. The carnage is fresh in his mind, forever etched under his eyelids. 

Bodies of students he recognizes but never got to know beyond a name lie at his feet (God, they were just kids). There’s too many to count, too many to mourn. A blanket of silver catches his eye and he rushes to turn them over. Logan recoils at the sight of Ororo, lifeless and pale. He ducks down to hold her close; flames lick his ankles but he couldn't care less. He goes through body after body, one by one, begging, pleading that this’ll be the last, but the deaths keep piling up. Jean, Jubilee, Hank, Scott, Charles. He never thought he'd see the day where Kurt manages to sit still for two seconds. Gone are his high energy shenanigans, his animated personality snuffed out for good. Logan searches the acrobat’s eyes for answers, praying the gymnast would spring to life and say gotcha, mein freund! You should’ve seen the look on your face! He wishes this was all just a joke. It'd be the world's worst joke, but he’ll take anything over this.

He wonders if he’ll ever smell brimstone again.

Logan counts the dead. And again, and then a third time, hoping that maybe someone escaped. After his fourth time doing the rounds, his face contorts with a devastated sob and he falls to his knees. Fate is cruel to have left him the last one standing. He tries swiping at his eyes, but his gloves are slick with blood, and fuck, there’s so much blood, there’s just so much fucking blood. 

How fitting, for it to be on his hands. 

He cries and cries until the moon deserts him too. The sun rears its ugly head, and Logan stares right at the center in hope of blinding himself (because all he sees is them, cold and dead). It peeks over the horizon as his voice finally starts to give out. Screams fade to whimpers.

It’s hard to believe that the bustling school is now ruin and rubble; it was supposed to be a safe haven for people like him. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Once a sanctuary, reduced to nothing but tinder.

And oh, how it burns.

Logan is yanked back to the present by the scalpel ripped out of his thigh. He gasps, feeling his throat pinch. Air struggles to reach his lungs, ears deaf to whatever his captor’s asking him. Playing along with the doctor’s little game of “21 questions” isn't really his priority at the moment; not that they care.

“Were you even listening?” 

He grabs a fistful of his subject's hair and tugs, hard, baring his neck. His breath catches when the scalpel lowers dangerously close, making him go cross-eyed as he watches its deadly approach. Logan resists the overwhelming urge to squeeze his eyes shut, keeping them glued to the blade's edge. His vision blurs with tears. The doctor huffs, loosening his grip just a little. 

“Fine. Ignore me if you want, your memories will be rewritten regardless. But really, think about it,” His eyes snap open at the voice suddenly inches from his ear, hairs standing on end. “-this is for your own good. Hell, it’s for the greater good. You’ve done enough damage.”

Part of Logan wants to enthusiastically agree, wants to be put down like a mad dog who can't be homed. He wants to forget all the pain and suffering that he's inflicted and have been inflicted upon; let surrendering to erasure be the one good thing he ever does in his long, miserable life. And yet, he can't help but think of happier times: when the sound of children fades into comforting white noise, or the familiar, gentle prodding of a telepath silently asking to explore his mind. He’d quirk a smile at the friendly banter he shared with his team- no, his family. He thinks of Jubilee's luminous smile and Charles's kind words, and that he doesn't want to forget. And Wade, oh Wade. The merc built him back up, an impressive feat, considering he only had rock bottom to work with. Logan would tell him how grateful he is, but he only knows so many words. He wants to be able to remember the time they spent together, however short. 

Being wiped clean would keep everyone he loves safe, but God, if he isn't a selfish man. He always has been. 

In one last desperate act of defiance, he snaps his teeth at the doctor's fingers. Of course, the sedative makes him miss by a mile, his attack far too slow to catch them skin-in-teeth.

They wrench back their hand, scowling hard. He palms Logan's forehead with a gloved hand, grabs a fistful of hair at his scalp, pulls forward, and slams his head back on the operating table. He feels his teeth clack together, the blow reverberating throughout his skull. The room tilts as his agony blossoms, and he thinks he hears someone cry out- possibly himself. In his disorientation, Logan barely registers the syringe that creeps into sight.

“Down, boy. Wouldn’t want you thrashing about during the procedure.”

He feels his head being tilted to the side, but his muscles are null to stop it. The shit they jabbed him with had to be potent stuff, because he can’t even tell which way is up. They flick the syringe twice before positioning it above a vein on his neck.

His eyes flutter shut. He finds himself thinking of Wade in what could very possibly be his last moments alive, mourning a friendship that will never get the chance to flourish. This is what he gets for hoping. Hope is a dangerous thing, and so is Logan.

Whatever the devil's got in store for me, he thinks, I’ll accept with open arms.

Bam.

He’s robbed of his fate by Wade kicking down the door, very bloody katanas hand in hand. The guards immediately train their guns on him. The doctor withdraws, attention stolen by Wade’s appearance. Shoulders hunched, breathing ragged, he looks ready to tear someone apart. Judging from the blood, he probably already has. Logan sometimes forgets Wade was, and still is a deadly mercenary (how scary can a guy who makes three sex jokes a sentence possibly be?), yet he certainly fits the part now, stalking his way to the center of the room.

“Alright fuckers. You’ve messed with the wrong dynamic duo.” 

His tone foregoes its usual breezy, devil-may-care attitude, the dangerous rasp in his voice sending shivers down Logan's spine.

“But lucky for you lot, I’m feeling generous today. I bestow upon each of yooouu- a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet your maker!” Wade spins his blades with deadly flourish, flicking blood in their direction. He narrows his eyes. “So you assholes better say your prayers-”

“-’cause I ain’t accepting apologies.”

Feel free to leave comments or tags telling me what you think! I love feedback and chatting about my writing lol

[artiststarme]

Hey Brother

Now with a Part 2!

Thank you to @nburkhardt, @doubleb11, and @straight4joekeery for the help brainstorming! I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

It was a quiet night at the trailer park and Steve was looking forward to spending a peaceful night with his boyfriend. Things had been hectic lately between work, the kids, and fielding phone calls from his parents so Steve desperately needed a night to just relax. He hadn’t been able to spend time with Eddie since the week prior during their weekly Buckley-Harrington-Munson movie night and if he didn’t get cuddles stat, he was going to go into withdrawal.

Unfortunately, Eddie did not share the same plans and instead was trying to coerce Steve once again into joining a DnD campaign with him and the kids. 

“Come on, babe! The first day of the new campaign is tomorrow and the kids would love it if you joined. We can come up with a character sheet tonight, we still have time! And I will help you the entire time, it’ll be fun!” Eddie begged him.

Steve shook his head, “look Eds, I really don’t want to play. I’m more than happy just watching you guys have fun. Besides, you know how bad I am at math. I’d be really bad at it.”

“I’ll do the math for you! Come on, your jock prowess will really help you and you’re great at strategizing. What if I postponed the campaign for tomorrow and came up with a one shot instead? Then you would get your feet wet and it wouldn’t be too much pressure,” he jut his lip out in a pout and widened his eyes. It kinda made him look like a dejected rat but in a cute way. 

Still, Steve shook his head. “No, I really don’t want to. Can you please drop this? I just want to watch a movie or something and relax. I don’t want to keep talking about your nerd game.”

All playful pretenses dropped and Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about? The perfect Steve Harrington can’t play a game for nerds? I thought you were over all that.”

“Eddie, that’s not why. You know I don’t care about that anymore. I like watching you guys play, I just don’t understand it. Maybe some other time,” Steve placated him but it only served to make Eddie more mad. 

“That’s bullshit, Steve!” Steve’s blood ran cold at his words. “You don’t think the ‘perfect jock’ can play a nerd game? That’s just complete bullshit.”

Steve just stood up from the couch and collected his keys from the table beside the door. He turned to look at Eddie and spoke softly, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m going to go home.”

“Steve-”

“No, no, it’s uh- it’s just bullshit, right? I’ll catch you later.” Then, he went to his car and headed home. So much for a relaxing evening.  

How could things have changed so quickly? One second they were enjoying pizza and talking about dumb shit the kids had done in the past week and in the next they were arguing about nerds and jocks, the dumb shit from high school that didn’t mean anything. It’s all such… bullshit. He thought he was over all of that meaningless high school drama yet here he was. He was still messing things up without even trying. He should’ve just sucked it up and agreed to play the dumb game instead of ruining their night. No wonder Eddie was so mad at him.

When Steve got home, it was to a dark and empty house. He was alone once again with his parents on some trip, his boyfriend mad at him, his best friend out of town, and the kids no longer needing a babysitter. He hated this cavernous house, the bareness on the walls, and the emptiness that matched the feelings in his chest. He just wanted to go somewhere else, to be welcomed into another house that wasn’t so devoid of character. He thought that would be Eddie’s trailer but he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

He was torn from his thoughts at the ring of the landline. Steve considered not answering it, thinking it may be Eddie trying to apologize or rag on him some more. After his comments of being bullshit, Steve thought he deserved some pettiness. Ultimately though, the Midwestern politeness ingrained in him pushed Steve to answer the call. “Harrington residence, this is Steve. How can I help you?”

“Steve? Oh honey, I’m so sorry to be calling,” a tearful voice murmured. 

It took Steve a moment to place the voice but when he did, a strum of anxiety skittered across his chest. “Aunt Becky? What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Sweetheart, it’s your grandmother. She’s in critical condition and the doctors say she could pass at any time now. I already called your parents and they’re on their way. Honey, if you want to see her, you should come now.” 

Steve’s heart dropped. His mother’s mother, his grandma, had always been his favorite. She babysat him when he was younger, called him every few weeks to check in, and sent him the most thoughtful presents on his birthday and Christmas. Despite the chaos of his personal life at the moment, he had to go see her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t get to say goodbye to her after all she’d done for him. 

“Um, okay. I’ll head up there now and I can be there in a few hours. Do you-do you need anything?” He asked his aunt. 

“No, that’s okay. Drive safe and let your brother know, okay?” 

Steve nodded in response before remembering that she couldn’t see him. “I’ll call him. See you soon.”

Steve hung up the phone before immediately picking it back up to call his brother. They weren’t close, especially after the events of Spring Break, but they were still family and he deserved the chance to say goodbye to his grandmother as well. There was no answer on his home phone so Steve dialed 9-1-1. 

“Hawkins Sheriff Department, this is Officer Callahan. What’s your emergency?”

“Phil, it's Steve. I know we’re not really talking but Grandma is dying tonight and I’m going to Illinois to say goodbye. Can you please come with me?”

“Wha- Steve? How do you know? What happened?” Phil stammered.

“Aunt Becky called, she says that Grandma is in critical condition and the doctors say that she could die at any time. If we want to see her, we have to go now.” Steve’s voice was panicked as he spoke. 

“Um- yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll uh, I just need to write a note and I’ll come pick you up, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes,” his brother comforted, his voice gentle over the phone. 

“Okay, bye.”

Steve rubbed a hand through his hair. Could this night get any worse? Not only was he on Eddie’s shit list, his grandma was dying, and now he had to sit in a car for four hours with his estranged, older step-brother. Lovely that this was how Steve’s life was going, just lovely. 

He threw some clothes in a bag along with his hair care products and a toothbrush and then he sat on the trunk of his car in the driveway waiting for Phil. He didn’t know how long he would be gone but he’d rather be prepared. On the fifteenth minute of waiting, Phil’s powder blue Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the curb and his brother’s head popped out of the open window. 

“Let’s go, shitface! We don’t have time to waste!” He called obnoxiously. 

Steve grumbled as he got into the car but quieted when Phil handed him a coffee. 

“... Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waved away. 

They drove in silence for a few minutes until they passed the Leaving Hawkins sign and Steve spoke up. “I hate the mustache by the way.”

“Why would you say that to me?!”

“It looks like an emaciated squirrel died on your face!” Steve said. 

“That’s rich of you to say when you have so much hair it looks like a helmet!” Phil���s voice raised in defense. 

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Steve sputtered.

They squabbled the entire four hour drive to Illinois and it brought a feeling of levity to Steve’s chest. Despite the circumstances, he felt better than he had in a while and all it took was minorly bullying his brother to get there. 

~*~*~*~

Hopper has never been so confused in his life and that was saying something because he’s gone through some major shit. But getting woken up at the dredges of dawn to a panicked Eddie Munson showing up at his door would do that. Almost at the point of tears, he told him that Steve was missing after a fight they had the night prior and he was worried that something might have happened to him. 

Hopper had to deal with Munson knocking on his door before appropriate business hours, the kids panicking because of Steve maybe going missing, and Joyce panicking that something could be going on with the Upside Down. Why else would Steve go missing?

Things only got more complicated and confounding when he arrived at the station to see a poorly written note from Callahan stuck to his desk. It read, ‘me + brother out of town, gma is sick. B back soon. Toodles.’

So now not only is his kid missing, but he’s also down a deputy, and he’s got the Party breathing down his neck annoying him about it. 

Hopper took a big swig of his coffee and sighed, this was going to be a long weekend.

