iamfilledwithstatic

[yngai]

ada without the suave, classy & semi-flirtatious filter of her persona is such a vile, vulgar, cynical & petty person it makes me wish we got to hear more of her dropping the act to insult & belittle people who aren't simmons (even as she taunts leon openly the filter is still applied). she keeps the mask on tightly, even when she is alone. she never drops the act but there is a fire within her that is suppressed begging for blister & burn with all the rage she harbors for anyone that's dared underestimate her

[swagging-back-to]

worst trope is found family separating as soon as the antagonist is dealt with.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.

“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.

“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.

Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”

“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”

Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”

“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”

Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”

Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”

“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”

“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.

Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”

“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.

You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”

Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.

Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”

Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.

“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”

“Finless porpoises,” you say.

“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”

“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.

Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”

“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”

“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”

“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.

You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”

“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”

Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”

“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”

Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.

“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.

Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”

He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, he, uh…he’s little. Really little. He…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.

You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”

Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.

You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”

“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”

“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”

Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.

“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.

“Oh.”

“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”

“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”

“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.

A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.

Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”

“The sculpture?” you say.

“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”

Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”

“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.

Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.

“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”

Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”

“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”

“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.

“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”

There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.

“No luck?” Daeron asks.

“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.

“Seriously, dude, what was it?”

“Nothing!”

“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”

“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”

Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.

Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”

“We’ll find gas somewhere.”

“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”

Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.

~~~~~~~~~~

Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences—Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”

“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.

“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?

“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.

Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.

“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”

“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”

Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.

Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”

“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.

Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”

Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”

“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.

Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.

It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.

“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”

You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.

In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.

“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”

You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”

“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”

“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.

“I want to try too,” Daeron says.

Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”

“I want to try!”

“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”

“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”

You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.

“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his  belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.

You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”

“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.

“No scopes?”

“Not that I’ve seen yet.”

You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”

“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”

“Exactly.”

“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”

“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”

You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”

“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”

“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”

Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”

You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”

Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”

You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”

Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”

He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”

You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”

“Like throwing a football.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”

“What a formidable tree.”

“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”

Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.

“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”

“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”

“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”

Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.

“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”

Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”

More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.

You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”

He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”

“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”

“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”

“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”

“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”

“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”

You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”

“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”

“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”

“Exactly.”

“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”

“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”

He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”

You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.

What?? Who??

“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.

Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”

Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”

“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.

Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”

Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.

“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.

“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”

Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”

“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.

“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”

You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”

“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.

He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”

There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.

“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”

“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”

There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”

“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.

“What?!” Luke exclaims.

“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.

Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”

“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”

“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.

“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”

“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.

Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”

“Fine, I think.”

“Hurts?”

“Just a little.”

“Dizzy? Double vision?”

“No, nothing like that.”

He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.

“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”

He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.

“Are you serious?”

“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”

“I’m fine!” Luke insists.

“Great. Then pick a card.”

“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”

“Pick it with your mouth.”

“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.

“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.

Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”

“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”

“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”

“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”

Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”

“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”

“Then stop picking bad cards.”

“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.

“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”

Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.

“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”

“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.

Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.

A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”

You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”

Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”

“Experience with what?”

“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.

[cal-writes]

I thought about Zoro, again. And how he stays calm when all other mugivaras are in disarray. How he has to be the last pilar standing, because if not him than noone. And how some people deam him emotionless and uncaring because of that, because he keeps his cool and talk logic in hard situations. (Like whan they had to leave Vivi behind, or all this mess in inies loby). And I thought how I want someone to see it, and hug him and let him be vulnerable for a bit.

I dunno if I mean it like a prompt, or just want to cry with someone over Zoro. Maybe both. Anyway I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter in any format :')

god yes i knooooow. going insane over him tbh. like i went into this in my previous meta post about him, esp in enis lobby/water seven arc where he is so clearly affected by everything going on but can't show it. (or feels like he cant)

this reminded me of a thing i havent seen many people talk about, which is that zoro is very often 100% spot on with his predictions, gets ignored, and eats shit for it.

like zoro isnt stupid (despite what some characters and parts of the fandom think) hes incredibly perceptive and his cold read on most people will be accurate. theres several moments where he will predice something happening, rationally explains it to the crew how the best course of action is one thing and then luffy being stubborn and the protagonis does what he wants

not to say that thats a bad thing! i think its awesome to show their dynamic

like back on zou when they find out sanji left to marry big moms daughter and everyone wants to go and get him back

zoro is harsh in his wording bc he always is but the core of the matter is this: if they go mess with big mom, while they are already anatagonizing kaido, they'll end up having to deal with two emperors. he understands that sanji knew that which is why sanji left the way he did (partially).

and we all know how that ended

not only that i think this fight is a fantastic display of zoro's core character trait. unlike the three captains in this fight, he doesnt have an ego about it. he's not posturing or peacocking, he knows immediately shits gonna go down (killer too probably but with the mask its harder to tell what killer is thinking) and he's the one person that keeps an overview of the battlefield that includes everyone. law eventually does once he gets over his control issues

and of course thats not the end of it in wano

"ill suffer twice as much after" and he doesnt care, beats king, nearly dies or maybe does die and nobody knows about that whole thing

then of course in more recent chapters (spoilers for egghead below)

we have his fight against lucci which i find striking in how the other characters perceive it

like jimbei can be excused, he doesnt know zoro all that long but the crew acts like this is a point of pride to zoro, to finish the fight. when we've seen zoro run away from fights plenty of times. and to me what he doesnt get to say is exaclty what ends up happening

if lucci isnt taken out, he will tell the elders about the plans he was privy to in eggheads lab. which of course he does when zoro is dragged away

if the vegapunk hadn't stepped in

zoro would have fought the elder and most likely lost

same way he knew he'd not be able to win against kuma

he's telling everyone to stay out of it because he wants to protect them. its not an ego thing for him. he knows the second he stepped up to that fight hes probably going to lose. he's going to do his best to win but he's not delusional

and i find it noteworthy that we are continuing this plot line of the crew not understanding zoro or not trusting him and not to mention this

lucci telling zoro he's dead weight

and a little bit later, sanji telling him the same thing

like, thats not their usual banter. this doesnt make zoro angry to like be able to fight off lucci better or sth. the panel of him standing there just, flinching honestly haunts me. (i eat it up oda please do somehting with it)

esp curious paired with my above example where i think zoro understands sanji quite well where i dont think sanji does in return. (another reason why i cant see them romantically im sorry itd require so much legwork for me to make that work)

i think it can definitely be read as a setup of zoro feeling apart from the crew. i think part of that is just due to the nature of his position as first mate in everything but name. like in a literal sense he is their superior the same way luffy is all of theirs. and we know from the usopp argument that he takes that a lot more seriously than the others. so i dont think - at this point in canon - zoro would open up to anyone except maybe luffy but even then thats not really the kind of relationship they have - and i dont think any of them actually see whats going on or what zoro has been doing basically the entire time.

zoro hasn't been vulnerable since his fight with mihawk

[katyusha454]

I think I've found the most tragic ship in BG3 and I need to rant about it

I've seen a decent number of people discuss and write about Dark Justiciar Shadowheart, but they always focus on what she's like post-game when she's fully committed to Shar. Which is a fine thing to focus on! Especially when you're writing smut where she's a mean domme. Post-game DJ Shadowheart is a fascinating character. But I feel like people neglect to consider what she's like during the transition phase of Act 3, where she's become Shar's Chosen but hasn't yet Done The Thing that caps off her personal questline. And there is SO MUCH potential for angst and drama during that time frame.

IMO the most important aspect of this stage of her development is that she is not evil yet. She simply made a single bad decision and now she feels like she's in too deep to do anything but double down on it. She's spent her whole life trying to "fake it 'till you make it" and she's only just now starting to transition out of that and into sincere belief. All the misgivings and insecurities she's shared with you are still there, just buried deeper. That desire to love others and do good hasn't yet been completely stamped out. In my Dark Justiciar Origin run, I try to do good things whenever possible as long as I can find a way to rationalize it as benefiting Shar. (but I still ended up saying enough evil-sounding things to make Minthara incredibly horny for me)

So where does Karlach fit in?

Well, turns out when you play as Origin Shadowheart, Shar doesn't make you break up with your partner. In fact, Shar says absolutely nothing to you about your romantic situation. This is really weird if you're romancing anyone other than Karlach, but I think it makes perfect sense for Shar to tolerate a relationship with Karlach for the time being. It's the ideal opportunity for Shar to prove a point. Karlach is dying, and no matter what Shadowheart does, this relationship is going to end in painful loss. Shar wants Shadowheart to fall in love with Karlach only to have that love abruptly ripped away from her. It perfectly demonstrates everything Shar believes about love: that it's fleeting and will always hurt you in the long run. Better to just avoid it entirely so you don't get hurt.