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[sea-buns]

hey to a gorgug liker what do you think about his nightmare section from sophomore year? cause I feel like the horror there is less “ah my grandparents were racist” and more “fuck am I being a stereotype? are the people who hate me right about me?” cause wrt to his having to modulate between barbarian and artificer in fhjy it’s like. idk

oh boy do I have thoughts

Tbh, I had zero recollection of the racism stuff until reading this. It was just SO MINOR. His trial in the forest felt really lackluster to me. I feel like everyone else's really dug into an issue at the core of their character and his felt more like "everyone is getting a trial, what do we do for gorgug?" And idk if that was just a bad delivery/call on Brennan's part or if it could have been helped by Zac engaging more in it but it just. Didn't feel like anything. It was a lot more about the dice than the horror of the claustrophobia and the bugs and you've never fit in anywhere you live to make yourself smaller wherever you go you're just the loser who hits hard. Like yeah I guess there was an overarching theme of Gorgug gaining confidence in himself but it was done very poorly imo.

And I think his trial in the forest was wrong for putting such an emphasis on his intelligence. I think that would have been much better suited in fy, back when he was still being heavily bullied, but beyond that it felt like a quick and easy thing for them to grab. Yes, he had insecurities about his intelligence with all the complications with Zelda. But, to me, the focus of fhsy was his HEART. It put a spotlight on how his social circle has grown, and his bully is his friend now, and he's not alone anymore. His interactions with Ayda, the friendship book, trying to help Fabian, I believe in you spring break, it's Gorgug keep going. I made a post earlier in the season (including a great addition by another user) that I think articulates that emphasis on his emotional intelligence very well.

Fhjy HOWEVER. I think it's doing everything that sy failed at. It's giving him space to have an inner conflict. It's addressing lots of little issues and conflicts he's had over the campaign and combining them into one coherent piece. Like, guy was in a relationship pretty much all of fy, and then dealt with the fallout in sy, but I don't think we've EVER seen as much quality relationship development with Gorgug as we have in jy. He and Fig spent an entire summer together trapped in a tour bus and no season has indicated that bond and friendship more than this one. He and Riz have found something to bond over, meanwhile in previous seasons there was pretty much zero one-on-one personal interaction between them. Fabian expressed sadness over Gorgug leaving the Owlbears, because it was the only thing they had that was just for them to hang out and be friends.

Just with that, we're already doing leagues more with Gorgug's character than we ever have. And I haven't even STARTED on his barbificier journey, oh dear god lmao.

Gonna preface this bit with a post I made before the season even started. It was about Zac's steady improvement in his performances with every PC, and how I was predicting that it was gonna culminate into a Gorgug that does him the justice he deserves. It was initially supposed to be a criticism, but I got a little lost in the sauce of loving my boy lol. Still very relevant to the topic of this ask!

God, where do I START?? Addressing his relationship with rage? I'll be honest, I didn't think that would ever be used as a character arc. And I'm not even sure why I've felt that way. I just didn't think... I didn't think about how he might've had a dislike for his own rage. Like, the WAY he rages isn't bad by any means, but I don't think it ever crossed my mind how actually harmful his lessons to sing to combat rage were. No, I did not like the way Porter went about teaching him (a bit too unsupportive of his capabilities and reminiscent of shitty teachers for my liking). But his point about EMBRACING anger; that rage is not bad and does not— should not— need to be stifled. THAAAAT. That opened up such an interesting dialogue for Gorgug.

I do appreciate the beginnings of Gorgug's interest in artificing in fhsy. I think the crumbs of it back then did a great job of leading into his larger commitment to multiclassing. And I think what he's been doing with it this season is exactly what was lacking in his section of the nightmare forest. His trial was a puzzle, based entirely on die rolls, where his solution after failing even when he's assisted by the enemy is to essentially give up. I understand that facing their fears was the whole point of the trials, but his section came off as incredibly anticlimactic and unfulfilling. Just the fact that it was a trial based on stat numbers more than the development of the character itself.

Where junior year succeeds in actually showcasing his intelligence and the evolution of the worth he holds in himself is with the hands-on approach it takes. Yes, the academic rolls are still dice and stats, but there's a physical manifestation that wasn't there before. Gorgug is smart when it comes to getting his hands dirty. It is in the practical applications of his skills that his brand of intelligence shines the most.

And while, once again, I did not LIKE Porter's heavy resistance to multiclassing....I have to admit that I don't think Gorgug would have had such a boost in confidence without that struggle. Even if my boy had trouble expressing it to Porter verbally, HE STOOD UP FOR HIMSELF. Instead of simply rolling over and agreeing that he wasn't built for a technical class and it was stupid to try– he was DEFIANT.

The kid who said "I'm a dumbass. Eat me you stupid bug." took on FOUR CLASSES. Three school years worth of artificer simultaneously. AND stayed with the Owlbears. AND went along on party missions to help Kristen's candidacy. AND was always on deck to help the party with the overarching plotline.

AND HE ACED IT!!! THE FIRST BARBIFICER THAT THE AGUEFORT ADVENTURING ACADEMY HAS EVER SEEN!!!!! He is paving the way for every unprecedented multiclass that follows.

Just in comparison to who he was in the previous season, the amount of drive and self-worth he's gained is astounding. In my eyes, it's done more than enough to makeup for the way his development fell flat in sophomore year.

i hope this fulfilled the ask in the way you were hoping! i told you i'd get carried away lmao. writing a bunch about any of zac's characters is always such a joy. gorgug had always been my favorite of the bad kids but i always found myself wishing he went deeper, y'know? and now it's real. my precious anxious boy has been handled so well. and watching zac's growth as a performer has been such a blast.

thanks for the ask! :D

[m-feline]

No way out but his arms- Part 2

Emperor Thrawn x Freader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (TBA)

Tags: suggestion of divorce, treason, bath, deals, mention of children, suggestion of smut, suggestion of breeding.

(I asked @vibratingskull to write the spicy part of this story. The link will be added when it is done. The picture is from @netmors .)

You were not in the best of moods. This evening had been horrible. And at the end of the night, Thrawn still expected you to join him in his chambers. You needed everything possible to calm you down and to make you forget what happened at the banquet.

–

The banquet has been a success so far. The guests, food, and topics of discussion went smoothly without any issues. You didn't even think about spending a night with Emperor Thrawn until someone had to say something stupid.

“Your majesty, Good evening to you.”

Grand Moff Kothos was one of those disgusting people you had to endure on the political side of the government. He was one of the few remnants of the government from the time of the previous Emperor. But he was also one who indulged in the rumors that Thrawn had warned you about.

“Moff Kothos,” You greeted the man stiffly. The evening was almost over except for a small get-together with a glass of something bubbly. One more hour and you had to go and ask Thrawn to take you away. But then again if you do it in front of this man, you kill the rumors right there.

“I understand, there will be a new meeting next week,” Kothos said. Kicking the bush as always, he wanted something and you knew it. What you wanted was to remove this man from his position and give it to someone more deserving. You could do it, but without a reasonable excuse, you would be no better than other Moffs, Senators, or even the previous Emperor, in abusing your power. You didn't want to become that. If you had to be the Empress you would be someone who follows the laws and improves all lives of the Empire's people. Which was easier said than done.

“Yes, the meeting will be held without any changes,” You said with a neutral tone.

“I was wondering what topics would be discussed during that meeting,” Kothos said. You didn't miss the glint in his eyes. He was clearly wanting something.

“Then I wish to add another topic,” Kothos said. “There has been some talk about the union of someone important, and that their union is not working.” He thought he was subtle but he wasn't. He used to be good with words but now it seems the age reached him sooner than expected.

“Both are important figures, but me and a couple other Moff's have come to the conclusion that we can discard one if necessary,” Kothos said, and you felt how your stomach went hard. “As much as both of them have improved the current government, we believe a separation is recommended and maybe even welcomed.”

“A divorce, you say,” You say a bit coldly. If it were that easy you would have done it already. At the latest after your brother died.

“In time for that too,” Kothos said. “But we can't have the innocent party suffer and be left all alone. So maybe it would be best to introduce a new partner to the said party.”

That thought never occurred to you, if Thrawn has a lover, he could leave you be. If you play your cards right he will divorce you and you and your family can be free. But it wasn't that easy. He never made an appearance in the political field, even less appeared with another potential Empress. He was always on a campaign to protect the galaxy from enemies which were discovered not too soon after your wedding. And he has efficiently ended all rebel activities with minimal casualties. Now his main focus was on the outside threat coming from the Unknown Regions and possible alliances from other species from that same space. The Chiss Ascendancy to be precise, his home world. There were talks about a possible pact but nothing sure. But that was one of the reasons Thrawn needed you to handle the political power of the Empire. He would not let you go that easily.

As you didn't agree or disagree with any of his words, Kothos continued.

“Of course, but not just anyone will do. Naturally someone who already has made something for the Empire,” Kothos said. You mentally roll your eyes, of course he already has someone in mind. Someone he has connections with. You begin to wonder who he plans to introduce to Thrawn.

“Tell me, your highness. What do you think of my son?” Kothos asked. You looked at him with wide eyes full of confusion. Why would he ask that? Why would you ever care for his obnoxious son? Kothos had to be either stupid or didn’t care about your opinion as he continued. “My son is well known in the social circles, and he has some merits from the navy, but above all else he is way better partner than a non-human.”

As you realize his intentions, you become angry every minute. How dare he? Your family’s life is on the line. And even if it wasn’t, you would never choose a pompous son of an old Moff. And above all else, even if you were at odds with Thrawn, you would never cheat on him.

“Sure, he only got a rank of a Captain before he ended his service, but I assure you he will be very useful,”Kothos continued. “I will help you get divorced, and transfer the power from the Emperor to you. And when you marry my son I will gladly help you with whatever…”

“You filthy pig!” You shout and slap the man as hard as you could. Kothos had managed to keep the conversation in low tone and no one had paid attention to it. But when you had shouted and slapped the man, everyone turned to look and stopped their conversations. For a long moment everything was silent as people tried to figure what was going on, and Kothos was trying to get over the shock over the rejection and the pain on his cheek. The silence was broken quickly by the sound of steps that made way through the crowd to the scene.

“What is the matter?” Thrawn asked with a cool and calm tone. You turned at him but you were too upset to speak right away. Thrawn came to stand next to you and took your hand, that you used to slap Kothos, and inspected it. “What happened?”

“I…”

“She slapped me,” Kothos said, pointing at you. “I was having a civil conversation and…”

“He wanted me to divorce you for his son,” You said with the conviction you had mastered in the senate.

“No, I…”

“He said that if I marry his son, he’ll help with dethroning you,” you kept talking.

“No, I didn’t …”

“You claim that the Empress lies?” Thrawn asked coldly. The other guests began to murmur as they heard and realized what was going on. Kothos was indeed an old Moff from the regime of the previous Emperor, but for him to dare suggest his son for the Empress to marry, or to claim she lied in front of the current Emperor without proof, was a very poor decision.

“Your highness,” Kothos tried to sound diplomatic. “I believe the Empress misunderstood what I was saying.”

“Then what were you trying to say?” Thrawn asked,

“He spoke how he and other Moffs believe we should divorce, how it would be unfair for the innocent party to lead alone, and then he asked what do I think of his son,” You said.

“That does sound very upsetting,” Thrawn said. “I can’t help but feel offended.”

“Your highness that was not what..,” Kothos tried.

“Whether you didn’t mean to upset the Empress,what you said did indeed cause offense and so the Empress can’t be blamed for striking you,” Thrawn said.

“But, sir…”

“Just because you have served the Empire from the days of the first Emperor, doesn’t mean you can disrespect the Empress,” Thrawn said. The murmuring got more intense as people kept whispering about Kothos.

“Since I have served so long I do have some rights,” Kothos tried to save his face.

“You were offering a plan of conspiracy to me, Moff Kothos,” You said out loud coldly. “What you were doing was speak of treason right before my husband, the Emperor.”

That did the trick to make Kothos go pale. And soon people murmured that his position was now everything else except secure. With a small gesture of hand, Thrawn called the guard and gave the order to arrest Kothos. Kothos tried to say something to save himself but no one listened to him anymore. The whole ordeal had soured your mood, but as the scene was cleared you recalled that you still had to spend a night with Thrawn, as he circled his hand to your shoulder. Even now you had to ask him in front all the guests to end the evening sooner, and make it sound as if you wanted to spend the night with him. As if the previous scene wasn’t enough to end the rumors. but right now you didn’t feel like pretending to be a couple in love. But you wished to leave early that was for sure. So you looked at Thrawn at your side.

“I want to go to my chambers,” You said to him.

“You mean our chambers,” Thrawn said.

“You are jesting,” You said sourly.

“I do not jest,” Thrawn said. “But considering what just happened I let you go early to freshen up before I arrive. No need to beg me to come with you.” You were partly relieved you no longer had to beg for him. But you still needed to spend the night with Thrawn, and you knew how it would be spent.