And Shadowheart knows all this. She's studied Sharran scripture extensively, after all. She knows that Shar is trying to teach her a lesson, she knows that the longer the relationship lasts and the more emotionally intimate it gets, the more the end is going to hurt. So why doesn't she break it off? Partly it's because she loves Karlach and doesn't want to end things; she's probably in denial at least a little bit. But I think it's also partly because she's a bit of a masochist. She thinks she deserves to suffer because she knows, at least subconsciously, that she's still not a very good Sharran. She can see the loss coming and she hopes the experience will bring her closer to Shar.

You'd think Karlach would be unwilling to put up with DJ Shadowheart's fanatical bullshit, but personally I think Karlach would stick it out for a whole mess of reasons. Number one, she can still see the good in Shadowheart and she refuses to give up on her partner. She's clinging tightly to the hope that Shadowheart can still be redeemed, even though she probably understands that it's a long shot at best.

Number two, she blames herself. When you play as Tav/Durge or another Origin, Shadowheart will have a conversation with you before deciding what to do in the Shadowfell. But if you play as Shadowheart, none of your companions says a word to you. In the context of this ship, I choose to interpret that as Karlach being too trusting. She's seen the good in Shadowheart, after all. She's so certain Shadowheart will do the right thing that she doesn't think she needs to speak up. It's not until too late that she realizes what Shadowheart needed was for someone to say "hey, are you sure about this?" So now she feels she needs to make up for that failure somehow by continuing to try and nudge Shadowheart in the right direction even though it seems impossible.

And number three, Karlach's just plain lonely. As fucked-up as this relationship is, she's still getting companionship and intimacy, and she doesn't think she has time to cultivate a new relationship if she breaks up with Shadowheart. She wants someone to be with her and hold her hand at the end, even if that someone is a brainwashed cultist.

In sum, both of them know that their relationship is extremely unhealthy; that it's hurting them now and will hurt them more in the future. But they both refuse to end it for their own reasons. And good gods, the ANGST. ARE YOU FEELING IT NOW, MISTER KRABS?

[sunayyyy]

Worst fandom mischaracterisation/headcanon of each bat-associated character, in my opinion (these are in no particular order) :

1. Duke Thomas is the sane, rational, "normal" one.

Have you ever read the We Are Robin arc? Duke is fucking unhinged, his introduction was him jumping off a bridge to escape cops. This is a kid whose father is immortal and is the first metahuman in the batfam. He lost his parents in the most horrendous way possible (joker venom. They're still alive, but it's horrifying) and organised a whole gang as a child. He threw down with a green lantern and 2 shot his ass. Hopefully, this headcanon is just a product of people not really knowing the character and goes away soon once people find out more about him, when he isn't just the token black guy in a fic or a background character in batfam drama.

2. Stephanie Brown is quirky and sassy, and ONLY quirky and sassy. She's over her trauma with Black Mask and Cluemaster!!

Stephanie Brown is a very interesting character, with an origin story that is very similar to jason todd. She's been through hell, yet she constantly gets infantalised by the fandom, which gets kind of ignored in favour of talking shit about how people infantilse tim (super valid and I'll come back to it later on in this post). You most commonly see this in timsteph stories where they show her as the immature first love, and how as tim grows up, he needs to date more "serious" people, as if tim wasn't the main reason their relationship never worked. This is also common in stephcass fics, although on a smaller level. Writers tend to make stephanie the bubbly outgoing girl that balances out all of cass' angst (some of those fics are really good, but they mould steph in a specific shape so she can be a prop for cass to heal). On an even smaller scale, I've seen both romantic and platonic jaysteph stories where stephanie appears as the "good" victim who let go of her animosity to black mask and cluemaster, and so now, she can help jason let go of what happened with the joker, and bruce's abuse. Obviously, this is a disservice to both of these characters, but people tend to focus on how it's more of a disservice to jason instead of steph. Let my girl express her trauma and heal, and stop using her as a prop for other characters! She wasn't just cutesy as robin, she threw the fuck down. Her introduction included hitting tim in the head with a brick!

3. Slut/himbo Dick Grayson is reductive of his abilities as a leader, and is not only offensive to real survivors of SA, but incredibly racist towards Romani people.

Do I really need to explain this one? Dick Grayson is a symbol of hope that bruce wishes batman could be. This man is a natural born leader and has stepped up to the plate multiple times, both during his time with the titans and as batman. He's charismatic and lovable and a genuinely intelligent man, but for some reason, he gets depicted as a dumbass who has to deffer to bruce or tim or babs any time he has an issue with detective work. Yes, you can delegate. Of course, you can delegate, but going straight to tim and rattling off the case you JUST accepted doesn't make sense, ESPECIALLY if you're on seperate cases and tim or bruce have to postpone their work just to solve it for you. As for the other part, Dick has been heavily implied to be demisexual, given that he only has sex with people he has genuine feelings for. He wouldn't just sleep with any random woman who compliments his ass enough. Also, having an SA victim be characterised as a slut is both reductive of their trauma and a weird way that some authors justify how he's "over it." Really doesn't help that he was slut shamed (canonically!! why is this canon??) by the rest of the titans after sleeping with mirage, who pretended to be kori. Additionally, it's really weird if the first thing you think of when you see an attractive romani man just sleeps around. People don't say that about other conventionally attractive characters, even ones who HAVE slept around. The only character i can think of that gets characterised like this is bruce, but that's an image that he cultivated to keep batman hidden.

4. Jason Todd was always doomed by the narrative. He would have died if bruce hadn't intervened. Also, pit rage.

The tragedy of jason todd was, and always has been, that he was doomed by the AUDIENCE. He wasn't just an angry, reckless child, and calling him the angry robin is stupid and reductive. Was he angry? of course he was, but so was dick, and so was damian. Using a single word to describe a person is never going to be enough. Jason was notoriously compassionate to victims, especially women and children, and sex abuse victims. He got pissed when the system he was asked to believe in was shown to be ineffective, to the point where bruce believed he killed a man over it. The kid had a bright future ahead and loved school, modt of robin!jason's shitty qualities came from bruce and alfred compartmentaling his image and shitting on him to ease their guilt over his death. Pit rage is also a cheap way to take away his autonomy, an easy pass to explain the shitty things he's done. I like it when the pit has side effects like glowing eyes or increased healing or something, but pit rage is stupid. It's either used to force characters to forgive jason since he wasn't himself or as an angst prompt for jason, another testament to how he came back wrong, or a way to have him hurt a character to further up THEIR angst (*cough* titans tower AU fics*cough*). Yes, he did shitty things. Let him do shitty things without giving him an easy out. Otherwise, your story isn't compelling at all.

5. Feral Damian Wayne is just straight-up racist, no?

I love damian. I think that, for the most part, he's been written pretty well. However, damian suffers from the fact that he's an arab character in a post 9/11 comic, and thus there is bound to be some casual racism, both in comics (like when tim assumed he was too uncivilised to know what a handshake is) and fandom. Has damian wayne done a lot of shitty things, especially to tim? Yes, absolutely. But that doesn't make him feral. He was raised by assassins as the heir to the throne and to the greatest hero in the world, raised to think that blood relations are the only ones that matter, so of course he's dismissive of tim. He's also a prince who was raised in luxury, who was born as royalty and has experienced more opulence during his birth thsn most peoole do in a lifetime, although this opulence is extremely conditional, with horrifying requirements (the story with damian having a metal spine as a child is insane). Does it make what he did to tim right? Definitely not. Does it excuse his actions? Also no. But it does explain them, it tells us where it came from. Being traumatised and having extremely high expectations of both sides of your family doesn't make you feral.

6. Tim Drake is just a small little baby who can't function without his coffee.

Let me preface this by saying that i don't like tim drake. At all. As a huge fan of the al ghuls it was a real kick in the balls having Ra's be reduced to a creepy pedophile who wanted tim as an heir, and sent a woman to rape tim in order to carry his child. Also, I hate how DC decided to prop him up by shitting on jason todd. However, this doesn't mean that I don't enjoy his YJ run and that I don't enjoy some of his comics/fics. That being said, nothing on this earth pisses me off more than tim stans. You know the ones, the people who want damian hanged, who want dick and jason and bruce to fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness. Tim has been through an insane amount of trauma, and that's understandable, but please, for the love of god, don't create more whump for tim at the cost of other characters. You can hate damian, I wouldn't blame you, but remember that he's like 10 and tim put him on a hit list. Dick never wanted to put tim in arkham, and he didn't have time to support tim when it came to an honestly insane (although ultimately correct) conclusion. Also damian as robin was alfred's idea, and damian was the one that put on the costume preemptively, dick got pissed at damian for that. When it comes to jason, I'd say it's complicated. While titans tower was fucked up, it wasn't as bad as people made it out to be. My first introduction to the fandom was through jason todd since he was my favourite robin, and then i learned they brought him back to life when i played injustice. The number of fics and posts that mention that jason went to the tower specifically to kill tim is insane. When i got into comics, it was like whiplash; it wasn't a one-sided beatdown, tim was conscious until the end, the goofy ass robin suit jason had on, jason never slitting tim's throat (that happens in hush, and even then i don't think he really slit his throat, since the art shows that the skin was kinda nicked), all of that was wild to me. BftC is one of the shittiest comjc book runs when it comes to characterisation in general, and I've already discussed dick and tim, so it's only fair to talk about jason and tim. There's no justification here, honestly, other than shitty writing i guess. The other side of the coin is enemies to caretaker jason and tim, which is so fucking wild?? they're like 2 years apart, and tim is extremely competent, he wouldn't pass out mid patrol because he forgot his coffee.

7. Bruce Wayne doesn't believe people can change and doesn't care about Crime Alley.

For the first one, please fucking read a single comic book. Just one. Better yet, maybe research why batman doesn't kill. You know, the most popular thing about him? As for the second, it's mostly just a way to show how jason is better than bruce and how he's right to take over the alley since no one cares about it. Now I LOVE jason todd. He's my favourite comic book character of all time tied with gambit and Dr. Strange. But I hate it when you create angst or comeuppance by blatantly ignoring the chatacter and their motives. Bruce became batman so that what happened to his parents can never happen again, and this includes helping the poor people in crime alley either through patrolling there or by setting up countless charities to improve life there. You can make the case that batman avoided crime alley after jason died. It's not canon, but it would make sense. However, I dont see him ever giving up on the alley, both to prevent what happened to his parents, and to help people like his dead son. I fucking hate bruce, he's done a lot of shitty things, but making shit up just to make him worse is getting old.

8. Misc

There aren't really enough mischaracterisations about cass and babs to warrant separate paragraphs, so I'll just reiterate the infantalisation of cass and babs having no qualities outside of oracle, master hacker, and dick grayson's on and off lover.

[centrally-unplanned]

Something reinforced by my dive into partisan conservative media: what would you do if you learned Harris had taken sweeping bribes, or committed an assault? I would certainly lower my opinion of her; and I would absolutely support any path the Democratic Party would realistically take to replace her on the ballot. But we all know the latter wouldn't happen, not at this stage.

So I'd still vote for her, right? Her opponent is A: way worse on the character front, and B: a way more serious threat on a host of policy fronts. You don't get your ideal choice, and Trump is super awful - you do in fact have to swallow a lot of pills in politics, and this would be just another round.

Harris in reality has her sins but they are all pretty small bore; but you can definitely see this dynamic at play in the Trump camp. It is a very common dunk to be like "how could you vote for this person just because they support X", but that is somewhat unfair. Most people have strongly-held, high-stakes (to them) policy issues motivating them, and voting for someone diametrically opposed to those issues is an extremely tall order. I personally find the election denialism to be a red line that would invalidate any candidate for me, and I would absolutely vote for a normie Republican over a Democratic Trump - but there is an entire edifice of thought on the right explaining how that didn't happen. Not that many on the right don't know one of Trump's sins - passionate supporters will say things like "yeah he did probably take some bribes here or there but..." - yet since they don't believe all the others it is enough to give him a pass. And if I believed what they did, they would be right to do so.

I explain this because I think people believe the "solution" to these kinds of dilemmas is elections, but it really isn't. Elections are an awful place to punish bad character, because it is incredibly bundled with other things. You are never asked "do you want the criminal or not" but instead "do you want the criminal who will protect abortion rights or not", which sounds like a way more reasonable bargain. In a two party system this is a very harsh dynamic, but even in multiparty systems I don't think it is much better - after all, you have a bundle of issues you care about yourself, and two parties are unlikely to equally match them (not to mention how frequently multiparty systems coalesce around 2-3 major parties).

The way you "typically" police this is non-democratically - through courts for provable crimes, and through political elites for ones that don't meet that bar. These people are tossed out of political orgs, impeached, blacklists, etc, by insiders. Most of the "selection" of a candidate happens before anyone votes, after all; deselection works the same way. But that only works if parties have the capacity to actually do that! It is a capacity they have lost harshly over the years - Trump clearly a strong indicator of that. But it is a capacity democratic systems in fact rely on; non-democratic institutions are load-bearing in any liberal system.

Certainly this is another bout of me getting on my "technocratic strong parties" bullshit, but I do consider this to be election-relevant. A lot of voters are being very dumb, buying lies about immigration or tariffs or inflation. But others are in fact being pretty rational within their worldview about these things; and due to that you can't rely on voters to bail you out from the failures of the governing institutions.

[ham-st4r]

𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓹𝓽.2 - 𝓛. 𝓗𝓮𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰

📞Pairing: heeseung + female reader!

Warnings: smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, cursing.

Genre: POS (phone sex operator) heeseung.

Summary: After your steamy call with Ethan, you find yourself thinking about him weeks later, and the temptation to call him was far too strong to avoid.

Number of words: 3,134k

Sorry for the wait this 🗑️ is definitely not worth it but i tried bro😔also probably a lot of mistakes but i couldn’t re-read it another time 💀

Pt.1

Find your way around!

Needless to say, heeseung had been thinking of you for the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately, you hadn’t called him again like he once thought you might of, and it may have been affecting him a little.

Who was he kidding? It was affecting him a lot, and he didn’t even really know why.

Every day, he was waiting on a call from you. Every time his phone rang, he was expecting to hear your sweet voice on the other end again, but alas, he never heard from you.

It was well past midnight, and he was still up taking calls. It was always busy for him around this time of night, but he wasn’t feeling up to it, so after a few more, he’d turn his active status to off.

His night was slowly but surely starting to come to a close a few hours later, so he figured he’d take one last call.

He let out one long sigh as he reclined on his bed. “Last one,” he mumbled to himself, getting into character before pressing the answer button. “Hello, sweetheart. How can I be of service to you tonight?” He says enthusiastically into his speaker despite not having any enthusiasm whatsoever.

You don’t even know why you were thinking of Ethan so much, but you just couldn’t help it. Maybe it was because he gave you that mind-blowing orgasm over the phone, or maybe it was because of how sweetly he talked you through it. Either way, he was still on your mind, and you could barely focus in class.

You contemplated calling him once you got home, but once you got there and, took a shower and sat comfortably on your bed with your phone in your trembling hands, you just couldn’t do it.

No matter how badly you wanted to, the idea just made you feel incredibly nervous and even embarrassed to an extent.

Especially after touching yourself and him hearing literally everything.

You cupped your warm cheeks in your palm, plopping down on your bed. “Ugh, what do I do?” You’ve been wanting to call him for weeks, but you know what: it’s now or never. Without thinking rationally, you sit up on your bed and press the call button, not giving yourself a second chance to regret your decision.

The first couple of rings went by, and you were going to hang up, but before you did, Ethan answered. “Hello, sweetheart. How can I be of service to you tonight?” Your whole body was literally shaking with nerves and a hint of excitement. He sounded just as heavenly as the first time you called him, or maybe even better.

Your mind went back to that night, thinking about when he guided you to bliss and came while moaning his name. There was a bubble of excitement forming in your stomach at the thought of reliving that night with him again.

Heeseung frowned when he didn’t get an answer. He looked at his phone, seeing that it was still connected, before trying again. “Sweetheart?” He called out softly, and he still didn’t get a response. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the night you first called. He remembered how shy and timid you were. Thinking back on it, he smiled at the thought of it, but then it clicked the timing, the timidness. Somehow, he just had a feeling that it was you, and he quickly sat up on his bed. “Angel?” He said, and his heart was literally pounding in his chest.

“H-hi, Ethan,” you mumbled out shyly into the speaker once you calmed yourself.

He melted the instant he heard your sweet voice. “Angel,” he said, sounding a bit too excited for you just to be another one of his customers, but he couldn’t help it. It was you. You had finally called him back after weeks. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispers softly.

He had only said a few words, but you already felt dizzy and drunk on his voice alone. “M-me too,” you nibbled on your lip and you didn’t realize it was possible to be this nervous on a phone call seeing how you’ve already done it before.

“Have you now?” He replies cockily, and there’s a slight teasing hint in his tone. “What about me have you been thinking about Angel?”

“Everything,” you answer simply, and he can hear your breath audibly shake.

“Ohh, come on, that’s no fun now, is it?” He chuckled at your vague answer, and somehow, even his laugh sounded hot to you. “You wanna know what I’ve been thinking about you?” He switches his position on the bed to a more comfortable one and rests his back against his headboard.

“Y-yes?” You answer unsurely.

“Angel, we’ve done this before. No need to be so timid,” he says, and evidently, he’d have to ease you into things like he did last time.

“Okay,” you breathe out, still not fully capable of answering him properly, but he doesn’t mind. The longer you stay on a call with him, the better.

“Are you sure you want to know all the things I’ve thought about it’s kind of naughty, angel.” he lowers his tone to a more seductive one and you’re still not sure how he does that so well everything he said made you feel so weak in the knees.

“Yes, I want to know,” you say softly as little tingles of anticipation fill your body.

“Hmm, okay,” he breathed into the speaker, and just the sound of his shaky breath was enough for the first glob of arousal to leak out and dampen your panties. It was embarrassing that just his voice alone could have you dripping. “I’ve thought about that sweet little pussy of yours and just how wet you got for me without me even being there” he bit his lip, thinking about that wonderful night he had the best orgasm of his life with you.

You whimper at his words, and before you could cover it, he had already heard it and was just as pretty as the first time he heard it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” he swallowed thickly. “I wanted to be there with you so bad, teasing you, touching you, pleasuring you,” he hummed.

“Oh, Ethan,” you moaned his name as your hand traveled into your shorts, and you began rubbing yourself, too impatient to wait any longer.

“Would you like that, Angel?” He slowly laid on his back, resting his palm over his growing bulge.

“Yes,” you moaned quietly, and surely enough, all the nerves that had once controlled your body had completely dissipated, replaced with nothing but the arousal pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“Me too. I’d kiss and lick every single last inch of your beautiful body, trace my fingers over each dip and curve until you’re begging for me.” his eyes fluttered shut at the thought as he imagined caressing you and taking his time with you until you’re writhing in pleasure underneath him. “Till you’re begging me to push it inside,” he groaned while pressing down on the tent in his jeans.

“Fuck yes,” your eyes rolled back in your head as you pushed your panties to the side and started playing with your glistening folds. “I want it so bad, Ethan.” Your inhibitions were of none as you lost yourself in the feeling.

He couldn’t help but smirk at the idea of you getting more comfortable the longer he talked to you it made him feel a sense of pride that he was able to make you show that side of yourself to him. “I can tell, couldn’t even wait for me to give you permission before you started touching yourself. Hmm,” He scolded you teasingly.

“So s-sorry, Ethan,” you whined in embarrassment.

“I’m just teasing, angel, don’t apologize. I’m doing it too,” he breathed deeply, and you heard his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his zipper. “Come on, angel, let’s do it together, yeah? Been waiting for you for so long.”

Your heart was in your stomach. Was he actually going to? Was he really thinking about you? Was he seriously waiting for you to call again? You decided not to entertain those thoughts cause, at the end of the day, this was his job, and he was acting. Of course, he wasn’t thinking of you the way you thought of him. “Okay,” you replied a little reluctantly.

“So, what have you been thinking about m-me?” He stuttered as his fingers brushed over his boxer-clad shaft.

This is the last thing you imagined you’d be saying, yet here you are, spilling your fantasies to a man named Ethan that you’ve never even met. “Your cock” you said so low he barely heard it.

He involuntarily twitched at your straightforward reply, not expecting you to say something like that so easily. “Yeah, angel? I’m stroking it right now just for you,” he whispered while caressing his length over his underwear, nice and slow.

“I wish I could do it for you,” you whimpered as you stuck a finger inside yourself, imagining it was his fingers instead.

“Me too, baby. I just know your hands would make me feel so good” he pulled his cock out of the teeny hole in his boxers, immediately swirling the head of his cock with his palm, impatiently spreading the wetness over his fully hardened shaft.

“I want nothing more than to touch your cock, Ethan,” you say boldly.

“You wanna touch me?” He unknowingly cocks his brow, trailing his hand lower as he squeezes his balls lightly before gripping the thick base of his cock and tugging on it softly.

“Hmm, mmm,” you moan softly, thumb gliding over your clit. “Wanna suck you too” You weren’t even under control of what you were saying the desire and lust you had for him clouded any and all of your better judgment.

“Naughty little thing, I see.” he laughs at the little whimper you let out, and that alone makes you clench around your finger. “It’s okay, Angel. Ethan wants it, too. Wanna feel your pretty little mouth wrapped around me. I’d do anything to feel you sucking me off so good till I cum down that precious throat. Tell me, angel, would you swallow for me? Tell me how good I taste on your tongue?”

“Hmm, yes, Ethan, I want to taste you so bad. Wanna feel your cum going down my throat,” you moaned carelessly, panting into the speaker as you added a second finger and started fucking yourself at a fast pace, the wet sounds of your pussy going straight into his ears. “I’d swallow it all for you.”

“That’s a good Angel can hear that pussys all wet for me wish I could fuck it, stuff you full of my dick, and cum inside you over and over again” At this point, he was so hard and turned on he couldn’t help but jerk his cock faster the sounds of your lewd moans and wet pussy wasn’t helping his case either, and he felt like cumming any minute.

“Yes, Ethan fuck need to feel you in my hand, in my mouth, inside of me just want you everywhere” You pushed your fingers as deep as they could go grinding your hips as you pressed the heel of your palm against your clit desperately fucking yourself to the sound of his voice and dirty talk.

“Fuck Oh my go- fuck angel,” he moaned loudly, relentlessly fisting his cock at your words. “You want that, huh? I’d give it to you so good, fill up your pretty holes cum in your mouth, and that fucking perfect little pussy, baby I’d give you it all just for being so good for me,” he grunts, the pace of his hand moving at an unimaginable speed as his high creeps up on him.

“Ethan!” You screamed, hand cramping up as you fingered yourself to the point of no return. “I’m cumming, I’m Cumming!” You moaned over and over again, feeling another orgasm coming as you kept going, not satisfied with just one.