“Fine,” You said and tried not to grumble.

“I will see you soon then,” Thrawn said.

–

So here you were, soaking in a big tub in the huge bathroom of the Emperor’s suite. You needed it after the fiasco that happened moments ago. Every time you would sleep with Thrawn you would try to mentally prepare yourself. It was for your family. You would slip your thoughts to the past when you first met Thrawn. Back then you had no qualms with the Empire, but you didn't support it either. You didn't know your parents were secretly aiding the Rebel Alliance. So, when you met Thrawn you didn't see him as such a bad person. In fact, you were a bit intrigued by him. He was mysterious yet very polite. Though he didn't understand politics very well, he knew art and culture. Then he began to spend time with you. Your parents were wary of him but they didn't forbid you to see him. When he disappeared you were sad for not seeing him. But when he came back your entire family was surprised and worried. When he came for you they were terrified. But from then on Thrawn did his best to be a decent husband to you and a dignified Emperor. Of course, he couldn't spend time with you all the time due to his duties. But when you were in private and you weren't acting up, he would become the sweetest of lovers you ever knew. That is if he was in a good mood and you had behaved like a good wife. As you sat in the water you prayed he would be like that now as well. Sometimes, you wished he would be a selfish bastard who would take you roughly every night, then you would kill every bit of admiration or fondness toward him, and you could demand a separation legally by claiming to feel unsafe. But no, the only time he has ever forced you was when you acted all bratty at him and threatened to run away. But whenever he suggested you spend a night in his chambers, he would make love to you nice, slow, and possibly all night long. In those times you can't help but fill the room with moans and cries of ecstasy as he brings you to your high.

You sighed as you dip yourself more to the warm waters till only your nose was above the water. You weren't in the mood but you knew that with Thrawn's skills he gets you to that mood. And you hated yourself for that. But he did let you off the hook with the begging. But now surely he expected a docile wife waiting for him to bed.

While you were worrying about your morals and the night's finale, you missed how the door to the bathroom opened and closed as someone came in and walked to the big bathtub.

“Everything alright?” Thrawn asked and made you almost jump out of the tub. You were angry for him scaring you like that but you were also anxious that he wanted to start something right here and now.

“W-why are you here? Can’t you see I'm not ready,” You asked, trying to get some authority to your voice.

“I wished to get a few things done before our night together,” Thrawn said, coming closer. You had hopes that he would keep his distance since he still wore his full attire. “How do you wish to deal with Kothos?”

“What I wish for and what I should do are two separate things,” You sighed. “If I could I would remove him from his post, take away his title, and appoint a new governor for his sector.”

“And why not do it then?” Thrawn asked.

“Because I don't want to abuse my power,” You said a bit louder.

“You are the Empress, if you want something done just order it,” Thrawn said.

“I'm not a tyrant. If something is done it will be done by the law with the council,” You protested.

“I'm sure the council will agree,” Thrawn said, and pulled his hand back to pull out a datacard. “Especially once they see this.”

“What is that?” You asked with suspicion.

“All the evidence of corruption of Kothos and a couple of more Moffs. How you wish to use it will be up to you,” Thrawn said, keeping the datacard between the two of you. When you tried to reach it, he pulled his hand back. You turned and tried again but this time not only did Thrawn pull the card away but he also grabbed your hand with his free hand. You were suddenly out of water and you couldn't decide whether to use your free hand to push him away or to cover yourself the little you could with one hand. “It won't be for free.”

“What do you want?” You knew the answer but dared to ask. He already got you to come this far by threatening your sister, what more could he want?

“I have a proposition for you,” Thrawn said and brought the datacard before your eyes. “You get this, if you listen to it, without interrupting me or acting up.”

“Does it have to do with us sharing the bed?” You asked.

“Very much,” Thrawn said. “And more.”

You felt the chill in your spine. Then again you were standing naked and wet from the warm bath you had a moment ago. But just thinking what he might be about to offer made you worried.

“Y-you just want me to listen?” You asked, confirming his words.

“Yes, only listen, whether you accept my proposition or not will be entirely up to you,” Thrawn said and let go of your hand. “I will leave now and wait for you to finish here. I'll keep the datacard so it won't get damaged from the humidity.”

Once he was gone you sunk to the warmth of the waters again. You had a bad feeling of this. But so far he only asked to listen in exchange for the datacard that could make your work easy. Well, easy for your mind. As he suggested, as the Empress you could simply order to replace Kothos and take all his possessions. But you didn't want to become that. It was one thing for your family to know you married the Emperor, but to hear you take down governors by your whim, you were raised better than that. You could never face yourself. Your morals wouldn't allow it.

You soaked for a moment more in the water before you got out and dried yourself with the soft towels. For one part you were grateful to Thrawn that he rarely allowed servants to his chambers or to his bathroom if it wasn't for cleaning. He preferred to do things himself as much as possible. But for certain occasions he allowed servants to come to aid with clothing like earlier. You were not in the mood to hear any words from the servants, whether they tried to cheer you up or simply make you feel better. You had no nightclothes to put on and since you knew what was before you, you didn't need it. You took a light long satin robe that could be tied from the front. Once you got your hair dried you came out of the bathroom to the master bedroom.

Thrawn had already discarded his attire and waited for you wearing his own robe, while sitting on a lounge chair drinking some wine from a chalice. When you came out he drinked the sight of you with his eyes as he set down the chalice.

“You look beautiful,” He said when you finally got close enough.

“What is it that you wish to speak about?” You asked. Thrawn didn't say anything but moved his finger as a sign to call you to come closer. Knowing him, he surely wanted you to sit on his lap. But you were already bracing yourself and you were mentally prepared to only hear his offer, so instead of his lap you sat next to him on the lounge chair. Thrawn didn’t show any disappointment instead he turned to face you fully before he talked.

“I am tired of using your family as a leverage to get you to behave as my wife, and I'm sure you would be less stressed every time I mention your family,” Thrawn began. You went tense when you heard his words. Was he seriously going to let your family go? It was too good to be true. What was the catch? Thrawn could see your inner turmoil as you were going through possible conspiracy theories inside your head. He smiled as he waited for you to say something. But he had said that if you listen without interrupting you would get the datacard. And you needed that datacard to finally remove the corrupted old Moffs who abused their power. So no, as much as you wanted to ask and know what Thrawn was going to suggest how to keep your family from being hostages against you.

“So, I came up with another option. A life for a life,” Thrawn said. You frowned as you didn't understand what he meant, and Thrawn saw it in your face. “I want you to bear my children.”

“What?”

“You heard me, and you interrupted me,” Thrawn said.

“But…”

“We had an agreement,” Thrawn said. You opened your mouth but didn't say anything as you kept repeating a mantra inside your head. Just listen, just listen, just listen. No need to agree, you don't need to accept it.

“I want you to bear my children. Little heirs of the Empire. We have been married for some time and our union isn't bad, but isn't good either. If we have children I'm sure even you will behave for their sake,” Thrawn explained. You lifted your hand like a child in a school, and you didn't miss the smirk Thrawn had on his face when he gave permission to speak.

“You mean ‘a child’, not children,” You say.

“No, I meant children. Plural,” Thrawn said. “You give me a child and I let go, and never touch again, one of your family members. And last time I checked, you have more than one family member, minus one.” You finally get what he meant. He won't chain you by your family but by your children. He wants you to get pregnant and have his children. The night just got worse.

“Have I made my offer clear?” Thrawn asked.

“You did,” You growled. “If you want heirs can't you just get a concubine like other rules do?”

“No,” Thrawn said, his voice growling and his red eyes blazing. “I want you. Only you. And I want you to bear my children.”

“And if I say no?” You asked angrily.

“Then your family may have to suffer another loss in the future,” Thrawn said, his voice cold. You bit your cheek inside your mouth as you went through his words and what he wanted.

For one part he was going to let your family go. But he was going to chain you with your children. Will you agree to that? Will you be able to love them if they resemble Thrawn? Oh Stars, you hated yourself for even thinking that. How could you abandon your child to him? Wait, how many children did he say again? Can you even have too many?

“How many did you say…?” You asked disheartedly.

“One for each of your family members,” Thrawn said, the coldness was gone from his voice as he knew now that you would soon give in. “And I give you my word, I won't touch or hurt the member you choose. Even if they try to defy me, I would simply lock them up for good. But I won't hurt them.”

You let out a sigh when you heard that. This was a new chain you would accept in order to protect your family. Your first chain was the crown of the Empress, now it would be your children. But you would do your best to look after people living in the galaxy. You just had to come to terms that you were bound to Thrawn. As much as you disliked it. But better him than some power hungry Moff trying to push his son at you. Maybe one day. One day long, long time from now, you might get used to Thrawn, and perhaps let him into your life. But you didn't feel like it today.

“Will you let go of my family when I give birth or when I'm expecting?” You asked, staring at your hands on your lap.

“I let one of them go when you're expecting our first child. For the others, after the delivery,” Thrawn said as he got up from the chair and walked to the huge window of the room.

“Can we skip this night then? It is not my day yet?” You asked, hoping you could get a breather tonight.

“Your auspicious day is tomorrow,” Thrawn said without looking at you. “I checked with the droids for your monthly cycles to be sure. And no, that does not mean we will skip tonight.”

“Why?” You asked dreadfully as you got up from the chair.

“Because my dear, I need to prepare you to take me fully,” Thrawn said as he turned to face you. “We will be occupied for the next five days to successfully get you with a child. And I'm making sure you will be thoroughly satisfied.” You got scared of what he just said and tried to get to the door and get away. But the panel didn't let you get out. Did he lock you inside his room?

“I have instructed the servants to only contact us through datapads if necessary. And most of our schedules are completely liberated to focus on our endeavor to get you pregnant,” Thrawn said, walking away from the window towards you. “Don't worry your assistants know that you will be unable to attend a few meetings and they will make sure that everything will be taken care of.”

“I'm not going to remain locked in the same room with you for five days,” You growled as you still tried to open the door.

“You have no choice, my dear. You are here and you are free to leave after I'm truly finished with you,” Thrawn said, coming right behind you to slip his hands around you. “Now, allow me to make love to you, slowly and tenderly, before I start to breed you in earnest.”

“No,.. why… why?” You asked while you gave up on trying to get the door open, yet you still tried to get out of his grasp.

“Why what, love? Ask properly,” Thrawn said and kissed your neck.

“Why… Why me? Why now?” You cried as you also realized that you couldn't escape him.

“Because I want you. I wanted you from the beginning when we met. I didn't push the issue of children on the wedding night so you could get accustomed to your new life. But now,...” Thrawn said and chuckled. “Well, I'll tell you more tomorrow, now I want to taste you.”

Thrawn untied your robe and left it open from the front while his hands found your chest and began to fondle you. You tried to keep yourself from letting any noise but once one of his hands reached for your sex, it was game over for you.

“I know you enjoy what I give to you,” Thrawn said right next to your ear. “The way you make noises when I use my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Stars, you feel so wet already.”

“It… I… it was…’cause the b-bath,” You tried to keep yourself moaning. But Thrawn knew how to make you scream once he set his mind to it.

“Is that so?” Thrawn asked, and you felt how he was smirking behind you as he brought his fingers to his mouth to have the first taste of your wetness. “And here I thought it arouses you to know that the most powerful man in the galaxy can get to his knees for you.”

He stopped touching you and took a step back. You tried to keep yourself up by leaning against the wall. But soon he made you spin to face him, he lifted you over his shoulder and carried you to bed. After setting you softly to the bed, he removed his robe while looking you up and down.

“Relax and get comfortable on this bed, we'll be spending a lot of time here for a while.”

[damnmmmmmmmmmm]

I’m sure I’ll get a lot of hate for this but I’m glad Sebastian didn’t win the Oscar. Yes he works hard and I do believe he deserves recognition for his work and talent but does he really want his first Oscar to be for a role where he plays someone the majority of the world despises? That would have just put a huge target on his back. If the president didn’t come after him, his supporters would have.

I wish they had campaigned harder for ADM instead. His acting in it was phenomenal, the makeup team was on point & it brought attention to some important topics in Hollywood.

He’s the first Romanian in history to be nominated for an Oscar that there is phenomenal. But had he won it not only Sebs name but Romanians as well will forever be known in history as “that man and that country whose first Oscar was about Trump” is that really a topic Seb wants to be known and go down in history for playing?

We KNOW Seb is Oscar worthy, his roles in I,Tonya & A Different man prove he’s an amazing character acter, he can really embody a person not just in his line delivery but his body movements & how he puts the whole character into his body, like he becomes the person. One look at his IMDB page and you can see how versatile he is as an actor as well. From comedy, to horror, to action & playing actual people. Only thing he hasn’t done is a RomCom but we know he’d knock that out of the park too.

I understand why folks are upset, they really wanted him to win, especially against a film that used AI. But I’m glad he didn’t win. I want him to win for something worth going down in the history books for, not some movie about Trump. All that will do is forever stain Sebs name because of how hated Trump is across the globe.

In addition, had he won, you KNOW Annabelle would not let go of him, she’d dig her claws in deeper. It’s very clear after this weekend, real or PR, all she cares about is having the spotlight on her. She clearly cares more about herself & the fame being attached to his side brings her, than she does his actual happiness & well being and he deserves so much more than that. Real or fake, she doesn’t truly care for him or she wouldn’t be putting on such a show for the cameras all the time. She’s be there to comfort him, when he’s clearly hurting after losing.

Instead, she paid for how many articles? Faked how many smiles? Left him alone at the bar to go do what? Invited herself to the Oscar’s when he had said he was taking his mom, why? Did photo shoots while getting ready and walking the red carpet like it was her weekend and not his, because?

I’m glad he didn’t win. He deserves to win for a much more meaningful role, and he deserves someone who isn’t hanging off his shoulder, grabbing him by the neck, 🍑 and 🍆, trying to manipulate him to her will, because she’s so fame hungry.

We KNOW he will win, his talent & work ethics probe that, but I’m glad he didn’t win this time around.

[imagitory]

Okay, all...time to talk about that new song Disney just put out from the upcoming live-action Snow White.

To summarize my thoughts -- damn it, Rachel Zegler, you deserved to sing in a much better Disney movie than this is going to be...

So okay, let me first get my only undiluted shred of praise out of the way: Rachel's voice is lovely. It's always been lovely. Quite frankly when everyone complained about Rachel's casting, I always gave them the side eye because vocally speaking, she couldn't be better cast. She certainly can sing the part a helluva lot better than Emma Watson did Belle's. Do I love all the commentary Rachel's given about the OG Snow White? No, but it's honestly kind of same-old, same-old...we've heard a lot of the same anti-Snow-White nonsense before, and as much as I would've preferred to have someone in the role who respected the film as the historical Hollywood landmark it is, it's unsurprising that Disney's current PR team would lean into that thought process, considering they've done it for ALL of their recent princess films, live-action or otherwise. Even Cinderella (2015), which is widely considered the best of these remakes, had this sort of silliness in their marketing campaign that tried to treat their lead as "more feminist" than the OG Cinderella.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, let me talk about the song itself, because...whew, boy.

So first of all, I personally find this song completely forgettable, melody-wise. The "Waiting on a Wish" bit in particular kind of reminded me of the chorus of Taylor Swift's "Karma is My Boyfriend," but other than that, the tune was completely unremarkable.

Second, did anyone notice that the movie is trying to turn Snow White into a fusion of their live-action Jasmine and their live-action Mulan? There's even a clip showing off a locket from Snow's parents that says "Fearless; Fair; Brave; True" -- not only showing off that Snow's parents and the filmmakers by extension don't know that "Fearless" and "Brave" are literal synonyms, but also ripping off the song Loyal Brave and True from Mulan (2020). But yeah, the increased focus on Snow's father and on her wanting to change the kingdom herself and becoming more of a leader really just reminds me of the other "girl-bossification" efforts Disney's done in the past.

Third, I hate how the song almost seems to take pot-shots at the original Snow White:

Little girl at a lonely well With the same little tale to tell Feeling trapped by the walls that hold her Feeling stuck in the story they've told her Another day where she fades away Never daring to disobey So she's dreaming all alone Sharing secrets with the stone

On a throwaway note, that last rhyme feels awkward to me. This song seemingly frames the girl in the "story" we all know -- i.e. Snow White, both in this film and the original movie -- as someone who "fades away, never daring to disobey" and "dreaming all alone." But this is just not true!

If you watch the original movie, you see Snow White working on the Queen's order, yes, but even in isolation in the Queen's castle, she's not alone. She makes friends with the birds. The Prince hears her song and comes to meet her. And then of course there's the Huntsman, who admires Snow White so much for her innocence and kindness that he refuses to kill her, even on his terrifying Queen's instructions! And this is all well before she makes friends with the forest animals and the Dwarfs.

Snow White doesn't "fade away" -- she earns love and respect from all who know her, and the Evil Queen is undoubtedly left frustrated that she can't seem to break the girl's spirit and turn her as ugly on the outside as the ragged clothes the Queen forced her into. As the Magic Mirror says, "rags cannot hide her gentle grace." Snow's stoic optimism in the face of the Queen's cruelty is a mark of resilience, not fragility. There's a reason so many abuse victims have resonated with this, as well as with Cinderella, who is in a similar circumstance. Even if yes, Snow doesn't have the power needed to defeat the Queen, she does have control over how she herself behaves. Even if she can't change the world around her, she does have a small piece of the world she can affect -- namely, the palace, and later the Dwarfs' cottage -- and Snow White throws all of herself into putting out as much sunshine and beauty as she can into that small piece of her world.

Which leads me to the other half of why that section annoyed me -- the song acts like Snow White sitting back and dreaming and not disobeying orders is a bad thing, and yet their lead does THE SAME THING, to almost a worse degree.

I'm waiting on a wish Beneath a thousand treetops And as the silver sky stops I long to leave the walls behind me Waiting on a wish Holding out for someday Hoping somehow, some way There comes a miracle to find me

This Snow also just sits around waiting for things to get better! Moreover, she dreams of running away from all of her problems a la Ariel or Jasmine, rather than holding her ground. I'm not saying there's necessarily a problem with wanting some escapism now and again, but for a character that's supposedly so gung-ho about doing right by her father the King and pointing how much is wrong in the kingdom, this Snow sure is impractical in how she dreams. The original Snow White was a dreamer, yes, but she dreamed while also standing her ground in her home and rolling with the punches. This is a girl raised as a princess, but rather than getting bogged down with who she's supposedly "meant to be," she acknowledges that her position has changed, she rolls up her sleeves, and she gets to work. She toughs it out without complaint.

Now to be clear -- I'm not saying stoicism is the "better" course of action in the face of abuse, or really any such mistreatment. There are many different paths one can take in fighting back, and this is just one of them. But sometimes physically or verbally standing up to one's abusers isn't always safe or possible -- I think it's good the original film showed that lying in wait and standing firm is a viable, wise, graceful, and even brave option. That contrast of kindness and "stiff upper lip" defined the original Snow's character in a way that helped her stand apart from other, more recent Disney princesses. She didn't demand to be treated as the princess she was born to be -- she earned respect by simply being as good and kind of a person as she could, no matter what her circumstances. Even despite the abuse she experienced at the hands of her stepmother, Snow tried to find whatever light she could to push through. That is strength, and one often dismissed in the face of more extroverted, traditionally masculine examples.

And well...this new Snow does at one point have a good line about the kingdom in her song --

But in the shadow the kingdom's caught in Somehow, fairness is long forgotten

But again, that line is followed up with that chorus about "waiting on a wish," so in the end, even if the new Snow sees the injustices of the kingdom, she either knows she can't fight them on her own (like the OG Snow did, except she doesn't feel the need to angst about it: again, she just gets right to work doing whatever little she can) or she's comfortable enough that she can just sit back and wish things will get better rather than do anything (does acknowledging things suck really make such passivity better?).

I kind of hate to do this...but do you mind if I quote Snow's most defining song from the original movie for a minute? No, not I'm Wishing -- no, not Someday My Prince Will Come -- I'm talking about With a Smile and a Song.

In Waiting on a Wish, the new Snow sings this as a reference to the line in the song I'm Wishing about how if you hear your wish echo back to you in the wishing well, it'll come true soon:

They say all you have to do To make your wish come true Is let it echo, echo, echo, echo Your voice will carry through And bring that dream to you Just like an echo, echo, echo Well, I can hear the echo loud and clear But I'm still waiting here

But if I may use the original Snow's sentiment in response to that last complaint --

There's no use in grumbling When the raindrops come tumbling Remember, you're the one Who can fill the world with sunshine

Stop complaining about how much you're waiting. Stop complaining about how ineffectual you feel. Remember that you can make things better just with your attitude. Remember that you can bring sunshine to others and yourself just by doing what little you can every day, even if it might seem insignificant. Rather than act like every other Disney princess stereotype we've gotten used to by channeling their inner Asha and blandly singing about how they want "something more than this," remember the core of the Snow White character is optimism...finding the silver lining, even when things get hard. That would be a hell of a lot more inspiring and different for a Disney live-action lead right about now, as well as a lot more respectful to the original character and film that brought its audience at the Carthay Circle theater to tears all the way back in 1937. If I had more optimism toward the quality of this film's writing, I would almost wonder if this was the character arc planned for the new Snow White's character -- realizing that optimism, hard work, grace, and kindness can inspire real, formative change in people and the world itself -- but forgive me if I'm not holding my breath. If nothing else, that locket that clearly is supposed to be something inspirational to both the main character and the audience doesn't reference those themes in the least bit.

Personally I'm in the camp that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs should never have been remade in the first place and that a Saving Mr. Banks-style film that told the behind-the-scenes "underdog" story of the film's creation would've been a much better tribute. But even disregarding that, I've been thoroughly uninspired by everything I've seen for this remake, and this song is sadly no exception. I'm sad that the song and scriptwriters didn't put in more effort so that Rachel Zegler could really show off what she could do, but I'm definitely not surprised. I wish this film could be a nail in the coffin for these Disney live action remakes overall, but I don't think it will, given how many people are already going gaga over the completely pointless Lilo and Stitch and Moana remakes. (I just...can't even.) But oh well...since I can't control Disney and their lazy, toothless creative decisions...I may as well just enjoy what I can, and put out some sunshine into the world to counteract this particularly dark cloud.

Remember, you're the one who can fill the world with sunshine.

[porcellune]

OC interview tag

writing this from the perspective of isra as he currently is, in between arc 1 and arc 2 of the campaign :)

Are you named after anyone?

Mykolas named me. Or maybe the Web did. I do not know why, or what it means to him - to the Web.

I do not remember the name I had before I met him, anymore. And I don't want to.

When was the last time you cried?

...

He looks wounded by the question, expression darkening and looking away. A sadness emanates off of him.

...I've cried most nights since... since-

Like he could break again, he stops, shaking his head.

Like you care. Ask something else.

Do you have kids?

I'm dead. No.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

He shrugs.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

Their selfishness. Almost every person I have ever met, and ever will, is selfish. They do not care about the others around them - about what they need, what they want, what hurts them or what doesn't. At the end of the day, they would all betray you when it came down to it, just to fulfill their selfish wants.

Mykolas is the only person who has not been selfish, with me. The only one I trust.

Scary stories or happy endings?

He deserved a happy ending. So do I. I'll make sure we both get one.

Any special talents?

...

Good at being used, maybe.

Where were you born?

Paris... 1881. It was... probably in my family's home.

Do you have any pets?

I had a cat, when I was alive. I was young. She passed on, a good few years before I met Mykolas.

Cats are scared of me, now. I don't really care. I don't need them. I don't need anyone but Mykolas.

What sort of sports do you play?

I don't play sports. Why would I?

How tall are you?

I think... around 157cm.

What was your favourite academic subject?

I liked studying, alone. My tutor was nicer than my parents, but I still didn't like her much. I didn't like much of anyone in the house.

He pauses, frowning as he tries to recall memories that are very far gone, now. He can't imagine how a vampire older than him would even begin to recall their life.

I liked reading. I still do. I like to sew, too. Back then, I... wasn't very good at accomplishments, like music. I drew sometimes, but my parents thought it was pointless to pursue. So they made me focus on etiquette, and being a lady.

He crinkles his nose, scoffing.

Not like it matters anymore. None of it does.

What is your dream job?

Job?

He makes it sound like the question is stupid. It sort of is.

I don't need a job. I am dead. Mykolas - he took care of everything. I just - I will go back to him, when this is all done. And we will remain in the church, as we always have, for the rest of time.

-

stolen from oomf @mystxmomo anyone else can steal and take it to do it if they want!

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Four

A post-campaign Baldur's Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

Chapter Summary: Liv and Astarion continue their investigation at the Wide.

Read from the beginning.

Read on A03.

_______________________________________________________

Liv can’t get away from Astarion fast enough. She barely gets the shop door locked behind her and up the stairs to her apartment before she collapses on her hands and knees. She’s been shaky since the fight, since the rush of adrenaline had faded and the horror of what she’d done had sunk in. She’d volunteered to go get the Fist to get away from the harrowing scene as quickly as possible. Once she was sure Astarion wouldn’t notice, she’d ducked into an alleyway to pathetically retch against the stone wall. 

There has always been much in Liv’s life that was out of her control, but her magic was never one of those things. She calls and it answers. She has spent her whole life learning magic, studying spell theory, practicing drawing on that well of power within her. Her magic is an extension of herself. There is something comforting about a spell, about the precision required. Say the right words, form the correct somatic gestures, and the outcome is always what is expected. She has always liked owning that sort of control.