“Ah fuck!” He threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and chasing his orgasm with you, his tip filled with precum that dribbled out with every stroke. “That’s it, my angel cum” he whimpers, seconds away from following your lead. “Cum for Ethan,” he grits his teeth, neck veins bulging out, and sweat covering his whole entire body as his hips jerk up off his bed. His eyes shoot open when the first squirt of cum spurts out from his tip. “Oh s-shit,” he whines, rubbing his cock so fast it felt raw, but it was too good to stop. “Cumming, I’m cumming” he pants, hand steadily rubbing out rope after rope of cum as it stains his chest and abdomen.

It didn’t take long at all for your second orgasm to build his voice, and the way he called you his angel had you coming undone embarrassingly quick. “Ethan, I have t-to-“ you mewled out, eyes and brows clashing together as you whimpered continuously, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “I’m cumming again,” you whine helplessly, rubbing your clit into overstimulation.

“Shit, angel again? Fuck go on cum for Ethan again” He squeezed his base tightly coaxing out every last dribble of semen. “Fuck” he whimpers, his whole body shaking violently from the intensity of his orgasm on top of the thought of you coming for him not once but twice.

“Ethan,” you whimpered softly, completely exhausted from having two mind-blowing orgasms in a row. “Feels so good,” you sighed in pleasure, caressing yourself down from your high slowly.

“Mhm, I know, angel,” he spoke softly, making the moment that much better as the waves of euphoria began to wash away from the both of you.

You hum, finally catching your breath, the faint throbbing between your legs settling as your eyes glazed over with post-orgasm bliss.

“Mhhm angel,” he whispers, spreading the copious amounts of seed over his shaft, stroking his length, and getting the most out of his orgasm until it begins to soften.

He was the first one to speak after your minds have had a chance to clear. “So…how was it?” He asks timidly, which isn’t like him at all, but when it came to you, he couldn’t help but feel shy and self-conscious about his performance, especially cause with you, he wasn’t acting. You were getting the raw, unfiltered version. With you, he was just being himself, heeseung, but with everyone else, he was Ethan, the phone sex worker.

“Good,” you say shyly, which makes a wide smile spread on his face as he reaches for some tissues to clean himself, but there is so much cum that he doesn’t even bother. After a while, he just tucked himself away, opting to take a shower before bed.

“Just good? It didn’t sound just good,” he smirks while teasing you.

“Ethan, stop,” you giggle, and you hear him laughing, which makes you even more shy as you pull your blankets up to cover your chest.

“But I’m having fun, Angel,” he chuckles.

“You are?” You asked curiously cause everything all night sounded genuine, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up cause there’s no way he actually had fun talking with you, and there was definitely no way he came with you either, but something deep down inside you wanted it to be real so you asked with a tiny glimmer of hope that this wasn’t one-sided.

“Of course, angel, you’re gonna have to start calling me more often cause you made me wait too long,” he whines. “I missed you.”

“I will, Ethan. I missed you too,” you told him honestly, even though you knew he probably didn’t want to hear from you for real. You knew he was just saying that to make more money off of you, and the thought of having feelings for him kinda left a bitter taste in your mouth when you knew he didn’t care even an ounce for you. “Ethan, it’s late, so I think I’ll hang up now,” you said, feeling down even though you really didn’t have a right to. It was literally your fault for getting your hopes up and feeling any type of way about him in the first place.

“Already?” He frowned. “Why Angel? Just talk to me a little before bed, yeah?”

“I can’t…. I think I should just rest,” you whisper, feeling sleep knocking on your door. Plus, you didn’t want to talk to him longer. It’d only make you like him more, and ultimately, that would ruin your mood even more than it already is. After tonight, you probably wouldn’t call him again either cause. Apparently, you have a habit of getting attached to people who have no interest in you.

“Oh,” he mumbles disappointedly. He sucks in a breath happily, wishing you a goodnight even though he was bummed that he couldn’t talk to you longer. “Okay, well, I’ll hold you to it, angel, 'cause I really, really wanna hear from you again, okay?” He says sincerely, hoping you know he doesn’t want your money and that he genuinely wants to talk to you again soon.

“Okay,” you lie. “Goodnight, Ethan,” you yawned seconds away from sleep.

“Goodnight,” he says reluctantly, but if you were sleepy, he didn’t want to keep you up, especially since you probably had classes the next morning. “Sweet dreams, my angel,” he says just before you hang up.

He sighed softly cause a part of him wanted that call to last longer, not even for the money. Hell, at this point, when you called, he didn’t even see it as work or making money. It just felt oddly romantic in a way.

He knows it’s dumb, but when you called, he kinda felt like he was in a long-distance relationship with you, which again, he knows is stupid cause you didn’t even know him like that, but still, it was fun after a long day you’d call him, and you’d both make each other feel good like a real couple.

He just wanted to talk and talk about anything and everything with you cause your voice was so pretty, and you seemed so sweet. Maybe some nights when you called, you’d both fall asleep on the phone together or something like that.

He shook off the feeling, realizing that he was just being plain ridiculous, and went to take a shower even though his legs still felt completely numb after that mind-blowing orgasm.

Later that night, when he closed his eyes, he just hoped you’d keep your word and call him again tomorrow.

Thank you for reading. Please reblog and leave feedback. - 🐹

Permanent taglist 🔖 @hee-pster @hoyeonheeseung @furious-eagle @heehoonsnemo

Just a call away taglist 🔖 @heeseungshim @rayofsunshineeee @fakeuwus

[cadence-the-hypnotic-floret]

HDG and BPD

So Human Domestication Guide, as a setting, is very much built as comfort food for mentally ill, disabled trans folks (not judging, I'm at least two mentally ill sophonts 🤭), but one bit that didn't quite shine through to me until a moment ago is the Borderline Personality Disorder connection. More specifically, the "favorite person" phenomenon.

A floret's affini is their favorite person. They are utterly dependent on their owner, including on an interpersonal level. Thanks to biorhythms, the floret can feel what their owner feels, in a very deep, visceral way that directly influences their emotional state. They are desperate for praise and acceptance, the worst thing imaginable to them is disappointing their owner, and they often spend time gazing up at their owner in a hazy bliss, as though watching an angelic figure and being awestruck by their beauty as the rest of the world decoheres around them.

In turn, the affini is the perfect caretaker for their floret. The influence they wield over the person who adores them is typically clear and intentional. They promise to never abandon you, and they mean it in ways a real person never could, and can force you to believe them. They actually will take all that pain away from you. When you look upon them as larger-than-life, idealized entities, you're not so much putting them on a pedestal they couldn't live up to as you are accurately describing your relationship to them, and they foster that view intentionally and accurately. There is no equality between Terran and Affini.

This is, to put it bluntly, a relationship dynamic I am deeply familiar with. I have stared at someone for minutes at a time, certain that they have a halo and can do no wrong. I drove that same person away in no small part because the version of them that existed in reality kept chafing against the idea of them I was too infatuated with to get rid of. I have caught myself entering that same dangerous emotional spiral with a fellow author I've been collaborating with, thankfully quite early on.

A few harsh reminders seem necessary here.

If you seek the kind of mindless surrender a floret has from another sophont, check to make sure that the sophont you seek that from is aware of this, and make sure that you are seeing them, the person, not merely an afterimage in your head. Be careful! This dynamic is rife with opportunities for self-delusion and manipulation, and often, you cannot trust your rational brain to handle it well. I want nothing more than the absolution hinted at in Anathema in Blue chapter 4... But it would be deeply unhealthy and unethical to seek that out without dealing with some of my own baggage, or saddling the author with my perception of her author insert character.

If you are on the other side of this dynamic, particularly if you have the brand of narcissism that makes you want that kind of mindless adulation (typically talking about "Worship Kink" is a sign that you might wanna take stock, speaking from experience here), make sure you're aware of the dangerous power differential, and make sure your partner is aware of these warning signs. Being on the receiving end of an FP relationship can be incredibly rough, especially once you start to diverge from the idea of you they had in their head.

Oof. Not fun stuff.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to making a worship file based on Anathema in Blue chapter 4, because frankly this bee isn't leaving my bonnet until I process it. Have you read Anathema in Blue? Lady Lysanthae is bae.

🥰

[tarotwithavi]

An appreciation letter for you

Not a reading you asked for but a reading you needed 😛

These pictures belong to their rightful owners.

Masterlist

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Pile 1

Hey lovely rose

I wanted to take a moment to share something with you that I've observed and truly appreciate about you. Your presence is truly magnetic, and it's not just because of one particular trait, but rather a combination of several remarkable qualities that you possess.

First of all , your determination is inspiring. Your unwavering commitment to your goals and your ability to push through challenges is truly admirable. You never give up, and that's something that sets you apart. Your hardworking nature is evident in everything you do. I've seen how you consistently put in the effort and go the extra mile to achieve excellence. Your work ethic is truly remarkable and inspiring to those around you.

But it's not just your hard work that impresses me. Your intellect shines through in the way you approach problems and find innovative solutions. You have a keen mind and the ability to grasp complex concepts effortlessly. It's truly remarkable to witness your intelligence. Your never-ending curiosity is another aspect of your personality that I find incredibly magnetic. Your thirst for knowledge, your eagerness to explore new ideas, and your willingness to constantly learn and grow are truly remarkable qualities. It's infectious and inspires others to embrace curiosity as well.

Moreover, your love for your work is evident to anyone who interacts with you. You pour your heart and soul into what you do, and that passion resonates with those around you. It's a joy to witness someone who genuinely loves what they do and brings that enthusiasm to everything they undertake.

I hope you understand that all these qualities combined make you an extraordinary individual. Your presence is not only felt but cherished. You inspire those around you and create an environment that people are drawn to. I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge and appreciate all these qualities in you. All these qualities contribute to making you an incredible person. Keep shining brightly, because your magnetic presence truly makes a difference.

Thank you for being such an inspiration for me and the people around you.

Avi

Pile 2

Hey apple pie

I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to take a moment to express something that has been on my mind. Your remarkable qualities have always struck me, and I feel it's important to share my admiration with you.

Firstly, your capacity for forgiveness and maturity is truly extraordinary. The way you handle difficult situations and extend understanding to others is both admirable and rare. Your ability to let go of grudges and embrace forgiveness with an open heart is truly magnetic.

Your ethereal beauty goes far beyond physical appearances. It emanates from within you, reflecting the kindness and compassion that resides in your soul. Your genuine care and concern for people, regardless of their background or circumstances, is a testament to your remarkable character.

I've always been fascinated by your ability to strike a balance between your logical and emotional sides. You approach challenges and decision-making with a rational mindset while remaining attuned to your emotions. This makes you incredibly magnetic, as you have a unique ability to connect with others on both intellectual and heartfelt levels.

Another quality that sets you apart is your alacrity, always ready to embark on new adventures and embrace life's opportunities. Your adventurous spirit and willingness to step out of your comfort zone make you magnetic to others who are inspired by your zest for life.

Lastly, your innocence and pure heart are like a breath of fresh air. In a world that can sometimes be jaded, your genuine and kind nature shines through. Your actions and words reflect your true character, and that authenticity is truly magnetic.

I wanted to let you know that your presence and these extraordinary qualities have a profound impact on those around you, including myself. You are a true inspiration, and I'm grateful to have you in my life.

With heartfelt admiration,

Avi

Pile 3

Dear bossy pumpkin

I wanted to take a moment to express something that has been on my mind. Your presence is undeniably attractive, and it's not just because of your physical appearance, but rather a combination of remarkable qualities that make you truly captivating.

Your passion for life is infectious. Your enthusiasm for embracing new experiences, pursuing your dreams, and living each day to the fullest is truly inspiring. It's refreshing to be around someone who radiates such vibrant energy and makes others feel alive. Your creative mind is a gift that sets you apart. The way you think outside the box, find innovative solutions, and bring fresh ideas to the table is truly remarkable. Your creativity adds a unique and exciting dimension to every conversation and endeavor.

Your maturity is evident in the way you carry yourself and handle situations. You possess a sense of wisdom and understanding that goes beyond your years. Your thoughtful perspective and ability to navigate life's complexities with grace and composure are truly impressive. Knowing your self-worth is an incredibly attractive quality. You recognize your own value, and that confidence shines through in everything you do. Your self-assuredness is magnetic and draws others towards you, as they see the strength and self-belief you embody.

Beneath your seemingly cold exterior lies a beautifully soft and caring interior. Your ability to show vulnerability, empathy, and kindness to those close to you is a testament to the depth of your character. It's captivating to witness someone with such depth and emotional intelligence.

Please know that your presence has a profound impact on those around you. Your captivating qualities draw people towards you, and your genuine nature makes them feel seen and valued. You have a remarkable ability to leave a lasting impression on those who have the privilege of knowing you.

With utmost admiration and respect,

Avi

I am working on improving my English after my second last pick a card being a whole mess. 💀💀

Hope you like it!!

[gold-rhine]

finally had time to play archon quest, and it was really good! SPOILERS for 5.1.

the obvious standout was the war section, it really surprised me bc i dont remember invasion even in like srs business games like dai, bg3, wotr, etc that had so effectively impacted the fear, tragedy, hectic battlefield, feeling helpless at the scale of it. maybe mass effect 3, but they ruined it in other ways.

usually its like. there are groups of enemies all around the map, the npcs are running around and you save them, yeah there are a lot of corpses, but it doesnt feel that meaningful bc there are corpses around all the time anyway in these kinds of games, and you just move from one group of enemies to another, clearing the map. if there are checks of where you went first to see who survives, it can be even worse bc then you will have players make very specific step by step checklists and find any exploits that detail which is the optimal order of doing things so you save whoever you want, with best loot. so it ends up feeling very detached, bc you sit there with wiki open on another screen, weighing costs and benefits. even if you don't, the usual reload and the set events and *how* players moves around the map give much sense of control, you know you can get best outcome if you wanted and you have your priorities.

but here, first of all, you have an option to choose where to move, but it will move time, so you can't just clear the entire map. and the fact that the "missions" do not have playable characters you already know at stake and instead have npcs you don't know at the beginning ends up working better, at least for me, bc choosing where to go next is not just benefit analysis bc you get best loot or get to save your pookie. instead its a choice between options which are equal to you as a player, so it feels like making personal decision instead of just optimizing in-game strats. and so then when you see the missions you didn't go to turn dead or even go here and everyone is already gone, it just hits different. so the lack of prior information or any worldstate checks ended up working much better, at least for me, to make this an emotional decision instead of rational calculation, and so it affects emotions first.

how they used UI to subvert expectations is also insane, like you see that stat screen of percentages of abyss corruption and so on and you're like oh, i know how it works, its bad now, but i will be clearing the map and it will get better :) and then it keeps getting WORSE and WORSE, instead of doing lil completionist clear of all "!" marks on the map, they go dead, map gets swallowed by the abyss fog, it really feels like chaotic dashing between whatever points left and feeling relief when you see at least *someone* survived at the next one. incredible use of the medium in a way only video games can accomplish to build dread and anxiety.

special shoutout to paimoin's voice actress, i was always saying its not her fault paimon is annoying, its direction, and now she *finally* was given material to work with and she fucking CRUSHED it. like, when we find a baby saurian who is a sole survivor hiding, with corpses of its family all around, and paimon tries to cheer it up and direct it to the safety, her voice is tangibly wavering and filled with tears, but she's trying to keep it together bc she needs to encourage baby saurian, despite knowing we don't have time to stay with him and so we don't now if he'll survive?? insane. brilliant performance. and then when we fly next to the canopy tried, visibly overtaken by abyss, and paimon cries out, a single shuddering cry, half-choked and distressed, instead of going "oh no, it looks like abyss has taken over canopy tribe! thats bad!" like writers usually have her talk. and then when after a pause she quietly says that this war might be too much for paimon, and traveler encourages her and she rallies back, like that lil scene made me like paimon and believe in their friendship more than literal years of her incessant yapping and looking into camera going "we're the bestest friends!"

but also the fact that you can get to know the NPCs you managed to save, and meet them again, they have their own lil storylines, their own optional checks which are not forced on you, but if you do manage to help them , you get to meet them back in safety and it feels so good, gives players enough feeling of agency that your actions DO matter. very good handling of scales, the grand country wide invasion swallowing entire map in despair vs personal, individual level victories. you save whoever you can and every life is equally precious.

[parabantlers]

I Don't Want to Be Myself

He should've never taken off the mask.

Not for this.

Not for her.

Her soft, sweet smile and gentle kisses lured him in. Hot meals awaited him after years of basic ration packs. After sleeping on cots and the cold ground, their bed felt incredibly soft, always smelling fresh and warmed by her presence.

Everything was soft and peaceful.

Ever since he took off the mask and said his name was Simon Riley, he hoped she would see that the man before her was a coward, unable to stop the two-year relationship that had spiraled out of his control.

Like a rapid current, he was drawn into the depths of her eyes, tossed and turned against a battering self-hatred.

In the dead of night, his voice barely a rumble, he said, "I'm sorry."

He waited for a response, staring at the ceiling, only blinking slightly as her arms wrapped around him.

"For what?"

Maybe it was the sleepless night, the fact that it was already five in the morning, but he felt too weak to stop when he started to speak.

"Just—I'm worried. Worried that you might feel stuck because I'm just me. That you know everything about me, so you feel confined to stay with me? I don't know. There's only so much self-hatred one can take from another person. So—" His dark eyes locked onto hers. "If you want to leave, it's best you do it now because this is it. This is me."

Her eyes opened, and she kissed the scar on the corner of his lips. "I know what I want, Simon. It's you. It's you and it's Ghost. It's the cold nights when you're not home and when you are. It's the warm hugs you give me. The best kind of hugs, I might add."

She flashed her brilliant white smile, making his heart flutter just barely, like awakening a dying bird. "Sometimes it can be a lot, for sure. But we'll always make it out together. Like we have before, we'll do it again and again. Same as you'll do for me."

Ghost sighed, "I know I say this shit a lot—"

He paused as she kissed him softly, her lips tender and sweet. When she pulled back, she said, "You do. So I'll gladly remind you each and every time. If my future is always telling you I love you, then Simon Riley, I love you."

On his scarred lips, the corners twitched upwards. "I love you too."

"Good. Now, love me properly by wrapping those big arms around me." She snuggled up against him as he chuckled, his arms encircling her.

"Yes ma'am." Even with a soft peck from the dying bird at the back of his mind, she remained nestled firmly in his heart.

(I haven't written anything like this since middle school so hopefully something about this was decent enough. Thank you to however reads this. I am willing to learn and I will understand if this is dog shit. A lot of characters from this franchise are unfathomably hot and my kind of sad so maybe more to come. Hope today is easy for anyone that reads this. Life sucks so all we can do is take it one step at a time. Bye for now!)

[nerdy-frog98]

Okay I’ve had several days to think about it, and I’m not upset about Eddie’s cheating storyline anymore.

Nobody asked, but HERE’S why.

Eddie is an incredibly traumatized character. The military experiences (+ his dead friends), losing his wife so suddenly & without closure, and a couple near death experiences will do that to you! Add that to parents trying to take his child away ON TOP OF feeling like he needs to give Christopher a mother at any and all costs…? Maybe a little bit of Catholic guilt sprinkled in there too.

Season 5 was not my favorite for a myriad of reasons, but one thing I did like about it was Eddie’s complete mental breakdown. It felt like a long time coming... BUT. His mental breakdown didn’t even really scratch the surface of his issues, and there are still a lot of things he needs to face before he can truly be at peace. One of those things is Shannon.

The effect that Shannon’s loss had on Eddie has, in my opinion, never been explored properly. We got a little of it in season 3 with the illegal fighting, and then hints of it again when he was with Ana, but it never felt like closure to me. It felt like season 6 tried to give him closure (through Marisol), but it wasn’t satisfying because it was more or less a duller version of what happened with Ana. “Moving on” for his sake, but with no real emotional repercussions. Maybe this is just a personal opinion, but his story has felt like a ticking time bomb to me since the moment he broke up with Ana. His breakdown in s5 wasn’t the real bomb though.

Now imagine being Eddie, a guy with a lot of unresolved guilt and feelings for a woman who died right in front of him. Imagine you see a woman with that dead wife’s exact face. I can honestly say I have no fucking clue what I would do in his position. What he did- erasing Marisol in his first conversation with this lookalike Kim, then later lying to Buck to meet up with Kim- is morally not okay. Sure. Would any of us act in a rational way though?

I’m not meaning to justify cheating, but I do genuinely believe this is one of the only ways that stubborn ass was going to figure out his issues in a way that might actually help him move on. He’s being delusional with Kim, and once the ball drops, I believe there’s a great big breakdown waiting for him on the other end.

People often accuse Eddie of being the most boring of the 118, and I hate that assessment so goddamn much. Eddie is probably one of theee most complex characters (besides Buck) in the entire show. He’s self-destructive, kind, loyal, patient and impatient- he’s a good father and a good friend, and he’s FLAWED. That is why I love him so much.

My initial disappointment with him partially stems from me wanting him to have a singular season of PEACE, which…I realized wasn’t possible without blowing up the bomb first (would’ve preferred to disarm the bomb but I’ll take what I can get).

[agentgrange]

I saw this post and couldn't stop thinking about it, so here is the answer I gave after some consideration-- I'll tell you when I find out. Sometimes it really feels like it depends on your Agents, and what they're accustomed to. I have two groups that I play with, one is mostly serious with a handful of gallows humor quips while the other one is absolutely clown-shoes-goof-goof-times. You could lovingly craft a deeply unsettling body-horror scene or run a tried-and-true encounter straight out of an established campaign and your mileage will greatly vary depending on your audience. That's not *necessarily* a bad thing, a handlers job is to guide a narrative in a way that's first and foremost fun for the players. If they want to take it seriously and buy into the horror they will, but if they want a bit of levity then there's nothing wrong with playing to the crowd. But I do really, really empathize with struggling to convey the awesome and terrible might of some cosmic horror with nothing but your words in a group of people that (hopefully) instinctively feel at ease and jovial while fooling around playing games with their buddies. Here's a few practical pieces of advice I can give you.

Try to cultivate an unsettling environment for your players. This one seems obvious but is actually really hard to get down right, especially when people mostly play online these days. But you’d be surprised how much regularly providing good visual aids, a Discord bot playing ambient music, and a good playlist can really set the tone for your session. Don’t just provide visual aids for the money shots of alien greys and deep ones either, running a campaign based on The Conspiracy era gives you ample opportunity to post a ton of weird, liminal 90s photographs to set the vibe for everyone even during otherwise mundane scenes.