So, of course, she had known that her magic could be used to destroy, to snuff out life. But it is one thing to know that and another entirely to hear a person’s screams as her fire scorches their skin, burning them alive. She had told herself it wasn’t killing when it was mind flayers, that it was in self-defense, that mind flayers might have once been people but weren’t in those terrifying moments when they transformed and attacked. But those cultists, she hadn’t even tried to reason with them. Did they deserve to die? They were people, with entire universes: friends, families, people who cared about them. When had she become judge, jury, and executioner? 

It’s difficult to breathe on her apartment floor. Her heart is racing, and she can’t seem to get enough air. She wonders for a moment if she’s dying before she realizes dimly that she’s having a panic attack. It’s funny, even knowing what is happening doesn’t seem to stop it. She’s home and she’s safe, but she can’t quite seem to convince her body of that. It’s been months since the last attack like this, and she feels a profound sort of disappointment in herself. Why isn’t she past this?

She presses her hands more fully into the rough wood of the floorboards to the point of pain, feeling every bit of the wood grain. She focuses on her breathing, letting this thing run its course. At least she’s alone. There’s nothing worse than an audience when you’re falling apart. 

When it’s finally over, she kicks off her boots, shrugs out of her cloak, and crawls right into bed. She doesn’t care that she’s still fully dressed because her bed feels safe and secure and she just needs a moment to come to terms with what she’s done. With who she is now. 

Those cultists had come to them with the intent to kill them. And Astarion hadn’t hesitated to draw his daggers. She fought effectively, she can acknowledge that much. But she hopes he didn’t realize just how much it affected her. He’d known something was off, of that much she’s sure. He had stared at her like she was something fragile, liable to break. She can’t let him see just how out of her depth she is here, doesn’t want to risk being sidelined. She’s spent her whole life being told she’s not capable, not competent enough. Moving here, helping at the shop, it’s shifted things somewhat. She gets to be someone else, gets to be free from the expectations, or lack thereof. But she doesn’t want Astarion thinking she can’t hold her own. Because she can. She’s fine. 

She’d tried to keep from looking at him. Her mother’s voice had been echoing in her head, telling her that her emotions are always evident on her face. Tomorrow night she’ll be better. A lifetime as a Vires has taught her more than just magic: she knows how to pretend to be unaffected. 

But tonight she doesn’t have to, so she cries into her pillow until she falls asleep. 

In the morning, she wakes up and opens the shop like she didn’t just kill two people the night before. She eats freshly baked blueberry muffins that Wynn sent with Kharis, and she lies when he asks her about her night. They have a few of their usual customers and some new faces, and Liv whiles away the hours studying books on healing magic and blood diseases, writing down notes, and wishing for a larger selection of tomes to choose from. She closes the shop, and Kharis bids her goodnight. 

And the world doesn’t end. In fact, for all of her panic of the night before, she feels…steadier now. She’s not necessarily interested in getting into another fight, but she’s been thinking about how she could have incapacitated instead of killed, and the guilt has faded. It’s been replaced with a grim determination to do better next time, to not lose her head. To prove that she can do this. 

With sunset not far off, she sets off for the Wide. The Upper City has a strict curfew, but it’s the warm season and a fine evening, so she expects the Bailiff won’t begin clearing the market until the stars appear in the sky. She’d been in such a hurry the night before that she and Astarion hadn’t made plans for where to meet, so she just wanders the crowds, looking for any sign of his silver-white hair.  

The Wide is always busy, crowded with the din of people and smells and business. When she was a child, the Wide had seemed to be the most beautiful and glamorous of places. Colorful stalls to browse, exotic goods to buy, and above it all the beacons of the pole-carters weaving through the crowd, goods attached to tall poles that darted in and out of the maze of people.

The Wide is no less magical now, but it’s Liv who’s changed. The press of people no longer seems exciting, but rather oppressive, and the stalls are still beautiful, but she wonders if it might just be a lot less work to buy from somewhere else in the city. She’s not sure when the shift occurred when a place like the Wide is no longer touched by promise and possibility and instead feels irrevocably tainted with the grime of the city. 

She’s turning a corner to wander down another crowded line of stalls when Astarion falls into step beside her with such a suddenness it makes her jump. “And here I didn’t think you’d show up.” He’s smiling, but it’s a sharp thing, full of briars and teeth. The comfortability they’d sunk into the night before is gone now. A small, quiet part of her that remembers exactly what he is whispers: run. 

“It’ll take more than a few Bhaalists to scare me off,” she replies, voice firm and even. She keeps her chin high and maintains eye contact as if challenging him to tell her she’s not cut out for this. 

Her response doesn’t seem to be what he’s expecting, his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Well, I believe we have a job to do and not much time to do it?”

“After you.”

Astarion leads them down a wide, crowded aisle. And she’s once again baffled at how she didn’t know him for exactly what he is when he first entered the shop. He moves with a preternatural grace that no one could mistake for mere mortal. He’s wearing the same clothing as the night she met him, fine and expensive, but this close she can see the way the golden thread of the embroidery is unraveling. 

 “So, say we do manage to find someone who meets our…parameters, what exactly is your plan then?” he asks lightly. 

“I figured we’d talk to them, tell them what’s going on, and ask them for a sample.”

He laughs. “Darling, take it from someone who knows, most people aren’t quick to offer up their blood simply because they’re asked. Besides, do you really want to incite panic in the common folk?”

“Gods no. I didn’t think we’d tell them everything, just enough. But…I suspect if someone…meets our parameters they’ll also have other symptoms. I brought tinctures and potions and balms.” Her bag is packed with anything she might need, including needles and vials. She also prepped a few more offensive spells, just in case. But she doesn’t tell him that. 

“So what? Free healing for blood?”

“I’ve heard of worse deals in the Wide.”

“And if diplomacy and bribing don’t work, I can always knock them out and drag them into an alley for you.” The smile he gives her is all fangs, eyes bright. She realizes then that there’s some part of him that revels in the chaos; he’d enjoyed the fight last night. 

She’d been so caught up in trying to hide her own reaction, she hadn’t been paying attention to him. But now that she plays it back, she can see it, the smile he’d tossed her at the end, the self-satisfied way he’d drained the cultist before realizing she’d seen. She wants to ask him about it, but she doesn’t. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” he complains and then seems to consider his own words before turning to her more fully. “But really, you’re no fun at all, are you? This is three evenings we’ve spent together and you haven’t mentioned a single plan to move or engagement to reschedule. You’re too young to never have plans.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not that young, and how do you know that my social calendar isn’t just very flexible?”

But she’s simply confirmed his suspicions rather than refuting them and she knows it by the way he smirks and leans conspiratorily toward her. “Forgive my assumptions, what plans did you put off to be with me this evening then?” There’s an amusement in his eyes, and she wants to play along, laugh and joke and flirt back. 

She doesn’t.

There’s something about the way he flirts that feels like it is borne more out of habit than any real feeling. So, she sidesteps it entirely. “Are you paying any attention to the people around us? The Bailiff is going to close this all down very soon.”

“Please darling, I’m very good at multitasking.” He puts emphasis on the last word, says it like a promise. 

Somehow, she very much doubts that. “I could say the same about you though. You’ve also not complained about moving any plans around.”

“My social calendar is very flexible. As am I.” He flashes her a grin, to which she responds by looking unimpressed. He sighs and grimaces, waving his hand in defeat. “If you must know, since we defeated the Absolute, I’ve found myself a little at a loss for how to spend my time.”

Liv adds this moment to the tally she’s subconsciously keeping of the times he’s dropped the too-smooth facade, when she glimpses through the cracks something that feels real. That feels true. She refuses to wonder what game they’re playing or why she’d even want to keep this tally at all though. “Understandable. What were you doing before?”

He looks away from her, scanning the crowd. “Bending the knee to my master’s every whim. So no, I will not be going back to what I was doing before.”

She’s said the exact wrong thing, and she can feel his defenses building back up. She scrambles for some way to save this moment, to prolong the truth of it. “I’m sorry, I-”

But then he freezes, head twisting to the right. “There it is…”

“Really?” 

He pauses and then turns down a crowded alley. “This way.”

She sticks close to him as he weaves through the crowd. He’s walking with intense focus, nostrils flaring as the people move around them like some slow-moving river. He pauses in front of a stall, covered in a canvas of deep blue. The counter is a collection of meticulously organized wooden plates and bowls and other carved goods. The two women at the stall look tired, bored even, as they converse quietly. There’s no one giving the stall a second glance. 

“I think it’s her, with the dark hair,” Astarion says. “I’ll need to get closer to be sure.”

“We can just watch for a moment,” Liv says. 

The two of them pretend to peruse the goods offered at a spice stall across the way while taking turns watching the women. No one makes a purchase at their stall, though a few people stop to admire a plate or utensil. While they watch, several young people dart in and out of the closed-off portion of the stall. 

“What are they doing?” Liv asks under her breath. 

“I’ll find out.” Quick as a whisper, Astarion makes his way toward the stall, but somewhere in the crowd, she loses him entirely. She doesn’t want to draw undue attention to him or the stall in question, so she continues to browse the nearby stalls, keeping an eye out for any sign of Astarion. 

A few moments later he reappears at her side, flickering into view like a specter. “Well, what are the chances that the one person we find with questionable blood is also fronting a stall for the Guild?”

***

Astarion had thought it was going to be more difficult to suss out what was going on in that stall, but the second he’d slipped inside, he’d recognized the man at a table: Uktar. The same man who had told Tavren about Minsc and the Counting House. Bursar to the Guildmaster, and he was sitting in a stall taking payments run in by children who could skirt the marketplace more easily than any adult. 

Uktar’s blood had smelled fine, it was just the woman’s at the stall that seemed off. Something about this is ringing alarm bells in his head, but he’s still not quite sure what about it feels off. Uktar hadn’t liked their group but had seemed at least marginally grateful to not have been killed by the Zhentarim, so he hopes that goodwill will extend a little further because Liv is already walking over to the stall. 

He grabs at her arm, pulling her back towards him. “What are you doing? We need a plan.”

Liv pulls away a bit, and he releases her. “I have a plan; I’m going to talk with her.”

“Have you ever dealt with the Guild? This isn’t going to work.”

She sighs. “The first person who died was a runner for the Guild.”

Ah, he sees the connection now. She’s going to leverage it. It would be nice to have all of the information at some point, but it’s clear Liv is playing some things rather close to the chest. He tries to disguise his annoyance, but he’s sure he’s not successful at it. “Well then, you hardly need me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Without you, I wouldn’t even know they were members of the Guild.” 

Before he can reply, she approaches the stall and offers a friendly smile to the woman. “Hello.”

The woman smiles in response, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s glancing between him and Liv with suspicion while the other woman remains silent and watchful beside her. “Can I interest you in some hand-carved plates and bowls? Artisan made.” She sounds like the worst salesperson in existence. Is this really the best front the Guild can muster?

“I’m actually here to see if you might be Alfran’s friend?” Liv asks, her voice is light and the question is asked gently, but the effect on the woman is immediate. 

The woman’s smile drops. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.” It’s a clear lie. 

Liv’s calm demeanor doesn’t falter. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare you. My name is Liv. I’m a healer; I was treating Alfran.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” the woman replies simply. 

The other woman is doing a better job of looking aloof, but it’s clear that this exchange hasn’t gone the way they expected. “If you’re not here to buy, kindly fuck off.”

This is going south very quickly. He’s pretty sure if this woman holds fast, Liv won’t press, and he’s getting impatient. “Come now, we’re not with the Fist. The disease that killed Alfran, we think you might also have it. Do you know him now?”

Liv’s glaring at him, but he simply shrugs. The woman’s demeanor changes from suspicion to fear. “What do you mean you think I’m sick?”

“This is much easier to explain somewhere more private.” Liv is oscillating between trying to calm the woman and looking like she wants to set him aflame. He flashes her a gleeful smile. 

The woman nods to the back of the stall. “Come on back then. If you knew Alfran, then you know who we work for.”

They follow her into the back area that Astarion’s already explored. Uktar is sitting at a low table, small pouches of money spread out in front of him. He has a book open and a quill and is marking down amounts. His mask glints in the candlelight. 

“Ah, you again. Come to sell me more keys?” Uktar says. 

“You know these two?” the woman asks, clearly surprised. 

Uktar looks between Astarion and Liv, but he’s difficult to read through the mask. “I know the elf. We’ve done business.” 

“Well, good. Now we don’t have to kill you,” the woman says. 

Astarion refrains from pointing out that he’s pretty sure that Uktar couldn’t hurt a fly since he’d cowered during the entire fight with the Zhentarim. But that wouldn’t help, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

“I’m feeling at a bit of a disadvantage here,” Liv says with a strained smile. 

“I’m Moira and that’s Uktar. Now tell me why you think I’m sick.”

“Your blood. It smells awful,” Astarion offers helpfully. 

Uktar laughs from his desk. “I’d trust that one on that,” he says giving him a significant look. 

Moira, for her part, seems to miss the implication. “My blood smells bad? How…”

Liv steps in then, guiding them away from this particular topic. “I think Alfran died of a blood disease. I’d like to take a sample of your blood if that’s okay. Have you been feeling odd lately? Headaches, dizziness, ringing in the ears?”

Moira shrugs. “A little, but that’s normal when my monthlies are approaching. Right? Listen, I can’t be sick, not like Alfran was. I’ve got to work.”

“That’s why I’m here, by the time Alfran came to us it was too late. We’re hoping we can help you sooner if you’ve even got the same thing. I’ll need to take a sample of your blood to confirm it. Is that alright?” 

Moira nods. “Fine. What do you need?”

“Just access to your arm.”

Astarion doesn’t necessarily want to watch the process. Open wounds can be their own sort of challenge, but this woman’s blood is rank enough he’s not sure he’d even be tempted by it at all. Besides, he wants to see if it behaves like the other blood Liv has shown him. If they are in fact onto something. 

Liv asks the woman banal questions he doesn’t bother paying attention to, but he realizes that she’s good at this…at people. She’s charming and comforting while still being genuinely warm. She reminds him of Tavren, of the way they were so quick to take care of people. Liv doesn’t owe this woman anything, but she’s kind and reassuring. 

She’d surprised him by showing up at all after last night. He was sure that she’d been so put off by him that she wouldn’t. But she hadn’t just shown up, but she’d made some comment about the Bhaalists not being enough to scare her off. It was…nice. Seeing her with Moira, extending the same kindness she had to him, rankles. There’s nothing special about her care or warmth, it’s just the way she is. His immediate impulse is to be as cruel and unpleasant as possible, to see just how far her limits extend, but instead, he just shifts his attention off of her.

While she works, two more runners come into the tent dropping off pouches of gold to Uktar, and Uktar marks the names off in his book after counting the gold in each pouch. The amounts are small, and Astarion realizes what the money is for: protection bribes. These runners aren’t just to bring money, they’re to keep an eye out for thieves and likely alert whatever merc group is patrolling the Wide that day. The stall owners pay a tax for protection, and at the end of the day, the runners bring in the gold for the Guild.

It’s efficient. Clean. Astarion almost admires it. 

“Was Alfran doing anything peculiar or special for the Guild? He told me he was a runner, but that’s all.”

“I’m not about to air the Guild’s business.”

Liv is bandaging up the woman’s arm, gentle as always. “Fair enough. Any recent injuries? Exposures to anything odd? Were you and Alfran ever in the same places together?”

Moira shakes her head. “Just here. I cut my hand open a couple of weeks back. All healed up now though.” Moira holds out her hand, revealing a reddened scar between her thumb and forefinger. 

Liv reaches into her bag, producing a couple of bottles. One looks like a healing potion and the other he can’t identify. “You seem to be doing just fine, Moira. But, if you start feeling worse at all, I want you to drink both of these and then come see me. I’m at The Shadowed Quill, do you know where that is?” Liv is lying; this woman is sick. A part of him wants to call her on it in front of Uktar and Moira, but he can’t quite get the words past his tongue.

“Course I know about it. You should’ve led with that. We all know what you do for folks in the Lower City.”

Liv’s answering smile is the first he’s seen entirely free from strain. “We are trying.” 

“But I’m not sick?” Moira asks. “Even if my blood..smells bad?”

���I wouldn’t take it personally, not everyone’s smells like a delicious bouquet,” he smiles, allowing his fangs to show. 

“We’ll be going now,” Liv says. “Thank you for your help.”

Moira walks them to the tent flaps. “Thanks for doing what you could for Alfran. He was a good kid.”

Uktar steps close as Moira and Liv step back to the front of the shop. His voice is pitched low, barely louder than a whisper. “She’s not your usual ally, and I’d be careful with her if were you.”

Is Uktar really warning him about Liv? She’s handy enough in a fight, he supposes, but he’s still pretty sure he could take her out should the need arise. And it won’t because she’s too boringly nice. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t come back here. Either of you. I’ll be sure to send Moira to you if she needs anything.”

His curiosity is piqued, but what is the point of pushing? Uktar has clearly given him every bit of information he plans to. And Astarion trusts the bursar about as far as he can throw him, and that’s not far. 

He follows Liv out of the tent and back into the crowded market. He waits until they’re very much out of earshot before he leans down close to her ear. “You lied to her.”

Liv looks up at him with confusion. “What are you talking about? No, I didn’t.”

“Her blood smelled just awful. She’s going to die, just like Alfran.”

Liv pulls the vial of blood from her bag with a shake of her head. “Her blood is normal, Astarion.”

He takes the vial and examines it. There’s not a single hint of tendrils. “Shit.”

“I’ll take it back to the shop and spend some time with it, but whatever’s wrong with her…her blood isn’t doing the same thing.” Liv looks lost, unsure, and disappointed as he hands back the vial. She looks like she’s on the verge of apologizing, and for some reason, he doesn’t want that. 

“We probably need a larger sample size before we come to any conclusions, yes?” 

She looks relieved and strangely grateful.  “Yes.”

Then he gestures down another aisle. “Shall we?”

[qqueenofhades]

Leftists are genuinely so transparent with their misogyny, it baffles me. Someone made a point about how Bernie Sanders and Nancy Pelosi are very close in age but only one of them constantly gets hounded about their competency and ability to be a politician, and these people are like "hm but Bernie Sanders thinks everyone deserves healthcare and Nancy Pelosi doesn't" what??? Where does that information even exist beyond the smear campaigns the leftists have made up in their heads to insist the Dems (Pelosi, in particular) suck and justify hating them? It's like... even when the Dems do something good, and take the right position on an issue, these people are just waiting to find some way to rearrange it to fit their narrative that they actually hate them and it's only people like Bernie Sanders who genuinely give a shit.

not to mention thinking everyone deserves healthcare and actually working to make that happen are two different things. Bernie can have all the "correct" ideological positions in the world, but it doesn't seem like he's done much to advance most of them lol

Well, yeah. That's why they are useless dickweeds at best and and unrepentant enablers of fascism at the worst. They gleefully latch onto any lie, mischaracterization, exaggeration, or other bit of propaganda that makes the Democrats look bad and themselves feel Exaltedly Special and justified in not sullying their hands with a flawed democratic process. They don't give a shit if the actual world goes to hell, as long as they still have the Bestest and Most Special Ideas. Which serves the aims of both the actual right wing machine that feeds it to them and the organized Russian troll farms that feed it to THEM. And yet.

Give me a hundred Nancy Pelosis, arguably the most effective Democratic politician in living memory, over Bernie Sanders, he of the blindingly obvious once-a-month Guardian op ed and literally nothing else in the way of substantial policy, while tacitly or openly encouraging his supporters to withhold their vote as "punishment" for any candidate not him. I will say in Bernie's favor that he has changed his tune ahead of 2024, but it is the least of what he owes everyone for contributing to the clusterfuck of 2016 as substantially as he did. So.

And lol yes, the Online Leftists, known for their radical compassion and empathy to all people! They're too busy policing fellow leftists for Thoughtcrime or any other impulse to actually take a tangible action (which might therefore be Morally Problematic) to ever actually once apply compassion to a real person, let alone those who don't agree with them in some part already. In fact, they are perfectly happy to let the people they are supposed to be caring about suffer the increasing effects of nationalized, racialized, homophobic, misogynist, xenophobic white supremacist fascism, as the proper punishment for not being Leftist enough and voting for the Democrats, who they (as noted) eagerly sabotage and undercut far more than the Republicans. So yeah.

[dooplissss]

i would like to know about the ocs 🫴🏽

bless you

ok I have way more than just these but these are the current standouts, maybe I’ll do a part 2 tomorrow bc i cant stop talking about my silly little guys

Emmett & Marasmus: Newest oc for dnd, pact of the undead warlock. Emmett was just living his life til he ate the wrong mushroom for dinner and it revealed itself to be a god named Marasmus that wants people to praise it, so it took over poor Emmett’s body and puppeted him around, turning his hometown into a cult. Emmett broke out of his stupor and escaped after nearly feeding a spore to his brother and he’s been running ever since, his body slowly being eaten by the monster that inhabits him. Also they bicker constantly, real Beacon and Duck Newton vibes.

Emmett is truly just some guy who doesn’t deserve to have this wannabe god parasite stuck to him but that’s how these things go. He’s so sweet and ofc he loves his family bc I’m predictable and make that a trait for nearly all my ocs. I tend to avoid family drama or at least do it in a different way than most people, in that I prefer my characters to be striving to get back home or avoiding going home because they feel they don’t deserve to be a part of their family anymore, but always always always they are loved despite everything bad they’ve done/think they’ve done. I really hope the game goes long enough to see Emmett get to hug his brother again and forgive his mom for not being able to help him, he’s the only one of my ocs who’s been wronged by his family and even then its neither of their fault. God he needs a hug so bad

Salem & Erin: god this guy is so fun. Salem is a skellington who started as a rich brat that got peer pressured into a ritual that makes you immortal, 40 years later he had a heart attack, died for a second, and then started rotting alive. He spent decades alone in his big mansion haunting his own halls, bored out of his skull. Occasionally people would come thru, be terrified by him or try to kill him, but largely he was just left there. It took him years to work up the courage to enter his son’s room and reminisce about him; he was married a long time ago, but as soon as he floated the idea of having his spouse and child go through the ritual too they up and left him.

Eventually a realtor, Erin, comes to the house to sell it, and she’s the only person who isn’t scared of him. It’s the first conversation Salems had in years and they become friends, her daughter Olivia makes clothes for Salem to disguise his form and help him gain the courage to leave the house more and more. Salem lets more people into the house, especially artists he really loves art, and eventually lets people live there while he moves in with Erin and Olivia once he feels safe enough to live among people again.

Originally Erin and Salem were supposed to just be friends but ofc I started shipping them and ughhh they make me insane. They’re both divorcees and have talked at length about how they’ll never make that mistake again, but Salems been in love with Erin since the beginning. And he’s the least subtle person on the planet so ofc everyone knows, including Erin and she’s just patiently waiting for the day when Salem admits how they feel, however long it takes. I made Salem for dnd and his quest is basically to find a way to undo his immortality, but tbh every time he joins a campaign it dies soon after so I think I want to try making a comic or a series of vignettes or something for him anyway, especially since I’ve had a lot of time to think about plot hooks and stuff.

this is the only fic i have them but i really love it please clap

Tillian & Somlen: The OCs of All Time. I literally have a tattoo representing them, they mean so goddamn much to me its hard to put into words like they changed me as a person. Somlen isn’t my oc, he belongs to my dm, but the two are so tied together and influenced each other so much it all kinda blends together.

Tillian is a haunted one bard who grew up in the town of Winslow, a little prairie town that had something Wrong in the well that caused all the sounds to warp. The crops whispered, the blueberries gossiped, her mom echoed, her dad sang, her brother spoke backwards, and when Tillian herself spoke everyone would hear something different (I had a d100 list for what they would hear). After someone disappeared while doing recon inside the well, the town boarded it up and went their separate ways. When Tillian’s family went to stay with her aunt, she said hello to her cousin and instantly killed him with her voice.

She went to bard college to help get her voice back, and as the game started she was simply looking for answers to why this happened and what caused it. She meets with the group, starts adventuring, and one fight goes so bad she gets fully 3 failed death saves killed. Something picks her out of the river of death and brings her back to life, and that’s when she buys a haunted doll, a homebrew item from TAZ that takes that final death onto itself.

As the adventurers leave town, she feels her bag moving on to find oh fuck the doll is alive and its an asshole. The doll says his name is Somlen and he was cursed after he slept with the wrong person. Tillian HATES this guy at first but ah fuck, if she dies he’s going to die in her place so she has to be more careful. And as she talks to him more, she starts to warm up to him. He cheated on his girlfriend and he’s the perfect picture of the horny bard trope, but he wants to do better and become a better person.

Things happen, yadda yadda, Tillian finds out the location of the hag that cursed him and they kill her, taking the curse away but Somlen is still stuck in the doll body, they need powerful magic to get him polymorphed back to human. The group decides to go to a city but, as a lark, one of the npcs decides to try her luck to change him back and she rolls a goddamn nat 20. Somlen is human again and oh god he’s in his birthday suit. While Tillian is in total shock, the group gets him clothed, Somlen jokes around and plays it cool up until he gets back to Tillian, who just. Wordlessly takes her signature scarf, the one her dad knit for her, and wraps it around him and hugs him. And it hits them both like, they did it, he’s safe, and Somlen would do anything for her and vice versa.