Make a point of explaining to your players the difference between what they are experiencing and what their characters are experiencing. Yes, facing off against a 8ft tall fish man with a crossbow is inherently ridiculous as a fictional abstract. Its an entirely different experiencing actually being there, face to face under an incredible amount of stress seeing something that should not exist. In a lot of ways your players aren’t their characters so much as they are mad gods guiding their characters’ fates. THEY can laugh from the safety of this higher dimension we all exist in, that’s part of the fun. Hell their characters might even have a passing thought or two about how absurd the situation might be—but that entire time they’re fighting their lizard-brained instincts just to stop from mentally imploding. Let them laugh, but then tell them how their characters' hands might be shaking, or how any clever quip they wanted to say just comes out as a mumble as their body betrays whatever thoughts their rational mind tries to convey.

Know the rules of comedy. Comedy usually needs a straight-man, so if your players are goofing around don’t be afraid to give them a straight-man NPC to react to their antics in a way that makes it feel like you’re in on the bit but keeps the narrative going. Better yet, try to get ahead of it. Set up designated low-stakes areas in your story that are designed to add a bit of levity. They say comedy comes in threes, so you should structure these segments to let your agents to do some dumb shit about three times before they get all the sillies out and are ready to move on. And the emotional highs during these side quests will just make the crushing lows in the main plot feel that much more horrifying.

Building off that last one I have one more secret, forbidden technique. Buyer beware on this one honestly, but I cannot overstress just how much. Players. Love. Silly. Characters. And as David Lynch has proven, you can have silly characters that are still deeply unsettling. Try adding a few characters in that flip the script on your players and make *them*  want to play the role of the straight-man reacting to what your NPCs are doing every once in a while. If done right, it can kind of trick them into taking things seriously or feel like the eerie out of place comedy is at their character’s expense even if the players are in on it.

I hope some of this was at least partially useful. Good luck out there.

[coffee-and-tea-time]

TWINS, PRETTY PLEASE, FEED ME MORE OF YOUR DELICIOUS TREATS, I ACCEPT WHATEVER, I LOVE YOUR WRITING

Why being a side character when you can have the spotlight?

Yandere! Circus x reader

Well, this was originally made to relieve some stress but in my defense, you said ‘whatever’ so hope you enjoy this little thingy, muak (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) (btw, I want to do a little pause to thank those who send asks and cute words to us, we even got anons! but y'all will see that in detail later in their own post, just wanted to say ‘love you’ again since they really do warm up our hearts and make us smile although we take our time since well #life #busy) ~ coffee

This honestly wrote itself lol. The story flowed out like an actual dream. I'd say figuring out the logic was the hardest part, so we decided on something simple. Gray morals, but no gray aesthetics! (it sounded like a better line in my head) ~ Tea

word count: 2.2k

tw: manipulation?, gray morals, small swearing, death (not the reader), written in you/yours, reader has a background of being hospitalized, oblivious? but somewhat willing reader, attention starved reader? Well, kinda but we all are. 

....the fuck?

Why is there so much color? This… is really different from the hospital monotone atmosphere… How did you get here? Are you having a lucid dream? It's been a while since the last time you dreamed something, it's good to see colors after some time, even if they are saturated.

“Oh, hello little star, are you lost? Did you escape from somewhere?”

Where did this guy come from? Why does he kinda look like a candy? Although, truth be told, you gotta admit that his pinky hair with pastel violet highlights suits h- Wait a minute…

Is this a circus? Woah, dreamland was nice to you this time. Well, since it's your dream, you can go along with it and enjoy your little ‘freedom’.

“I’m part of this circus, I’m…. the new host”

You watch as glittering sky eyes looks at you with surprise before smiling widely at you, if you look close enough, you can even catch a small shiver of… excitement? Probably.

“Really now? Then you are the starlight here, Dear, why don’tcha let me help ya? I can show you around if you let me, you now, to get our new host comfortable here as soon as possible”

You nod, accepting his hand as he starts showing you around saying ‘the show is about to start’ every now and then, your mind did really make an effort with the aesthetic of this dream, even if the circus colors are somewhat saturated for what you are used to, you can’t help but wow every 2 minutes by how large and amusing this place is, although you wished to stay longer on the food court, it's been so long since the last time you ate this much candy to the point your stomach feels so… huh? Now that you think about it, you can taste things in dreams? Lucid dreams really are something.

“It's still empty because there's a lot of time until the show starts. I would show you the amusement park outside the tent, but there's very little time until the show starts. We should look for the right host outfit for your big debut!”

You can’t really say much as you were practically dragged to a different part of the circus, he is really much stronger that he looks honestly and incredibly fast, dream logic you guess, in a blink, you’re met with the sight of a room with dimensions that are only rational in a dream, like an infinite wardrobe full of extravagant costumes.It was only then when you stood in front of a mirror that you noticed you still had the depressing hospital gown on you… 

“What happened, shining star? Does this style not suit your taste? I can bet you will be the one in the spotlight no matter what you choose to wear. Maybe getting a little stage fright? Do believe me, Dear. You're not the one who has to be afraid on stage"

The once frantic cotton candy-looking man seems to lower the rhythm a bit as he notices the switch on your expression, you can’t help but smile at his sweet tone although his speech has rather weird use of words, well, it's not everyday you can use such eccentric clothes without looking out of place, surely you will soon be woken up by a doctor or a nurse, so at least you can enjoy this while it lasts.

. . . . . .

You spin once again to show off another outfit, he keeps singing praises even thought you understand barely half his words and then nothing, it’s so cute to see him giving a full speech of how the style of the clothing, the colors, the accessories, etc matches perfectly with you, that accidentally you’ve already tried on like 20 different outfits, until you chose the one that got him rambling about how you shine for what feels like 30 minutes straight.

“I think I’d choose this one, thanks… I'm sorry, what's your name?”

You feel kinda awkward when you notice you never asked him his name until now, but he seems like he doesn't mind at all as he smiles at you and offers you his hand to guide you again through the circus.

“Aw, and here I thought you would give me a pet name and start calling me ‘sweetie’, I was starting to like you calling me ‘cotton candy’, you know? What a shame… It's not too late to start tho, but if you are too shy and need some time, my name is Pandora”

Pandora? Wait, you also never asked him what’s his role in this circus or anything about him and before you notice, he is handing you a cute looking mic with a toothy grin, that's when you realized that the show is about to start. You feel an anxious voice in the back of your head telling you this is gonna go wrong, yet you silence it by telling yourself that it’s just a silly dream, how bad could it be?

“I'm sure everyone will find joy in your presence like I do. Don't think too much, just have fun, starlight”

Before you could think more or ask for some advice, he disappears out of the blue after passing you some well decorated notes that got some of the information about the spectacles of today and even giving you a kiss of good luck on the forehead but you can't even finish reading when the first sentence when the heavy red curtains open in front of you… Fuck it, If you have to die, let it be at once.

“Nighty night Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls! Welcome to the best nightmare you will ever experience! Tonight, we invite you to leave your worries at the door and submerge into this spectacle of wonder and amazement. Prepare to be dazzled, enchanted and thrilled as we take your breath away with no devolution! So, without further ado, let’s begin! Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show! Our beloved Brutus will have the honor to be the first show of the night!”

Thanks god the first note was the intro speech and that you managed to read it right even if it’s weirdly written, for your dream seems to run out of creativity and consistency, where the ‘audience’ should be is in complete darkness, you can only manage to see tons of colorful and somewhat happy eyes, but you held a cheerful smile in your face, this dream is surely about to end. Hope you manage to see the first show before waking up, Brutus is a dog’s name so it's probably the lion act, right?

You see two jesters waving at the public as they appear magically thanks to a moving platform with a big cage behind them which has inside an intimidating, goth pastel looking guy with ash blonde hair and a choker with spikes and a tag that reads… Brutus. Did your brain forget how lions look and improvised or something? At least the guy doesn't seem uncomfortable in there as he gives such a confident smirk that makes his fangs stick out, walking out the cage almost smugly. When all the focus was back on you, you knew it was time for the host to speak again, so you quickly changed to the next note.

“Our first show of the night will work for the new audience and me, the new host, to give a smooth introduction of our beloved circus, rest assured that we will continue the next shows with the same energy as before, this is just a welcome gift for… our beloved new host”

Did Pandora write this while you were changing? Why does it feel so odd? Well, your question quickly find an answer when in another platform from the other side start to ascend to reveal a man that’s got this mortified expression on his face even crawls towards you to hold your ankles while repeating ‘I’m sorry’ ‘I didn’t mean it’ ‘I’ll be more better’ and stuff like that, is your dream turning into a nightmare?

“Host, the order, please”

You turn to focus on the voice, it was Brutus, right beside you, when did he get so close? Well, apparently, he needs a word to perform his show? Like an obedient dog. Well, you would do better without having a weird man clinging to your leg, so at least he would take him off you.

“Brutus, play”

Oh no, you didn’t see that coming.

Before you could even retrieve your command Brutus lunged forward, his claw-like nails digging into the flesh of the man's hand. Deep crimson staining the brightly colored scene as the screams of the man marked the moment his hands left your leg. It was brutal, for lack of a better Word, how Brutus clawed at the man's flesh with each swing as he screamed and crawled on the floor, splashing and smearing more blood onto the stage, the cage, the jesters, even you. But nobody even flinched, not even you.

The scene was plagued with the laughter of the unseen audience, the oddly cheery music that accompanied the circus atmosphere now sounding like something out of a horror movie, though it didn't seem to phase you just yet. Things were blurry, up until the jesters began their speech.

"Behold the crude man's punishment. seems too much? Well, let us explain!" said one, the other simply finishing up the other´s speech like they were one in the same.

"Oh this filthy creature, his mind as filthy as his scent, ew! does he even shower? he does, but that's the scent of a perverted beast everyone!!"

What the hell is happening here?! Everything is tainted on the man's blood, and these two jesters are just… joking around!? It's their job, sure, but really?!

You can hear Brutus's grunts and huffs as the man's screams grow thinner and thinner, the wet sound of flesh being slashed and blood splashing, trickling down onto the floor of the stage now louder than the man himself. This is sick, twisted, horrifying. This isn't a dream, it's a nightmare you want to wake up from, your own mind screams at you to stop this, to wake up but it doesn't. What 's going on?!

"Could you imagine this pile of shit as a doctor?" 

"We might have done his horrid face a favor with all those slashes! look at that gorgeous red!!"

As the jesters continue to joke and pick on the man, you can't help but pick up on their words… a doctor? A pervert? What does this mean? You search through your memory, which quickly arrives at the familiar face of one of the doctors at the hospital your body surely would be sleeping in right now, the one doctor that appeared so attentive to your care, though never seemed to completely gain your trust in some point you asked to get your doctor changed because how odd his gaze was… did he appear in your dreams as a pervert because of that?

“Kids, adults, elderly! This is something y’all need to remember, sometimes… You have to judge the book by its cover! Look at this disgusting looking man, who is also disgusting on the inside like a movie with no twist”

“Indeed, can y’all believe it? We almost end up without our dear new host because of this oink oink of a person”

You can help but be surprised as you suddenly got mentioned on this… wait, did they just literally say that the doctor really wanted to do something to you? Wasn't it just a paranoia of yours? This… feels too personal to be just a dream.

“I-I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING I DIDN’T EVEN GOT THE TIME TO TRY BEFORE I-”