They go into the city where they get a clue to visit the outskirts where Tillian’s aunts house is, except its old, like really really old, all that’s left is a hole down into the basement. And when they get in, Tillian can feel something trying to communicate with her, and she learns this place is over 2000 years old and so is she. That night, when she sleeps, she wakes up inside the well surrounded by hundreds of faces and she knows every single one of them. The thing that lives in the well tells her to bring her friends back for it, and that’s when it hits her: This thing, the Uvuuduam, has been sending her out every hundred years to go collect a group of adventurers and bring them back to feed them to this monster. It controlled her into tracking down every villager of Winslow and throwing them down into the well, including her mom and dad and brother. She is as much the thing haunting her home as this awful creature is.

She wakes up, silently collects her things, and leaves everyone behind to spare them. They catch up, ofc, but she is desperate to spare them from this fate. She offers them a anti-scrying necklace so they can leave her and be untrackable, but no one agrees to take it, they’re all in it to save her much as she begs them not to. She is absolutely broken by this revelation, but the group and especially Somlen are there to hold her together.

They send some time leveling up and preparing to go to her town, and finally the day comes when they arrive. They go into the well and face the Uvuuduam, it’s a tough fight (we had a irl sleepover to play it all the way thru), but they do it and she severs this horrible things neck as she screams, her voice finally returning to her after all these years. Everyone in the well wakes up, she reunites with her family, and (this part always makes me cry) when she sleeps that night, it’s the first restful sleep she’s had in 2000 years. She and Somlen stay behind in Winslow, finally home.

Like. They are truly everything to me. They are foils in so many ways but it just makes them stronger. Tillian is an aromantic bard, helping me realize I myself am aro, and it always gets to me that she loved so fiercely and so much and it was used as a weapon against her, that the monster knew it could depend on her to make connections strong enough to make people willing to do anything for her and therefore bring back its food. She loves too much for her own good, but she’s safe now, she’s with her family and the people she loves and god forbid anything try to take advantage of her ever again.

Also these two are just funny. Two halves of a whole idiot. Tillian is a neurotic mess at all times, Somlen is full of himself, they’re life partners and also an inseparable comedy duo. They’ve seen each other at their very worst and choose each other without hesitation over and over. They’ve both had their free will ripped from them thru curses and manipulation and they vow to break the hold others have on them, they would tear the world in half if the other asked. And just. Tillian wants nothing more than to return home while Somlen runs as far away from his past as possible, but he finds a home in her and he helps her win back hers. They love each other and they are best friends forever :’) also I’ve written so many fics about them and I still have so many more I want to write lmao

[traveling-at-the-speed-of-light]

Master Post: Wrapped Fics #1, #2, #3

Thankyou to @ucannotkillmeinawaythatmatters for every single one of these. My playlist (and writer's block) thanks you!

#1 - Steddie, 15 (Outsiders by Against The Current)

#2 - First Prince, 24 (Freezing by Mimi Webb)

#3 - Narlie, 89 (Bois Lie (feat. Machine Gun Kelly) by Avril Lavigne)

~1~

Steve never thought being disowned would be a good thing. The Harringtons, his ancestors, had been privileged, a working family made of old money that had built most of Hawkins's buildings and even owned them one time or another.

Steve had expectations put upon him, a legacy and worse, the family name to live up to and while he’d never done a decent job of it, losing it was a new experience. He’d do it all over again if it meant Eddie would still take him like he already has.

God, Eddie. Eddie was a true outsider to Steve when they first met, now they’re sharing a bed and a life Steve only glimpsed in teenage angst fueled dreams, Steve now being nameless and Eddie fearing people still, both damaged beyond repair.

They had always felt alone and unloved in the world, everyone around them golden while they trudged through black and blue and hurting till now. Now, when every broken bone Eddie once had below the surface has healed and Steve no longer has to tell lies to save his reputation or live in broken walls that never held him as tightly as Eddie does when they’re sleeping in Wayne’s trailer late at night as the moon shines through the trees.

They might be outsiders now, Steve a rebel and Eddie still a freak, but they’re free. They aren’t hiding anymore, their true selves out in the open for all to see.

The others/ They don’t know what they’re missing.

~2~

Alex has never felt so cold in his life in this moment and he’s been in England, his face a mask of indifference as he views the recent call list on his phone to see Henry’s WhatsApp number in a list of the same digits going on for endless scrolling before it disappears.

The Latino never thought he would have to be the cold one in the relationship. He’d tried, he’d /tried/ to put up with Henry, but the constant rules, the hiding, it was too much.

He couldn’t keep sneaking behind everyone’s back just to get his cock sucked every one in a while before he was ruthlessly tossed like trash away from the prince and told to pretend like nothing happened. They weren’t together, yet Henry acts so plainly like they were and it makes him hurt under the ice he’s put over his emotions.

At one point, Alex had fallen for that delusion, yes, he’ll admit that, but he’d seen though it now - how Henry only called when no one was around and made sure everyone was none the wiser and not getting a hint, any hint, that him and Alex were more than the “close personal friends” that they were made to be.

Henry said the last time they saw each other in Paris, when Alex instead of making love to him pushed him away, that everybody makes mistakes, but Alex knew that this “mistake” could hit hard and hurt other people than just them. It makes his decision to tell him point blank that he’s leaving, come home, shut that door and swallow the keys even more brutal, but he had to. Not just for Henry to get the hint that he wanted more, deserved more, but so Henry would see with a push that living his life in the shadows and on other people’s opinions and time weren’t worth it.

It more than likely looked like Alex ran for the hills or in more proper terms, abandoned ship to the other, given he’s not answering his calls and declining his invitations, but he had to be ruthless. It was cold, so very goddamn cold and very not like him in retrospect, but he had to do like Henry had - cage his heart for the foreseeable future and work on his mother’s campaign without interruption and without Henry’s continued commentary on his life.

It wasn’t just cold anymore once he closed his phone - it was downright freezing.

~3~

Normally, Charlie Spring doesn’t like to get into fights. Much less fights that he didn’t expect to even get into in the first place, but now he’s here, broken objects around him and the current villain - his  supposed to be boyfriend Nick Nelson -  looming over the other side of the room as they both breathe heavily, cheeks stained red and tears on both their faces, a blowout fight having commenced due to several factors.

First of all, Charlie cheated on him. Yes, he knows that’s horrible and shameful it’s all on him, but it’s really not given Nick was no fucking saint either. The man had a tongue like a razor blade and lately, had been lying straight to his face about several things, the comments and passive responses feeling like Nick was twisting a knife into his back and carving his name all over Charlie like he was owned and not loved like he had been. Like he used to be.

On top of that, Charlie had become anxious of late and had to make up little stories in order to cover up everything he’d been doing off to the side, due to Nick just obviously not caring for him anymore despite pretending to be faithful and forthright with him, just telling him what he wants and weaving words to create magic in Charlie’s ears before it disappears and leaves him hollow. Charlie wanted revenge and he’d gotten it, the only problem with it was that with telling the truth, the illusion shatters.

Last night had been a particularly bad spell, as that’s what had led to now - Charlie’s guilt making him talk way too much and no longer able to continue doing “fake shit” as Nick had coined it during the hours-long row that had now put them in a standoff where they had no idea where to go from because both of them never told each other the truth, neither of them saying sorry and throwing everything in their way to avoid it.

Soon enough, Nick, heavy with regret and hunched over with the pains of sadness and guilt of losing his patience and knowing he’s caused all of this (though Charlie’s sure his friends would say Charlie was the  bad guy while his own would say Nick was) stares him down and Charlie watches forlorn as he leaves the room, the sound of the door slamming upstairs making his heart stop with it’s echo and suffer before he falls to the floor, the remnants of what was happiness and acceptance in pieces around him.

It doesn’t take a genius for someone like him to know that life as he knows is over for good.

[maareyas]

alright i've recovered from the heart-shattering and i can put my thoughts about Octopath Traveler 2 into words now.

Gameplay is great, Visuals are great (though somewhat overwhelming with the light effects when you just start playing), Stories ranged from great to eeeeh, Characters are all mostly great too

overall experience is 10/10! This game has rewired my brain in some way and i don't know what

less succinct rambles below

I love this game so much I don't know how I'll ever recover from it. The exploration alone was so much fun, the concept of path actions and the day/night mechanic is so good. It reminds me of my favorite turn-based RPGs from when I was a teen. But nostalgia has nothing to do with how good this game is, it's so genuinely fun and I wish there was more stuff for me to do alksjdlakjsd

And the music!! I love the music. I wish the dungeons got more unique themes but given how many there are + the amount of banger character motifs we got, I understand why the devs decided not to do that lkasjdlksajd

now though, gotta talk about the main selling point of this game: The Narrative✨

Ochette was my starter but tbh my favorite tales have to be Castti and Throne's. Partitio was a close second and honestly, the most consistent in quality to me.

Following his is Hikari's tale, since I feel like it had some untapped potential. He's very...idek, Classic Samurai Hero™ (I say that as if I've seen enough samurai/East Asian swordsman media to know) Disgraced prince, heart of gold, honorable to a fault, evil shadowself--the works. I don't think his shadowself was utilized as much as it could've been, but I can see why since they have to fit an entire journey into a few chapter's worth of cutscenes.

Temenos is in the same rank. He's a fun character to follow and I love the mystery aspect. Solid overall but I wish it had more personal stakes for Temenos aside from avenging Roi (who deserved more screentime imo), the pontiff, and Crick

Ochette is slightly lower overall but BOY did her final boss hurt me emotionally and in battle :''D She's one of my favorites As a Character too

Osvald's story is interesting and well-executed, with a satisfying ending, but it's not really my taste and as a character, he's kinda boring to watch unless there's someone else to play off him ksjdlkas like his and Parti's Crossed Paths tale. That plot twist with Elena's brainwashing was brutal, tbh. I love it.

Agnea...still has a weak story to me 😅 I like how bright it was, especially compared to the others, but like with Hikari, I feel like there could have been more done with it. It just felt too light, y'know? None of the stakes feel too hitting even on a personal level. I like Agnea but I don't love her, yknow?

honestly, if these were truly individual stories, I would seen them as only "pretty good" at best. But their "brevity" plays well into making them feel like parts of interconnected whole--of Solistia. Each journey is different, but not above nor below the others, if that makes sense. I love that vibe of it ✨

THE EXTRA STORIES THOUGH that was. kinda bad in hindsight. It should've been its own campaign instead of just One Episode 😭 Or like, had any proper build up at all. All the plotwists either feel like they came out of nowhere, or added as an afterthought. The whole episode felt like an afterthought. They hit hard, but not in a way that's satisfying :^( The NPCs don't even acknowledge the eternal night aside from maybe those at Flamechurch cathedral.

In general I think the game struggles with leaving a bunch of lore bits unresolved. Claude's entire existence is the most obvious example. He's just hanging out ig. grandson of D'arquest, with Vide blood, Throne was supposed to be some "Vessel" we don't elaborate on that??? p l s. Arcanette being immortal??? literally WHO is she aside from the Moonshade Order's leader?? are the two of them the characters from that fairytale that keeps being brought up? and like. that thing with Trosseau and Castti apparently just walking around Lostseed to collect herbs when Lostseed, to me, was implied to be "hidden".

much to think about. Or maybe I just missed a lot of things, like that detail with Roi being the monster that Ochette fought in her chapter 1

I love this game and its worldbuilding graaaahhhh i wish Extra Stories was better :^(

[aspiringsophrosyne]

Episode 4: Those Who Walk Away

There's a long line at the concession stand. Think you can get something before the show starts? Traffic was pretty bad.

Because trust me, you don't want to miss the beginning of this one.

The Good.

There's no end to the praise Liam O'Brien deserves just for the first couple of minutes of the episode. I knew what was coming; how devastating it would be for these characters and how painful it would be for them all. 

Especially for Vax. 

And still. Still. Vax's desperate "Somebody do something!!" stabbed me right in the goddamned heart. And the delivery of his line to the Queen of Death, the one that every critter who watched Campaign one knows, the words that changed Vax's destiny forever...perfect. 

The visuals for the ritual were really cool, too. It was hard to imagine how they would communicate what was happening in the show; as in the stream it was down to dice rolls and rituals. The gold dome over Vex, the Queen's claw piercing it and then causing it to shatter....it calls up dread from the deepest pit of your heart.

And then Vax just having the armor on when they turn around...quick, efficient and spooky as hell. Very good move there.

Those shots of the Calamity in the vision. My God. For the record, and I touched on this before, I love that the peeks we've gotten into that period of Exandria's history have been broad and unspecific. They are meant to be grandiose to mind-bending proportions, and you can ironically lose that effect by trying too hard to get that idea across. It also leaves the impression that as big and crazy as this all looks, what we've seen (Osysa's story in S2E2 and now Vax's vision) is only the tip of the iceberg. 

I like that Purrvan got to shine a bit here. Partially this is because I can sympathize with Matt over that name; (Vox Machina's reaction to it was pretty much the cast's in the stream) and also because it makes sense. Funny name or not, the Matron doesn't hire chumps. In the watch-along for this episode, the cast mentioned that they originally had Matt record grunts, sounds of effort, and reactions to getting hit...and then decided the scene was more striking without them. It was a good call. It gets across just how beyond Vax this former Champion is. And it foreshadows just how formidable a being Vax will one day become. 

As I've said before and will say again, titmouse knows how to do a good fight scene. I was surprised the monster was savvier than it looked, angling its tentacles around Keyleth's obstacles to get at her and Percy. Some damn good lines here too. Pike's understandable exasperation ("Son of a bitch!") and Percy's testy incredulousness ("Oh, just petrified!?") are incredibly relatable.

Perhaps the scene only feels this way to me because of hindsight, but Vax's acceptance feels like a crown being placed on a head under a guillotine.

I didn't immediately realize what they had done with the Deathwalker's Ward. I had honestly forgotten what it did: aside from its most obvious perk, which we'll see in a future episode. In the game, it's mostly a defensive item. Ironic: a Death Goddess's artifact that made it harder for you to die. But what they did in the show was combine it with another magic item Vax had, the boots of haste, which the twins fought over incessantly. They let him cast haste on himself without having that spell, and with it, he could haul ass like a motherfucker.

This allows us a demonstrative visual for the ward's power-up, and it gets those boots in the show without them being in it. Plus, the ability they grant fits Vax as a speedy, stealthy guy.

Not only that, but it also shows us in very little time just why Osysa sent Vox Machina after these things. Seeing the whole crew get trashed by this monster, only for Vax to take it down alone, cements how powerful the Vestiges are and how essential they'll be in defeating the Chroma Conclave. Another great use of show-don't-tell.

And that shot. That shot. Reactors and the cast alike can't help but cheer when That Shot happens, where Vax leaps into the air and is framed by the Matron's mural above him before he delivers the final blow. Like Liam O'Brien's acting, I can't say enough good things about that shot. It looks cool, but it also has weight; it suggests that Vax has taken his place as a figure in history who will have murals in temples dedicated to him that other adventurers will stumble upon one day.

The new implementation of the necklace is clever. It makes sense a bounty hunter would have something like it. And Wil get's one more good line out before he and Zahra exit.

The Bad. (Or at least not great.)

You're hot, then you're cold.

Zahra is the one to vocally oppose Vex's attempted resurrection. This contrasts her with Kash, who leaps right in to try to help when Pike's efforts don't work. This behavior comes across as somewhat inconsistent.

Zahra was the one who had a personal relationship with Vex, even if it ended badly. Zahra was the one who supported and saved Vex in the battle with the Adaro, even if it was at least partially to show her up.

I could see Zahra cautioning both Kash and Vox Machina that what he's trying to do for Vex has a minuscule chance of succeeding. Or even warning Kash against it for fear of drawing Vesh's attention. (Vesh is Kash's goddess, and she is bad fucking news.) But Zahra just unemotionally writing off Vex as dead and declaring it useless to try to help her seems disproportionally cold compared to how she'd acted up to that point.

No Drama is Better Than Bad Drama?

Previously, I was pleasantly surprised to see the Take included at all, let alone so well integrated into The Legend of Vox Machina's story. Likewise, Zahra and Kash were a delight, and the passion for their characters comes just as strong through Mary's and Will's performances as it does for the rest of the voice acting cast.

But the Onlooker fight is where the momentum stalls.

Zahra specifically says this to Kash after Grog is petrified:

Kash: Shit.

Zahra: Would you relax? As soon as they're restrained, I swipe the armor, you unfreeze your new friends, and we get the hell out of here.

So we have a clear scheme here. Let the Onlooker turn Vox Machina to stone, steal the Deathwalker's Ward from Vax, de-petrify everyone, then book it.

As far as plots to steal an artifact go, it's pretty tame and harmless. It probably wouldn't have even worked because after Vox Machina was restored, they would've been pretty pissed about the theft, and then it would've been a two-on-seven fight. One on seven, if Kash decided he wasn't on Zahra's side.

But as the battle continued, more of the other group succumbed, and Kash got upset and said he wouldn't be a party to Zahra's plan.

...Why?

Later, after Vax Awakens the Deathwalker's Ward, Kash says this to him:

Kash: Look, I'm sorry. We didn't mean for any of this to happen, I swear.

Yes, you did!! You absolutely did. Or at least Zahra did. That was her whole plan.

The script treats the fight like an escalation from what Zahra planned. That her recklessness and stubbornness let things get out of her control. That she put Vox Machina in danger.

By every indication, that is not what happened.

Things were going exactly as planned before she tried to put the monster back in her necklace on Kash's objections, and Vax Awakened the armor. 

Not only that, but Vox Machina would've been perfectly fine if everything had gone the way she'd wanted. They would've been rightfully pissed that their Vestige was stolen, but they would've been unharmed otherwise once Kash restored them.

The crew said in the Q&A that they wanted this monster fight to have more drama than its stream counterpart. I like drama. But I'm most satisfied with drama when it makes sense. When it's consistent with what we're seeing and hearing on screen. What I'm not impressed by is a drama that's introduced for the sake of it and thus ill-conceived and ill-implemented. That brings nothing to the table.

This isn't the first time the script of The Legend of Vox Machina was at odds with what we were actually seeing or had seen on screen. And sadly, it won't be the last time this season.

A Question of Motivation.

Something else harms the deployment of the monster. Beyond the disconnection between what's happening and what is said, Zahra's motivations, or lack thereof, hold things back.

Zahra's clearly irritated that Osysa told Vox Machina about the Ward instead of anyone at the Take, but how does this motivate her? Is she acting out of envy? Greed? Worry? A sense of responsibility? A feeling of betrayal? Her old bitter feelings about Vex? Does she feel Vox Machina could be worthy of the Vestige, but she won't accept that unless she sees it for herself? Or all of the above?

We'll probably see Kash and Zahra again. And future episodes could shed some light on this. But as of this episode, it's hard to tell how you're supposed to feel about her, the fight, and Vox Machina more or less letting her and Kash off the hook after. We can guess how she's feeling, but it isn't made explicit, so we don't know why she does what she does or whether or not we're supposed to find her actions understandable or sympathetic.

Here are two possible ways I think they could've done it better.

Option A, have Zahra announce to Vox Machina that although they found the Vestige, one of them would've died getting it if it wasn't for Kash (as far as those two know). The others will be similarly hard to get, and even if they manage to get them through pure dumb luck the way they got this first one, that doesn't mean they're worthy of them. Vestiges are incredibly powerful and dangerous; they shouldn't go to just any bumble fucks. So they must pass one last test to keep the Deathwalker's Ward.

And then Onlooker.

This approach makes for a smoother transition, firmly establishes Zahra and Kash's priorities and motivations, and gives the audience and Vox Machina a chance to understand their perspective. Because once we see Vax Awaken the Vestige and take the monster that had petrified the rest of the team down all by himself...we can understand why Zahra and Kash were trepidatious about letting someone outside the Take walk away with this thing.

And when Zahra and Kash see Vax do that, they relent, heal the others, and admit he's worthy to wield it.

Option B, we could've had the thing just be there like it was in the stream. But, we could have had Zahra and Kash be involved in its ambush of Vox Machina in another way. After the Adaro fight, while they're by themselves, the two mention that the fish people usually don't gather together unless they've got something bigger than themselves to latch onto. Similar to remoras and sharks. We could even add an image of the Onlooker drawn in the fresh blood from earlier for foreshadowing. But the two keep that to themselves; the monster attacks and everything plays out like in option A. 

Nitpicks

Let's look at Vex's line at the beginning of the episode.

Vex: Whatever happens...it's out of our control.

For anyone, for Vex, and especially for a kid, the line feels unnatural. In fact, it's obvious she says this not necessarily because it's in character but to set up Vax's Awakening of the armor later.

And you could argue that someone who didn't know what would happen wouldn't feel that way, but people will watch this show more than once. On a re-watch, a newbie might feel similarly.

While we could change the line, we might not even need one here. Just have Vax flashback to the twins and the bear while he's fighting Purrvan, only with him in the place of the mother bear with his young sister's hand soothing his cheek and his younger self's dagger at his throat. That gets across exactly how Vax's feeling in an instant with no dialogue at all, and it informs his letting go.

~~~

Instead of this at the end of the episode:

Vex: And what about my debt to the Slayer's Take?

Zahra: What debt?

I like something like this better:

Vex: And what about my debt to the Slayer's Take?

Zahra: Well, you did say you wanted to speak to Osysa because of four incredibly wealthy dragons didn't you? You better not fail in slaying them, then.

Zahra basically going put up or shut up here. You said you wanted a Vestige to kill dragons? Well, go kill some dragons. But it's not unkind, as it shows that now she thinks they might actually mean to try, and they actually might even have a shot at succeeding.

That's episode 4 down. It's only getting more interesting from here folks.

[idontsleep15]

Hello reader! It's been quite a while, hasn't it? A lot has changed since the last time I have written to you guys, and I wanna give you guys the update you deserve so nonetheless, let's get started!

A little bit after my last post, school started; a nightmare for anyone with social anxiety and a knack to not talk to people because of it. Learning my classes was a breeze as i had some of the same teachers as last year (for different classes, of course). My classes aren't as important to this recollection, though; simply because it's probably the most boring part.

Last month, I made a few friends and became closer with some acquaintances. Kat and Kostya in particular. Kostya is someone i met through my ex last year, but he stuck around, and now we're closer friends! Kat is someone i met more recently online only to learn that we go to the same school! We all play Minecraft and talk about silly stuff with some other acquaintances. It's been quite nice having them around. I appreciate them both a lot.

Kat even came with me to get my septum pierced! (Which i got done on the 9th of this month! It's been healing just fine! I've been cleaning it twice a day or when needed. Currently, it's day 14 out of 42 of healing!)

Me and Kat are starting a DnD campaign! With me being the DM! I've been working on the story a lot but have taken a slight break from writing it due to burnout from other factors.

For this next part, im going to need to give some specific context to my relationship with someone.

In 6th grade, I met N (shortened for privacy). We became acquaintances, and then covid started. 7th grade my school was doing a and b days, and we never really saw each other, so we drifted a bit. In 8th grade, we didn't even recognize each other but met again and became acquaintances again. In 9th grade, I started sitting with them on the bus and have been since.

After this school year started, N started to sit with me at lunch. We've become closer since, and now, we're dating. We've been together for almost 3 months; but, I fear I may have rushed myself. Recently, I haven't been able to focus on myself. School and family and new friends have been demanding of me lately, and I haven't been able to focus on me or my mental health. I've been finding myself neglected by the person who should care the most, and that person is me. My negligence has led me down a path of self isolation and sadness, and I fear i may not be treating N right. I don't want to lose her, but I know the only right solution is to let go. I'm currently very conflicted in myself, in how i feel emotionally and physically, and answering these questions is too much for me to handle alone.

Thank you for reading this far! Have a splendid day/night!

[beyond-the-rabbit-hole]

I'll have the highschool au stuck in my head for weeks I can feel it (I'd love to see more if you're up)

A Skull Council High School AU - Detention

Features: Centralia, Fairmount, Loathesome, Stephbit, Northstar, Forgotten Warnings: Mild violence

Forgotten would know exactly why he’s in detention. Whether it’s because he got caught in a huge fight, or let someone else cheat off his test, he won’t fight his detention, typically sitting in a middle row.

Loathesome would know why he’s got detention, he practically lives there, but it doesn’t stop him from harshly arguing for his freedom. How dare they! Sure, he stapled another kid’s hand to a desk, but that doesn’t mean he deserves detention!

Centralia wouldn’t understand why he’s in detention. He is actively doing horrid things like stabbing a kid during an argument, but he still wouldn’t get why he’s being punished. The other kid started it, they deserve punishment, not him!

Stephbit wouldn’t know why she’s in detention, purely because she’s done so much shit in one day that it’s hard to pin down exactly one reason why she’d be there. She also isn’t fighting it, instead, she enjoys the alone time… Aside from her fellow detentionaires.

Fairmount knows why he’s in detention, and will stop at nothing to escape. Rather than try teaming up with Loathesome though, he attempts to climb through the vent, or jump out the window when the detention monitor isn’t present.

Northstar knows why he’s in detention, and just uses the detention as extra time to work on his campaigns. Typically, he forgets he’s in detention and will continue working on whatever he’s working on for much longer than his original sentence.

Aside from Centralia, Loathesome and Fairmount, they mostly keep to themselves during detention to avoid extending their sentence, though every once in a while, Fairmount will get Stephbit and Northstar interacting with each other. This usually isn’t intentional, the pair will usually just start cracking jokes back and forth when Fairmount’s escape attempts fail as usual.

Loathesome and Centralia usually end up plotting ways to kill the detention monitor to escape, which ironically gets them longer and longer detentions every time they are caught. It doesn’t stop them though, it just fuels their belief that they are being unfairly punished. There was at least one attempt to attack the detention monitor that went really badly. If they could get the other three to team up with them, then maybe, but there would obviously be consequences.

Evan is not in detention because he avoids these six students like the plague.