He tried to explain that clumsily his innocence because with the fact he didn't do anything physical in a bloody murder scream before Brutus lets out a maniacal laugh and makes him scream even louder... so he did think about it? Would you have planned it? What would have happened if... Can you really say that is 'innocent'?

… Why doesn't it feel bad? It's wrong to kill for something that didn't actually take place, even if it was a fantasy, you can’t really manage to feel pity for the situation happening right in front of you.

Is your dream testing how gray your morals are? Some kind of punishment of your mind?

I s  t h i s  e v e n  a  d r e a m ?

And if it isn't... does it matter? Why care? You're Not the one gross enough to end up like that.

With a quick sweep of the curtains you came from, you would've seen Pandora peeking from the sidelines, his stare dazzling, overjoyed as he saw the turmoil in your gaze as it stared at the gruesome scene before you, how it went from horror, to shock, to understanding and… apathy. Saying he was glad would be an understatement, he was ecstatic, it seemed you had found your place in this circus sooner than he expected. For once, his decision was correct at the first strike!

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

images from pinterest ⚘

[vodika-vibes]

Enemies to Loves?? Character doesn't matter I just need my Enemies to lovers fill for my fourth wing hangover

Thin Line

Summary: After the rise of the Empire, you, an unwilling Soldier of the GAR, is reassigned to being Crosshair's handler. You hate him, and you think he hates you. Turns out there's a very thin line between hate and love.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 2272

Warnings: Reader has a toxic family

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So I was going to do one of the many event requests that I got, but I got it with inspiration for this, and I love Crosshair, so...ta-dah~

You never wanted to join the military.

You were always a bit too…soft for military life. A bit too quick to tears, a bit too sensitive, not quite forceful enough in your everyday life.

You wanted to be an author, or a teacher, or maybe both. The last thing you wanted was to join the military.

But your parents pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

And you’ve never been very good at telling them no. It’s just easier to do what they want. And they wanted you to continue the family tradition of military service.

So you did. You gave up your dreams, as small as they were, to make your family happy. That’s what family is supposed to do, right?

To be fair, you thought that you were going to get kicked out within six months. You’re really, really not made for this lifestyle. And you probably should have been, but your father was an Admiral and your mother was a Doctor at the most prestigious military hospital in the galaxy, and your older siblings were incredibly high ranked in their respective branches…and you just weren’t.

And then the GAR was dissolved and remade into the Imperial Army, and you thought, now. Now for sure they’ll have to discharge me. 

But still, still they kept you. And, much to your blanket distress, it turns out that you're more competent than most of the people you work with. 

Which is exactly how you ended up in your current situation.

The first couple of months after the Imperial Army took the place of the GAR were hectic, but as things settled, you found yourself getting reassigned. You are now, officially, Crosshair’s handler.

It’s quite possibly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “Are you incapable of following orders?” You ask the much taller man standing across from you, his arms are folded across his chest and he has a smug smirk on his face.

“Not so good at following orders, sweetheart.”

“Then maybe I should trade you in for someone who is,” You counter.

“You won’t. No one is as good as I am.” Crosshair is the best sniper in the Imperial army, and he knows it, damn him.

“You’re an arrogant asshole,” You say pointedly, and his smirk widens, “Fine. You did, somehow, manage to complete your mission. So, well done, I guess. But you’re stinking up my office, so get out.”

He just leans against the doorframe, “My hot water rations.”

You exhale slowly through your nose, “Crosshair, have I ever limited the amount of hot water you can use in the showers?”

“I’m just waiting for you to actually turn into as much of an asshole as you like to pretend to be, sweetheart.”

“Get.”

And then he’s gone, allowing the door to slam shut behind him. How, exactly, he managed to slam a sliding door is beyond you, but you don’t care enough to try and figure it out.

You’re pretty sure you hate him. From the top of his silver head to the tips of his toes.

He’s arrogant and pig-headed, and somehow managed to turn something that was a traditional sweet pet name into an insult. And he seems to take joy out of making your life more miserable, which is something of an achievement in and of itself. 

But, even so, you would never replace him with someone else.

Because he actually is as good as he thinks he is. And he does complete every mission that you assign him, and there’s never an excessive loss of life, which you appreciate. 

You push your fingers through your hair, and flicker your gaze across the piles of paperwork covering your desk, and then you sigh. 

You really should have told your parents to kriff off all those years ago, and just gone to school to be a teacher.

Still, if wishes were fishes-

You sigh deeply, and pull your hair out of the strict bun to pull it into a looser tail at the base of your head, and then reach for the tallest pile of paperwork that needs to be finished. 

And then your holo chirps that there’s an incoming call.

You glance at your datapad, and check the number that’s calling in, and then you groan when you see the very familiar number flashing at the top of the screen.

Your Dadmiral is calling.

You sigh one more time, and then press the button on your datapad to answer the call.

“Hi dad,” You say, flickering your gaze to the holo for a split moment, before focusing back on your paperwork.

“Hey kiddo,” Your father is an older man, with hair that’s long since gone gray and a beer belly that he’d have to work at to get rid of. You also know, though you can’t see it through the holo, that his nose is reddened by years of alcohol abuse. “Your hair isn’t in regulation, kid.”

“Ah, so you’re calling as my admiral rather than my dad. Good to know.” You reply tiredly, “What do you need, sir?”

He gazes at you severely, and then sighs, “I need to talk to you about the Dantooine mission.”

You lift your gaze, “Dantooine? That was four months ago.”

“Yes, I know.”

You sigh and open your desk to grab the file he’s talking about, “I know I filled out my paperwork properly-”

“Yes, you’ve always been very diligent about that. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” He shifts so that he’s standing at attention, “It has come to my attention that your sniper only killed the men on the list.”

“...yes?”

“Why did he not kill the other members of the cell?”

“...because they weren’t on the list of people to kill.” You reply flatly, “He followed the orders he was given to the letter.”

Your father sighs, “I recognize that. But I hoped that you realized that what the orders meant was that he was supposed to kill all of them.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“Hm…I’ll make sure that your orders are more clear from now on.” Your father says, “Now…how are you?”

“Tired. And busy. So if there’s nothing else-?”

“Ah, yes. Right. Well then, I’ll talk to you later.” The call disconnects and you sigh again. If Crosshair knew just how much shit you had to deal with to keep him safe and alive…

Well, he’d likely never believe you. 

No matter. You’ll keep doing what you’re doing because it’s the right thing to do. Not because you like him or anything.

Life continues for you as it always has.

You move from planet to planet, chasing these terrorists. You give Crosshair a list of people he needs to kill, and then you fill out paperwork and move on.

He’s still a dick to you, and you tolerate everything as best as you can.

Still, every now and then, something different happens. 

Today, for example, you have a date. 

A slightly older soldier asked you out to dinner, and honestly, you need to get out and do something before you rip your hair out, or have a nervous breakdown.

So here you are, dressed in a casual dress and some nice-ish heels with your hair loose for the first time in ages, when the door to your office slides open, “Hey, so-” Crosshair stops mid sentence as he steps into your office, and then he smirks and whistles, “Well now, I didn’t know you were actually a woman under that uniform.”

“You’re a pig, and also, don’t you knock?”

“Guilty, and no.” His gaze drags down your body, an almost lecherous grin on his face, “Where are you going looking so dressed up?”

“If you must know,” You reply with a pointed glare, “I have a date.”

“You?”

You glower at him, “Believe it or not, there are people out there who want to spend time with me.”

“With you, or with your family,” Crosshair asks, smirking as you bristle under his comment, “Sheathe your claws, kitten, I happen to think you look nice.”

“You insult me and then compliment me in the same sentence. Stars, you’re so annoying.” You grumble, “What do you need Crosshair?”

He, openly, drags his gaze down your body again, “Nothing. Just wanted to annoy you, and it worked.”

You exhale sharply, “Wow, I think I actually hate you.”

“Yeah, but you’re far too nice to actually get rid of me unlike some of the other Imps.” Crosshair grins at you, and then spins and he’s gone. 

You take a deep breath to try and settle yourself, and when that doesn’t work you take another one. It’s fine. Crosshair just likes getting under your skin, he has no way of knowing that he just picked at your biggest insecurity. 

And even if he did, it's not like he would care.

You take another deep breath, and then you leave your office too. Hopefully this date will go well, you could do with someone to talk to who isn’t Crosshair.

Two hours later, you’re back in your office, your face pressed into your arms as you try to recover from the hurt that your date gave you. 

Crosshair was right.

He wasn’t interested in you, he was interested in your family, and thought that the easiest way to climb the ranks was by getting close to you. And this isn’t the first time this happened. 

In fact, this has happened every single time you’ve tried to go on a date.

The door to your office slides open, and you lift your head slightly. You recognize the armor immediately, “Go away.” You say, your voice muffled by your arms.

“Nah.” Your desk shifts and you lift your head to scowl at Crosshair, “Bad date?”

“You were right. He wanted to use me to rub elbows with my family, congrats. Get out.” You say quietly.

Crosshair doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and then, much to your surprise, you feel his hand on the top of your head, “Did he hurt you?”

“Just emotionally.” You reply.

“...want me to shoot him?”

A muffled laugh falls from your lips, “You can’t shoot someone because they hurt my feelings, Crosshair.”

He scoffs, “Sure I can.”

You lift your head and his hand falls from your hair to your cheek. His touch is hesitant, but he doesn’t pull away. But neither do you, “Honestly, why do you even care?”

“I’m the only one who’s allowed to upset you.” Crosshair replies immediately. 

“You are incredibly frustrating.”

“Yeah, my brothers told me that all of the time too.” He says with a shrug.

“Brothers?”

“Batchmates.” Crosshair clarifies, “They’re not with the Empire. They defected.”

You huff, “Lucky them.” Crosshair’s eyebrows shoot up, and you cough, “Uh…I mean-”

He watches you evenly, “Do you want to defect, kitten?”

“...I never wanted to join the military in the first place,” You admit, “I wanted to be a teacher. But because of who my parents are, no one bothered to even try to kick me out. And then the GAR turned into the Imperial Army and I’m actually competent-”

He watches you evenly, and you lean your head into his hand. At some point his thumb started rubbing soothing circles on your cheek, and you don’t know when, but you do know that it’s soothing.

“Do you have any idea how awful this job is?” You blurt, “They keep pressuring me to decommission you, and I won’t do it because as annoying as you are, you actually are as good as you think you are-” You ramble, “And I’ve never been okay with how the clones were treated and-and and…” You wave your hands helplessly, “Damn it, you’re mine! And they don’t get to tell me to throw you away like yesterday’s trash-”

Your words are cut off when his lips crash against yours.

Crosshair’s lips are warm and slightly chapped, but you’re not thinking about that because his hand is in your hair and his tongue is sliding against your lips.

And when he breaks the kiss, you just blink at him, speechless.

“I’m yours, huh?”

Your face burns, “I…well…yes.” You finally say, “You’re mine to protect and…and it’s probably not what you want-”

“Stop telling me what I do or don’t want,” Crosshair interrupts, his lips pressing against the corner of your mouth, “I’m glad your date went poorly.” He says, “I don’t want other men looking at you, let alone touching you.”

“I don’t belong to you, Crosshair.”

“Wrong. If I’m yours,” His lips trail up your jaw, “Then you’re mine. That’s how it works. And no take backs allowed.”

“God, I hate you.”

“No you don’t, kitten. If you hated me you wouldn’t be letting me do this.” His lips drop to your neck and he bites down, roughly enough you release a yelp.

“You’re actually the worst.” 

Crosshair grins at you, “Come with me.”

“...what?”

“We’re leaving. We’ll find some backwater planet where no one’s heard of clones or the Empire, and you can become a teacher and no one will ever make choices for either of us ever again.” Crosshair murmurs against your throat, “And I get to kiss you as much as we both want.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then you sigh, “Yeah. Okay.”

Grandmother used to tell you that there was a fine line between love and hate, and when you were a child, you didn’t believe her.

But, as Crosshair drags you to his ship, you’re beginning to understand her.